Table of Contents

REDEMPTION

PART 1

PART 2

PART 3

PART 4

PART 5

PART 6

PART 7

PART 8

PART 9

PART 10

PART 11

PART 12

PART 13

PART 14

PART 15

PART 16

PART 17

PART 18

EPILOGUE

RETRIBUTION

PART 1

PART 2

PART 3

PART 4

PART 5

PART 6

PART 7

PART 8

PART 9

RESTITUTION

PART 1

PART 2

PART 3

PART 4

PART 5

PART 6

PART 7

PART 8

PART 9

PART 10

PART 11

EPILOGUE

AUTHOR'S AFTERWORD

THE ANGEL AND ICE TRILOGY

REDEMPTION
RESTITUTION
RETRIBUTION

BY

SWORD ‘N QUIL
(SUSANNE BECK)

Ebook by
PDAFiction.com

REDEMPTION

Disclaimers

The characters in this novel are of my own creation. That’s right, this is an ‘uber’ story. Some may bear a resemblance to characters we know and love who are owned by PacRen and Universal Studios.

Violence and Naughty Language Disclaimer: Yup, both. And quite a lot of each, to be truthful. This takes place in a prison, and where there are criminals, there’s gonna be violence and naughty words.

Subtext Disclaimer: Yup, there’s that too. This piece deals, after a fashion, with the love and physical expression of that love, between two adult females. There are some graphic scenes located within this piece, but I have tried to make them as tasteful as possible so as to not avoid anyone’s sensibilities. Let me know if I’ve succeeded.

Dedication: As always, I’d like to thank the man who gives up some of his free time every day to read the stuff I send over to him. The best beta-reader on the planet, Mike. I’d also like to thank my other betas: Candace (who read the entire novel in IM and showed her support every night), Rachel, and Alex. A special thank-you goes to Sulli, who made a very bad day a wonderful one with her gift of generosity. I would also like to thank Mary D for reading and housing this at her site. But mostly, I’d like to thank the readers for reading my stuff and giving me such great feedback. It’s what makes sitting in front of this balky computer and tickling the tans so much fun.

Feedback, if anyone is so inclined, is always gratefully received and appreciated. I can be reached at

SwordnQuil@aol.com

Susanne Beck
SwordnQuil@aol.com

REDEMPTION

PART 1

MY NAME IS Angel, and around here, I’m known as the woman who can get whatever you need. ‘Here’, actually, is the Rainwater Women’s Correctional Facility, more commonly known as ‘The Bog’ because we’re safely tucked away in a nice cedar forest hard by a cranberry bog. That’s probably more than you wanted to know, but I promised myself when I started writing this that I’d try my best not to leave anything out and so now you know the name of our little community.

As you may have guessed by now, my name isn’t really Angel either, but I’m gonna save us both a bunch of heartache and just stick to the name I’m known by here. Names are really important in the Bog. To get one means you’ve succeeded in mastering some metaphysical rite-of-passage where the rules and players aren’t really known until after you’ve succeeded. One day, they’re calling you by your real name and beating you up at every opportunity; the next, you’re given some sort of status and the abuse seems to lessen. Oh, it never stops altogether, unless you’re really lucky or really strong, but at least you can close your eyes at night reasonably sure that your body will be in pretty much the same working condition as it was before you went to sleep. And believe me, in a place like this, that’s really important.

They say that I was given the name ‘Angel’ because of my innocent looks. And, looking in the mirror, I guess that’s true enough, though I can tell you that the face looking back at me isn’t the same one that came into the place five long years ago. Back then, my hair was really long and more red than blonde. My face was unlined and my figure could best be described, I suppose, as awkward young adult. Now my hair is short and blonde, my face has lines added by the sun and worry as much as by simple aging, and my body has muscles that would make even an aerobics instructor jealous.

My time here has certainly changed me, and not all of it for the better. But I’d like to think that I’ve been able to retain at least some of that youthful innocence that came into this place with me. And believe me when I tell you that that is very hard to hold onto here. I’ve seen good women become heartless killers in the Bog. I’ve seen strong women end their own lives at the end of a belt. There but for the grace of God, I guess.

I suppose that if I’m to keep to total honesty here, I might as well tell you why I got locked up in the first place. Back in 1978, I was convicted of murder. Of my husband, to be precise. Now, most women in the Bog will tell you they’re here on a bum rap. I’m not one of them. I killed my husband. Oh, I didn’t mean to, but, as someone or other has been known to say, dead is dead.

My story is pretty much the same as any other’s. Just your basic small town girl desperate to get away, grabbing on the first coat-tail heading out of town. My ticket happened to be my high-school sweetheart; a sweet, if rather dull, boy who happened to land a job at some steel mill or other in Pittsburgh. He wanted company and I wanted out, so we eloped, found the first Justice of the Peace who would marry us without our parents’ permission, and set up house in a run-down studio in Pittsburgh. If you could ignore the squadrons of cockroaches who shared our apartment with us, noisy neighbors and middle-of-the-night shootings, our first six months together playing house like a couple of bona fide adults was pretty smooth. I managed to land a job as a secretary and general Gal Friday at a local warehouse while my husband worked nights at the mill. We didn’t get to see each other all that much, but at the time, I was just so relieved at getting out from beneath the oppressive shadow of small town life that I didn’t have time to be lonely.

Then Peter, my husband, started coming in later and later from his shift. He told me he was putting in a lot of overtime so he could buy us some nicer things, and I believed him. Then whole days went by without hearing from him and I began to suspect things weren’t going the way they should. Then he’d come home from these binges smelling of sex and cheap booze and I realized that I’d made a very big mistake. But like many young women, and maybe you are one of them, I was too ashamed to reach out to my folks for help. Besides, I’ve always been an optimist and strong in my convictions. I thought I could change him. Of course, I was wrong.

What I called trying to change my wayward husband’s habits for the better, Peter called nagging. He’d come home drunk, I’d start in on him, and the fights would begin. They weren’t bad at first. Mostly yelling. Then he started becoming a really big man with his fists and I started getting to try out my budding storytelling abilities in explaining just how a cupboard door can manage to hit your face in the exact same spot three weeks in a row.

Now I know that there are plenty of you out there who are just shaking your heads and asking why I didn’t just up and leave the bastard. I’ve asked myself that same question more times than I can count since coming to this place. All I can tell you, and myself, is that I don’t have any good answers. I was young, and naïve, and scared. But most of all, I was trying to hang onto any thread that would tell me that I hadn’t just flushed my life down the proverbial toilet.

One evening, Peter came home smelling like a really bad whorehouse and demanding ‘husband’s rights’ to my body. When I refused, he threw me down on the bed and started shredding my clothes. I snapped. I’d taken to sleeping with a baseball bat at the side of my bed for a sense of protection from intruders. I never thought I’d need to use it against my own husband. But use it I did. God knows, I didn’t mean to kill him, just to stun him long enough to get away. But when that wood came into my hand, well . . . .I can’t really explain it. It was like I knew exactly how to wield it as a weapon, and did. I can still remember the sound it made when it crashed down on his skull. It makes me physically sick to think of it to this day. He went limp and I pushed him off of me. He was dead before he hit the ground. At least that’s what the coroner said at the trial, and I’ve got no reason to disbelieve him.

To say that I was completely devastated over what happened would be putting it mildly. At the time, though, it all seemed sort of surreal, like a really bad underground film. I had reached another crossroads in my life; a place where the most important decisions I’ve ever been faced with would have to be made. Should I run? We lived in a very bad neighborhood. Chances are, the police might have believed it was a simple burglary gone awry. Or should I stay and face up to the fact that I’d just taken a human life?

Maturity is a funny thing. You never know how it’s going to come into your life. Most people just go along gaining maturity drop by drop as they grow older. They don’t know they’ve fully matured until they find themselves making the same remark to another that their parents made to them. It’s a scary moment. For me, maturity just walked up behind me and tapped me on the shoulder. One moment, I was a sobbing young girl who had just killed her husband in self defense. The next moment, I was a full-blown adult, with a telephone in my hand, ready to take full responsibility for my actions.

Maturity isn’t always everything it’s cracked up to be, however. It doesn’t come with an instruction manual, and believe me, it should. When the police came to my home, I did the worst thing I could ever have done. I confessed.

Now remember, I grew up in a small town where the worst crime we ever heard came from old Mrs. Simpson getting another ticket for driving on the wrong side of the road. I was raised to believe that the policeman was your friend and you should always be honest with him. So, that’s what I went with.

I was handcuffed and in the back of a squad car before the idiocy of my actions bloomed fully in my brain.

Still, I hung onto that naïve optimism for which I’m well known, even here, in a place as near to Hell as I ever hope to get. I mean, the evidence was clear, at least from my viewpoint. My clothes were ripped to shreds and I had bruises, old and new, littering my body bearing what I thought to be mute testimony to Peter’s drunken actions.

I couldn’t afford a lawyer, and was too mortified to call my parents, so they assigned me one. He was an older fellow who always sported a heavy growth of beard no matter how early in the day he came to see me. His suits were shiny, his shirts always stained, and he smelled of those red-striped mints people suck on to cover the scent of whiskey and cigarettes. He had a big mole on his right earlobe and whenever he would listen to me talk, he would rub at it constantly, as if trying, by sheer friction, to wear it away.

But still, I had faith in him and his big shiny briefcase and told him everything I could about the living Hell my life had become in the last six months. He always appeared distracted, as if listening to a sound that only he could hear. As I talked, he would scribble things down on his big yellow legal pad, using a mechanical pencil whose point invariably broke during the most important parts of my recitation. We would then spend the remaining time searching for another one. It got to be so bad that even the guards in the county jail where I was housed pending trial could barely cover their looks of sympathy when they’d bring him yet another pencil.

The days between my arrest and the trial dragged on interminably. Aside from talking to my lawyer, all I could do was sit in my tiny cell on my tiny cot and try to decipher the scribblings of the people who had been housed here before me. Jailhouse writings range from the profound to the sublime and if the day ever comes when I’m able to walk out of here as a free woman, I hope to write a thesis on them.

I won’t go into the details of the trial. Suffice it to say that since I’m writing from within the hallowed halls of the Bog, the verdict didn’t go quite as I’d hoped. My bruised body and torn clothes, which I had assumed would prove my case, were instead shown to be the marks of a valiant man’s struggle against the rage of a jealous and deadly wife. My plea of self defense crumbled before my eyes and before I knew it, I was a felon, convicted of one count of second degree murder.

The part of me that was raised Catholic welcomed the verdict and subsequent sentence, seven years to life, as a justified penance for my sins. The rest of me grew red with rage. And believe me when I tell you, the color of rage is red. All bright and shining, like newly spilled blood, and impossible to think past once it has you trapped within its hungry grasp.

If red is the color of the enraged, the color of the despairing is green. Industrial green, as in the peeling, chipped paint adorning the interior of my newest home, Rainwater Women’s Correctional Facility. It is the color of lost hopes and shattered dreams. It is the flat monochrome hue of the loss of innocence.

In the eight years since I first entered the battered steel doors here, that color has become more of a blessing than a curse, but when I first set eyes upon it, I experienced this strange feeling of a huge ocean wave, green and silty and violent, drawing up and over me and bearing me down with it to rest, broken, at the bottom of its oceanic home. In a weird sort of way, that sensation was almost familiar, as if it had happened to me before in some unknown past life.

Now, normally I’m not the type of person who believes in karma and past lives and astral projection, but if, from somewhere down deep in my subconscious I can dredge up a comfort in drowning, I’m more than happy to go with it. That feeling kept me sane those first few months of my new incarceration.

As I look back on the four pages I’ve managed to write amidst the clanks and yells of a humid jailhouse night, I realize that I’ve gone off on an incredible tangent. This story’s not meant to be about me, not really. But, since I’m a large part of this narrative, being your person in the know, so to speak, I’ll just continue on this way in the hopes that you won’t find it terribly inane and boring in the extreme.

As I said before I drove down this long side road, I’m known here as the person who can get it for you. Now I know that makes me sound like I’m some big woman on campus, and, in point of fact, it does give me some sort of pull with the guards and prisoners alike, but mostly it means that a lot of my fellow inmates, big ones who would otherwise like to see what interesting shapes they could twist my nose into, instead come to me with the tiniest shard of respect shining in their eyes. Now, despite the depravity of my crime, at heart I’m still Ms. Small-Town-America. What this means, in plain English, is that I only get what could be gotten by your average citizen, and that in a totally legal way.

So, if they don’t carry your brand of cigarettes in the commissary, or if you’re wanting to wrangle a conjugal visit with your old man, or any one of a hundred other small things, I’m the person you come to see. Because I don’t really have much need for money in the pen, I only mark the price slightly above cost. A girl’s gotta make a living somehow, and for me, this is as good as any. I’ve been able to develop a good rapport with the guards, and the prisoners who’d normally have fun preying on a woman like me give me a wide berth. So it works out quite well for me, as you can guess.

I suppose, to keep this narrative complete, I should backtrack a little, once again, and tell you a little about the hierarchical structure of this particular state prison. In the eight years I’ve been here, I’ve seen two wardens grace the big office. The first, a woman by the name of Antonia Davis, was every writer’s dream, if he or she were trying to think up a stereotypical warden for a revival of one of those horrid nineteen fifties Women in Prison movies. Her blonde hair was always kept in the most severe of buns and her lips were always heavily glossed with a color red more common to fire engines and ladies of the evening than blushing passion. She wore her uniforms at least two sizes too small, as if to show us by the very size of her ‘assets’ how qualified she was to be the top sow in the pen. She was also known to have a voracious appetite, tending toward nubile young blondes fresh off the streets. As a member of that particular genus, I always found it a bit miraculous that I never came under her scrutiny. In this one thing, I consider myself well blessed, since her conquests never did fare well once she tired of them.

Antonia was the darling of the prison gangs, a subject which I shall delve into with a great deal more detail latter in this missive. She curried their favor with a passion, and they, hers. Suffice it to say, for now, that when Antonia got over her latest convict du jour, she’d toss the leavings to her prison pets. What was left after they were through wasn’t pretty.

The warden’s downfall came when she let her hormones rule her mind and picked the wrong prisoner to love and leave.

You may remember, if you’ve been around town long enough, the story of one Missy Gaelen, a State Senator’s daughter who was caught buying the wrong drug from the wrong dealer in a huge police sting. Not all of the mighty Senator Gaelen’s money or prestige could get his daughter out of the trap of her own making, though he did manage to get her sentence reduced from five to ten down to two with one served. Nothing, however, could prevent her from being incarcerated in the Bog, and therefore coming under the appreciative and predatory stare of one Antonia Davis.

That Missy was a beauty there is no doubt. Tall and thin, she had a shock of white blonde hair tumbling in glorious waves down her back and deep green eyes that seemed to melt you even as they looked into the depths of your soul before finding you wanting and moving on. She was also so hooked on the eight-balls that consumed her existence that her beauty paled in comparison to her ravenous need.

Warden Davis hooked her talons into Missy right quick, discovering the quickest path to the young beauty’s heart and trading drugs for sexual favors. At two months, the liaison lasted longer by far than any of Antonia’s past conquests had, but in the end, she found her concubine wanting and tossed her into the tank with her pet sharks, daring them to do their worst. The repeated beatings and rough sex didn’t do the young woman in. Rather, it was the abrupt loss of her drugs that cost her her life. She had turned up missing from the head count one evening, and by the next morning, was found in the laundry room, cold and stiff as the sheets which she had wrapped around her in an hallucinogenic nightmare of drug deprivation. The cause of death was easily discovered and Warden Antonia Davis, defiler of the innocent and guilty alike, went out in a blaze of glory, found at her desk with her service revolver, something she loved to use in her games of sexual power, gripped in a cold, dead fist.

As payment for not using his considerable influence in closing down the whole she-bang, Senator Gaelen was allowed to choose the next warden. And choose he did, bringing in a man who had as much experience in the administration of a prison system as I do in chicken farming. Which is to say none. What he did have, this man by the name of William Wesley Morrison, was the Pastorship of the largest Pentecostal church in Pittsburgh and its surrounding environs.

William Morrison is a man who wears his religion, like a badge of office, on his sleeve. He is also the man who, through his gifts of oration, was able to get the Senator over that final hump and into the State House with a few votes to spare. Morrison had always expressed a fervent desire to ‘minister’ to a group of ‘godless prisoners’ and so, patronage being what it is in this country, his back was scratched quite nicely by the Senator from Pittsburgh as payment for services rendered.

The new broom swept through the Bog with a passion. Gone were the trappings of individuality so prized by the inmates. Bright orange jumpsuits, designed to stand out from the rest of society like the proverbial ‘Scarlet A’, became the new uniform of the damned. Cells were turned out, personal items removed and replaced with crucifixes and bibles. A framed rendering of the Ten Commandments hung in each and every room in the prison, as if to make sure that we knew exactly which rules we were breaking. Cosmetics, jewelry, radios and televisions were confiscated. Mealtimes were preceded by prayers and on Sundays, chapel worship was mandatory no matter what God you did, or didn’t, believe in.

Lily white he isn’t, despite the most careful of appearances. William Morrison, almost immediately upon being instated in his high office, sunk his fingers into many of the prison pies and has, over the years if the rumors are to be believed, made himself a very rich man. Coveting his neighbor’s goods apparently isn’t a commandment Morrison needs to follow, and if the prison grapevine is any indication, he’ll soon be coming to a rude awakening. This too will be delved into later in this story, and with much satisfaction, I might add.

Beneath the Warden come the guards and unlike other prisons, our group is quite extraordinary. The Head Guard is a woman by the name of Sandra Pierce and to the prisoners, she’s a godsend. Tall and broad of body, with arms a bodybuilder would envy, her physical presence alone is enough to intimidate all but the most depraved inmate. Underneath it all, though, she carries a heart that is compassionate, caring and considerate. Her hazel eyes are always twinkling, as if laughing at a joke whose punch line only she knows. Her fellow guards follow her example well or risk expulsion or worse. But, cutbacks in the prison system being what they are, there simply aren’t enough people who are willing to risk daily danger for the meager pay they’re offered.

And so, when all is said and done, it’s the prisoners who rule the roost.

Prison gangs are a fact of life in most facilities across the world, and the Bog is no exception. The gangs are separated along racial lines, with the African Americans holding the top honors in terms of sheer size, followed closely by the whites, with the much smaller groups of Hispanics and Asians rounding out the top four.

Contrary to popular belief, not all prisoners are gang members. The top third of each gang is filled with predators, sexual and otherwise. Most of the rest are hero-worshippers and hangers on who use the gangs to give them a sort of status that they otherwise would not have. The bottom rung is comprised by ‘prey’. By this, I mean young women who haven’t been able, for whatever reason, to find a niche in prison society and so are preyed upon daily by the other inmates. Many of these women turn to the gang for protection against this systemic abuse and so are swallowed up, never realizing that their protectors often turn out to be worse than their nightmares ever were. These hollow-eyed women, resembling nothing so much as World War Two concentration camp victims, shuffle through prison life, merely existing day to day, subjected to the basest depravities their so called protectors see fit to heap upon them.

Young, innocent, naïve and on the verge of an all out suicidal depression, I was destined to become one of those women. Only a chance encounter with an extraordinary woman saved me from my fate. Though it was five years ago now, I remember the facts as if the scene had only played out earlier this morning.

I was running. Running as if my life depended on it, which in a way, I suppose it did. The remains of my breakfast tray were soggy on my cotton scrubs and my lungs were heaving with the need to draw a full breath. I had always been quick, but the heavy tread of my three pursuers told me I didn’t have long to seek escape.

"We’re gonna get you, bitch!"

"He-ee-ere, fishy, fishy, fishy!"

The taunting shouts echoed down the deserted hallways, making me want to burst my eardrums just to stop the vibrations from pounding in my panicked brain.

My jittering eyes spied a soft spill of light coming from a doorway just up ahead, and I made it my beacon, running toward it for all I was worth. The door was finally in sight and I plunged through it, tripping over a mop handle and skidding across the polished floor on my knees, still gasping for breath. "Please," I sobbed to the gray-haired figure seated behind the desk, "you’ve got to help me. They’re gonna kill me."

The woman looked up from her reading and her face creased into a friendly smile. "What’s wrong, child? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost."

"They’re gonna kill me. Please, you’ve gotta help me. Please, I beg you. I’ll do anything."

The sounds of running footsteps and heaving breaths came closer, then stopped right outside the door of my sanctuary. The largest of my pursuers, a women by the incongruous name of Mouse, stepped through the door, advancing on me with a predatory grin. "Gotcha now, fish."

The gray-haired woman stood up slowly from her desk, all evidence of her smile gone from her rounded cheeks. "Get out of here, Mouse. Your friends too, or you’ll find out just what it’s like to be hunted down."

The grin fell from Mouse’s face. I almost smiled at the sudden look of fear I saw there. Still, she squared her shoulders and thrust her chin out defiantly. "You can’t hurt me, old woman."

"No? Try me."

I could have sworn I saw my rescuer grow fangs. I blinked, then rubbed my eyes, finally dismissing the illusion as a trick of the light.

Mouse’s deep voice showed a sudden hint of petulance. "She was ours first. We saw her. We got dibs."

I felt a thrill of fear work its way through my guts, wondering if I had just jumped from the frying pan and into the fire. I kept my eyes steadily upon the rotund form of the gray-haired woman.

"She’s in my home now, Mouse. You’ll do well to remember which boundaries you can and cannot cross. Now go and take your friends with you."

After a long stare-down, Mouse finally capitulated, but not without a last parting shot at me. "You can’t hide behind her skirts forever, little fish. One day you’re gonna have to come outta hiding. And we’ll be waiting." Flashing me an evil grin, she spun on her heel and collected her cronies with a jerk of her head.

I couldn’t help the gasp of relief that expelled from between my lips and, upon hearing it, the friendly grin once again graced the face of my rescuer. Walking from her place behind her desk, she wrapped her black shawl more tightly about her shoulders, then reached down a soft hand to help pull me to my feet. I accepted the help gratefully. "Thank you," I said with all the heartfelt gratitude I had in me.

"Think nothing of it, child. I’m always happy to chase off those bullies." Adjusting her half glasses, she looked down at my food-spattered top. "What did you do that caused you to be wearing breakfast so early in the morning?"

I knew my cheeks flushed, I could feel the heat all the way down to my toes. "I . . .um . . .I guess I picked the wrong table to sit at this morning."

I had only been in the Bog for two weeks, and just four days out of the segregation unit that all new inmates are placed in upon first entering the prison. Since I had no friends to tell me the rules, I went down to breakfast with the rest and, after filling my tray with tasteless food, found an empty table tucked into a shadowed corner, figuring to both eat and observe quietly. Mouse and her friends had quickly changed my notion that anything in the Bog could ever be that easy.

My protector looked down at me with a knowing grin. "Happened to me a time or two. This place should come with an instruction manual." Her grin widened. "Maybe I’ll write one. Sure to make me the darling of the new ones." Reaching out, she again took my hand in a gentle, warm clasp and led me over to a long, battle-scarred table, pulling out a wobbly seat and gently pushing me down into it. "Sit here and I’ll get us some tea. Then we can talk like civilized adults. And believe you me, young one, that’ll be a pleasant change."

As the older woman left, walking to a well hidden and highly illegal hot-plate, I took my first look around the room that was my haven. For the first time, I realized that I had somehow stumbled into the prison library. Three of the four walls in the small room were covered with floor to ceiling book cases, which were crammed with all manner of reading material, most of which were dog-eared and tattered, with broken spines and missing covers. Taking in a deep breath, I let the comforting scent of printer’s ink and musty paper enter my lungs, calming my racing heart. I’d always loved the library, even as a small girl. I used to spend most of my free time there when I was younger, caught up in fantasies no self respecting small town girl would dare to have.

Returning to the table, her hands clasping steaming mugs of fragrant tea, the old woman set down the mugs, pulled out her own chair, and settled her corpulent frame down next to me. "What’s your name, child?"

When I told her, a twinkle came into her dark eyes. "Here for killing your husband with a baseball bat, right?"

My eyes must have widened to the size of saucers. "Yes. How did you know?"

"Nothing’s kept a secret for long in here, child. You’ll learn soon enough that the prison grapevine is one of the most accurate sources of information in the Bog. Much better than the paper." She smiled again, placing a hand on top of my own. "We’re kindred spirits then. I buried four of my own husbands and was working on a fifth before they caught me."

I let out a gasp, beyond horrified that five men would take to abusing such a sweet old lady. She looked to me like someone who should be sitting in a rocking chair in a big old home with a litter of happy grandchildren begging her for just one more story, their faces and hands smeared with homemade cookie crumbs. My second lesson came quickly that day. Looks can be deceiving.

The woman’s smile turned hard. "I’m afraid I wasn’t quite as bold about it as you were. Arsenic was my weapon of choice. Not quite so quick, but satisfyingly effective nevertheless."

The look of horror must have shown on my face, because the woman lost her smile. Her eyes took on a calculating look. "Don’t get any notions in your head that you’re better than me, child. I’ve heard the stories that you didn’t mean to kill your beau. Just because I did doesn’t make you any better than me. We’re both stuck here for the duration, isn’t that so?"

In a weird sort of way, the woman’s words made sense and, after a moment, I let my revulsion drain from me, turning a weak smile to my benefactor before lifting my mug to sip my tea. Halfway to my lips, my hand paused, trembling.

The woman threw back her head and laughed, long and loud. "Don’t worry, love. I’m not out to add you to my tally." Reaching up, she used a corner of her woolen shawl to dab at her tearing eyes. "Besides, you’re much easier on the eyes than any of my husbands ever were."

And that’s how I met the infamous Corinne Weaver, known as the Black Widow; a woman who married for money and killed for fun.

In her mid-sixties, Corinne had been behind bars for more than thirty years when we first met, making her both the oldest and longest incarcerated inmate in the Bog. She also had the distinction of being the first prisoner transferred after the prison was changed to female from male back in the late forties. Corrine was a cool and calculating woman who never expressed regret or remorse for her crimes. Indeed, she was known to say, and that often, that if she had the chance, she’d do it all over again. She enjoyed killing and the money it earned her.

But she could also be gentle, considerate, kind and extremely loyal. Though she would cheerfully admit that reformation was a lost cause on one such as her, she was a zealot when it came to the reforming of others. Most of the inmates in the Bog weren’t murderers. Rather they were young women who had made stupid mistakes with their lives. Their short sentences would either reform them or make them worse than they ever were. That was the inmate’s choice. And Corrine made it her sacred duty to set out and find as many as she could, to make sure they made the right choice.

Every day, the library would see at least two or three young women studying for their GED amidst the musty papers and the yelling inmates. There were even a few, like myself, who studied for college courses. Yes, as of this writing, yours truly is the proud owner of a Bachelor of Arts in American Literature and is only six credits shy of obtaining her MBA. Now, before you ask what possible use a killer like myself would have for an MBA, let me remind you of what I’ve said earlier. I’m an optimist. And one day, I’m going to get out of this place. Now, given that I’ve already lived off of the generosity of your tax dollars for five long years now, which would you rather have? Me, an able bodied, intelligent young female spending the rest of her life on state aid, or me, an able bodied, intelligent young female contributing to your local economy? Thought as much.

Corinne was a favorite of the guards, always able to lend a willing ear when troubles with husbands, lovers, children or finances abounded. Though she had killed her own husbands, she was a firm believer in the power of love and was known to give sage advice where matters of the heart were concerned. Her advice actually saved a number of marriages. She was also a financial wizard, somehow managing to retain the fortune obtained with the murder of her husbands. That fortune grew from behind bars, making her one of the richest women in Pittsburgh, a thought that brought her wild glee over the years. To Corinne, it didn’t matter that she couldn’t spend her money. All that mattered was that she was playing the system, and coming out ahead.

Though growing ever older and tending toward frailty, despite her rather rotund stature, Corinne was considered an untouchable inmate. Her library was inviolate and all within were under her protection for as long as they stayed within the safety of those four walls. Aside from earning the respect of most of the prisoners and all of the guards, it was also said (and I have since, to my joy, confirmed this to be truth) that she had the full protection of a prison legend who, though she wasn’t in the prison at the time, had her finger firmly on the pulse of inmate life. To touch Corinne was to die slowly and no one wanted to risk that.

Though I was somewhat under her own protection, that blanket didn’t extend far enough to cover me completely. What I’m absolutely sure of is that I got nowhere near the amount of abuse I was destined for, but even ‘light’ pummeling is no picnic, as I’m sure you’ve guessed.

It was the day after I had first met Corinne, and I was making my way back from a day spent in her pleasant company. I had even taken my lunch within the warm confines of the library. The tuna sandwich and tea she offered was the best meal I’d eaten in months and I licked every crumb and drank every drop offered, much to my new friend’s amusement.

I had spent a long winter’s day wrapped up in the wonderful world of Wuthering Heights, a book I’d never gotten to read in High School, and was thinking about what I’d read. That meant that I was missing what was going on around me and thus breaking another sacred prison rule: "Always be aware."

I made it back to my cell, oblivious of the knowing, sneering looks being cast my way by my fellow inmates. To my great surprise, the cell was empty. My cellmate, a young woman who had earned five years tax free housing for using an iron bar to beat up a fellow street walker who had invaded her ‘corner’, was usually camped out on her bunk, her nose glued to the television we used to be able to keep. In the past four days, I’d been told far more about the plots of various soap operas than I had ever wanted to learn. Checking the ever ticking clock above the head of my bunk, I noted that it was time for her favorite show, and spared a brief moment to wonder where she’d gotten off to. Not wanting to leave the fantasy world I’d created for myself in the library, I simply shrugged the mystery off and prepared to get into my bunk and take a brief nap before the trial of dinner.

A squeak of rubber on tile caused me to whirl around and my heart rose up into my throat as I saw Mouse and her two cronies standing just outside my cell, evil leers on their faces. Mouse and one of the women stepped inside, leaving the third to stand outside my cell and guard the hall.

I looked them both over carefully, slightly relieved to see their hands empty. My eyes darted around my cell in search for a weapon, but, of course, there was none to be found. Squaring my shoulders as best I could, I took in a deep breath and faced them, locking gazes with Mouse.

"Told ya we would getcha, fishie. Your little . . .friend . . .Corinne doesn’t come out of that cave of hers, ya know. That’s why we call her the Bat." Mouse cocked her head, her grin widening. "Maybe that’s what we should call you, huh? You know a lot about bats, doncha."

"What do you want."

Mouse’s eyes widened in mock surprise. "Want? What do I want?" Turning, she poked her partner in the ribs. "Hey, Shorty, she wants to know what we want."

Shorty, who fit her name perfectly, simply laughed, displaying a mouth missing a few teeth.

Mouse took a threatening step toward me, her large hands fisted and held at waist level. "Well, blondie, I guess what I want is my pound of flesh. Ya see, you broke the rules the other morning. And when you break the rules, ya gotta pay the price." Shaking her broad shoulders, Mouse tried to look sorrowful, but failed miserably, the evil glint in her green eyes giving her away. "Wish it could be different, what with you being such a cute little fish and all, but . . . ."

Before I even had the chance to steel myself, Mouse launched a hard fist into my gut, forcing the breath from my lungs in a horrible wheeze. The tuna fish sandwich and tea threatened to make a less than graceful return to the outside world and I swallowed hard against the bile rising in my throat as my eyes quickly blinked back tears of pain.

As I doubled over, my arms crossed over my belly, another fist blasted into my nose, causing me to see stars. Blood flew as my head snapped back, the pain agonizing in my head. My knees rebelled the abuse, turning to water on me, but my fall to the ground was halted by Shorty, who caught me under the armpits while kneeing me in the kidney.

I must have screamed, though I don’t really remember. All I can clearly recall is being pushed forward into yet another rock hard fist which glanced off my right cheekbone.

This time, I was allowed to fall, and fall I did, in an ungainly heap on the ground, using my arms to protect my head as best I could. The two fell into me with kicks and punches, none of which I really remember.

The next sound I can clearly remember is another fist on flesh, but this time, the flesh wasn’t mine. Next came the noise of a softly cleared throat and with that, my captors backed off, straightening and breathing heavily from their depraved exercises.

My eyes were swollen almost shut and my vision trebled with tears, but I managed to pry them open enough to see a shortish woman wish long dark hair and a very muscular build. She had a grin on her face and her massive forearm was clamped hard over the throat of the third member of my beating party. "Hello, Mouse. How’s tricks?"

Mouse rubbed the back of her hand against her nose. It came away bloody, but it was my blood that marred her freckled skin. "This ain’t none of your business," she said, but her voice sounded scared.

"Course it is," the dark woman remarked in a conversational tone. "You were beating up on a friend of Corinne’s, and you know that’s against the rules, Mouse."

"Fuck the rules! We seen her first! That makes this fish ours!"

The woman nodded, easing up some on the third woman’s throat when gasping was heard. "She would have been yours, Mouse, if you’d have been just a little faster. Fact is, though, she found the library, and that makes her safe from you and your gang." Releasing her grip on the third woman’s throat, she twisted the woman’s arm around her back and pulled, forcing her up onto her toes. "Tell ya what, Mousie. I’ll give this to you as a freebie. You got your pound of flesh, we’ll call it even, ok? I won’t even break your friend’s arm here, alright?"

The third woman gasped again against the increased pressure on her arm. "C’mon, Mouse. Let’s just call it quits, ok? Please?"

After a long moment, Mouse nodded, wiping her nose again and stepping out of my cell, giving the dark woman a wide berth. "Fine. But you ain’t heard the last of us for this." Mouse turned to me, her eyes hard and glittering. "You either, fish. You won’t know how, or when, but we’ll be back." Grabbing her two compatriots, Mouse ran off.

Grinning darkly and wiping her hands off on the fabric of her scrubs, the woman walked into the cell, helping me to stand back up on my feet. Trying hard not to sob, I doubled over again, clutching my belly as spasms of pain shot through me. My nose was laying a bloody trail on the tiled floor and my head and kidneys were aching like rotted teeth.

My rescuer pulled the cover off my bunk and tore a strip from the threadbare sheet beneath. Dousing it in cold water from the sink, she tilted my head back and pressed the cool cloth against my nose. Then she grabbed my hand and put it over the cloth. "Keep your head back and the pressure on. The bleeding should stop in a few minutes."

"Sounds like you’ve been through this before," I groaned.

"A few times, yeah." She gave my battered body a cursory once over before placing a gentle hand on my shoulder. "Listen, I don’t think you’re busted up too bad. Much as I’d like to stick around and make sure, I just can’t. It wouldn’t do you any good. You need to build up your own rep in this place and that means that you have to take your licks like the rest of us. My friends and I will try to make sure things don’t go too badly for you, but you need to learn to stand up for yourself, alright?" Her tone was gentle, her eyes kind. "We can’t do that for you, and until you do, things like this will be an everyday occurrence."

Her words made perfect sense and I nodded, wincing in pain.

The woman smiled. "Great. I knew you were a scrapper. Listen, as soon as you get that bleeding stopped, come down to dinner, alright? I know you can’t be too hungry, but it’ll do Mouse and her groupies a lot of good to see you’re not so easily scared off. I’ll be down there and I’ll point out a safe table for you to sit at, ok?"

I nodded again. "Thank you for helping me."

Smiling rakishly, the dark woman sketched a bow. "My pleasure."

As she turned to leave, I called out. "Wait! Please! What’s your name?"

The rakish grin came again. "They call me Pony."

Though I didn’t know it then, I had just met my first Amazon.

In the months and years to come, I would learn a great deal about this mythical gang. It was something of a secret society, comprised of the best of the best and carrying out the sacred duty of inmate protection. The Amazons were around to make sure the other gangs didn’t get too much control over the prison population, endangering both inmates and guards. If a certain gang leader needed to be knocked down a few pegs without an all out riot starting, the Amazons took the job. If a new fish like myself happened to luck into befriending a friend of the Amazons, we were protected, to some extent.

What made the Amazons so respected, and feared, is that they didn’t try to control the other gangs or inmates. But they made sure everyone followed the rules. Much like my new friend Corinne, they were dangerous and ruthless, but they could also be kind and considerate, lending help to those in need. One thing was known about them as sure as the sun rises in the east. You didn’t cross the Amazons.

Anyway, the next morning, I came into the library sporting two impressive shiners and a new attitude about my incarceration in the Bog. Corinne looked at me with a knowing grin and sent me, post haste, outside to begin my lessons in self defense.

The exercise yard is a study in segregation. It is bordered on all four sides by a fourteen foot high fence topped off by razor wire which loops in great silver-spiked coils along the boundaries. Guard towers, their mirrored windows reflecting the activity in the yard with benign introspection, stand sentinel over each of the four corners.

Within the fence lay the outdoor facilities for the inmate population. A softball diamond with a weedy outfield takes up almost half of the grounds. Closer to the main building, a basketball court, complete with cracked concrete and high backboards sporting rusting hoops without nets, comes next. Hard by the prison proper lies the large cement square which comprises the free weight area. Weight benches, their vinyl padding cracked and stained by the elements, sit, rarely empty of human companionship. Huge stacks of iron weights, collars, plates and bars, their shining finish long since flaked away, lay waiting for an eager hand to lift, push or press. A large, cinder-filled heavy bag hangs down on a thick chain from an overhang on the main building, its off white canvas long stained by hundreds of angry fists.

The whites usually hold court in the softball field, while the blacks use the basketball court as their gathering arena. The Hispanics and Asians grab up what little room is left over for their own devices. The free weight area is the one place in all the prison, inside and out, where all the groups come together, if not in peace, then at least with a sense of mutual understanding. It’s considered a serious breech of prison etiquette to show aggression in an area where weapons are free for the taking and displayed so prominently. And, of course, the Amazons hold dominion over the area, making sure the tenuous peace is held and doling out punishments to those stupid enough to break the rules.

During the weekdays, each cell block is let out into the yard for one hour to exercise, talk, make deals or do whatever else women kept together by forced circumstances are wont to do. My cell block is designated with the letter "E" and so, for the past five years, the time between eleven and noon has always been associated with the outdoors.

I can still remember the first time I went outside, the smell of snow in the winter air, the dull pain in my belly and back from the beating I’d taken the night before, and the insistent throbbing of my nose to the beat of my heart with every step I took.

It seemed as if everyone in the entire yard, prisoner and guard alike, was staring at me and laughing. In truth, probably no one paid me that much attention, but as I stood, frozen like a deer in a hunter’s sight, the relative safety of the warm brick of the main prison at my back, it seemed as if the whole world was having fun at my expense.

I could hear the sound of rubber meeting concrete as it mixed with the sounds of yelling coming from the basketball court. The solid ‘crack’ of a well hit ball filtered through my senses and I looked up, my eyes following the graceful arc of a softball, jealous of its freedom to soar while I stood, hurting, land-bound, and locked up. The closer sounds of grunting came to me as sweat stained women pitted their strength against unyielding metal, and the noises of steel on steel added to the cacophony of sounds flitting through my throbbing head.

Taking several deep breaths and trying to shore up the tattered remains of my spirit, I finally pushed myself away from the safety of the building behind me, walking with no clear destination in mind. My feet unconsciously led me toward the center of the free weight area and when I looked up, I spied, with a profound sense of relief, my rescuer of the evening before. She stood behind a low, horizontal bench, laughing and shouting encouragement as her friend strained and struggled to press what looked to me to be an impossible amount of weight over her chest. A taller woman, thin and sporting a mass of golden curls falling in ringlets around her head, got an evil glint in her eye and reached down to tickle the exposed, muscular belly of the reclining woman. With a shout, the weight lifter pressed the bar the remaining distance, set it on the hooks above her head, and shot to her feet, grabbing the blonde in a headlock. Grinning wildly, Pony separated the two laughing combatants, earning play slaps to her own muscled body.

My feet stopped of their own volition and as I stared at the scene before me, one of joyful camaraderie, it hit me, for the first time, exactly where I was and what I had given up. Tears of self pity blurred my vision as I stared at the three laughing friends, my soul jealous for the friendly touch of another human being or even a smile free of cool appraisal or cold calculation.

Before my ill-fated marriage, I’d never been without friends. Outgoing and gregarious, there wasn’t a person I met who I couldn’t come to enjoy as, at the very least, an acquaintance. I had always surrounded myself with people and, to be honest about it, enjoyed being the center of attention.

Now I was a bit of plankton floating around in a vast ocean and surrounded by ravenous sharks. It probably showed in my rainbow hued face because Pony chose that moment to look up from her tussle, pinning me with a glance, then smiling slightly and beckoning me over. It’s hard to describe the feeling of utter relief that coursed through me at that simple gesture, but my feet resumed their pace with a step much less plodding than earlier and I even managed a return smile of my own.

"Hey, kid," Pony grunted when I came closer. "Wow. Nice face."

"Yeah. The freshly pummeled look is all the rage these days."

Poor though it was, it was the first joke I’d managed to crack in months, and I felt much better for it. The others laughed at my attempt, then grew serious as I turned back to Pony. "I . . .um . . . want to thank you . . .again . . .for your help yesterday." I could feel a blush rising as I studied the ground at my feet, feeling awkwardly adolescent for some reason. Taking another deep breath, I forced my eyes back upward to take in the faintly amused, but caring, gaze of my benefactor. "And I . . .um . . .remember what you said to me last night. I want to learn how to protect myself."

A friendly grin split Pony’s face. "Yeah? That’s great! Though now probably isn’t the best time to learn."

"But why not?"

Pony gestured toward my aching body. "Gotta wait till you heal up a little first."

"What if I can’t afford to wait? What if they’re just waiting around to finish the job?" That thought caused last night to be a sleepless one.

"Don’t worry about that. They’ll stay away. For a little while at least."

"How can you be so sure?"

Pony’s smile turned smug. "I have my ways."

I gulped. "Yeah," I returned weakly, "I guess you do."

"Anyway, let me introduce you to my friends. This," she said, motioning toward the dark haired weight-lifter, "is Sonny. And the blonde here is Critter."

I nodded solemnly at them both, trying hard not to laugh at the name the blonde woman had been given. She must have noticed the look in my eye, because her friendly smile turned to a scowl and she gave a mock punch to my shoulder. Playful or not, that hurt and I rubbed yet another sore place on my body, resolving to watch even my thoughts from now on. "Man," I mumbled half under my breath, "critters are tough."

"You got that right, kiddo." The sting of the words was softened by the reemergence of Critter’s smile which turned her face from somber to beautiful. I was drawn to it, as I was to the feeling of vague familiarity that came over me suddenly, seeing that smile.

I was just about to ask if we had met before when I noticed that the area around me had gone completely silent. Even the late autumn birds had stopped their chatter from the trees on the other side of the fence. My three new friends suddenly turned away from me, their bodies stiffening in an attitude of respect.

From between their closely pressed bodies, I could see a woman striding, almost regally, toward us. She appeared to be only slightly taller than myself (and I should tell you, if I haven’t already, that I’m a bit vertically-challenged), with long hair so dark it was almost black and dark, intense eyes. Her beautiful face was almost expressionless, yet she seemed to exude power and confidence in equal measures. I found myself actively trying not to bow as she stopped before my little group, her effect on me was that strong.

As if reading my thoughts, Critter did bow, sort of, inclining her head in a show of respect. "Good afternoon, Montana."

"Good afternoon, Critter. Ladies." Looking past them, the woman set her eyes on me. I could almost feel her gaze crawling busily inside my skull, rooting out all my secrets and cataloguing them for future use. "And you are?"

She must have taken my voice with her, because, for the life of me, I couldn’t answer, so trapped was I in the dark of her eyes.

Seeing my predicament, Pony once again came to my rescue, introducing me to the imposing woman. Montana smiled and nodded, finally releasing me from her stare. "You’re the one Pony rescued from the Mousketeers then?"

Swallowing frantically and clearing my throat, I finally managed to find my voice. "Yes, Ma’am. That’d be me."

Montana smiled at me then, though it was no more than the slight uplifting of one corner of her full lips, accompanied by a raised eyebrow. "Much as I’d love to hear more of the story behind that, I’m afraid I need these three for something. If you’ll excuse us?"

Normally, I would have felt a sting at being dismissed so easily, but something in the woman’s eyes made the request almost an honor to receive, and so I nodded and turned from the group. My retreat was halted by a gentle hand on my arm and when I looked back up, Pony was smiling down at me. "Give your body a couple of days to rest up. You should be good to go by this weekend. Meet us down here on Saturday around noon and we’ll start on your training, alright?"

I could feel my smile threatening to engulf my whole face. "I’ll be there! Thank you!"

That rakish grin popped back out on Pony’s handsome face. "Not a problem. See you around, kid."

"Bye, Pony."

My walk back into the stale confines of my prison home felt as if I were striding on air.

The next six months of my incarceration managed to pass more smoothly than I ever could have hoped. Between the friendship of Corinne and the long range protection and training from the Amazons (though it would be a few more months before I knew that this gang actually existed. Yes, I told you I was naïve.) I felt, if not happy, at least the beginnings of an acceptance for my particular lot in life.

Knowing of my interest in books of all kinds, Corinne immediately put me to work cataloguing her vast assortment of reading materials into some kind of coherent system. I was also appointed her chief scribe and soon developed blisters on my fingers from pounding out notes begging various governmental and non-profit agencies for books or the funds to procure more. More often than not, rejection notices filled our mail slot, but there were times of happy surprise, like when the ACLU donated seven cartons of used and new books as well as a five hundred dollar check to purchase more.

In addition to my own college studies, which Corinne insisted I pursue, I was also pressed into service as a teacher-at-large, doing my best to help several young women in their quest for educational advancement. Most of the women who came to see me weren’t hardened criminals by any stretch of the imagination. Prison life scared many of these women straight, and they begged me to help them do whatever it took to be able to get a better life once outside these cold walls.

I must admit that it gave me a great deal of satisfaction to be able to help these women make something better of their lives.

It was during this heady time that I ‘earned’ the name Angel as well as the reputation as the woman who could get it for you. The Amazons had taken to giving me small jobs to do which usually involved asking the guards for some inmate favor or other. Because I was young, innocent-looking and unfailingly polite, my requests were granted more often than they were refused. I was soon able to set up my own contacts, both inside and outside the prison walls and before I knew it, other prisoners were coming to me asking for favors. By dealing with everyone fairly and granting as many requests as I could, my reputation grew and my status within the prison rose.

They say that pride goeth before a fall, and that was certainly true in my case.

Breathing a huge and heartfelt sigh of relief, I snapped off the final light, allowing the library to go dark and silent around me. I soaked in the feeling of peace with a hungry soul, taking in the comforting smell of printer’s ink and binder’s glue with a sense of satisfaction over another day ended without bruises or bloodshed.

The day had been a particularly trying one. I had offered to teach English as a Second Language to three young Mexican women whose knowledge of our language was sparse, to say the least. Because my knowledge of Spanish wasn’t much better, our time together started off bad and only got worse as the day turned to night.

To say I wasn’t looking forward to the next day’s class would be putting it mildly and so I left the library, my head already filled with dread over another twelve hours of fruitless work. Arriving back at my cell, I decided to take a shower, figuring that perhaps the shock of cold, stinging water might force a plan into my head. In so doing, I managed to break yet another unwritten prison rule. Never shower alone.

To be perfectly honest, that thought did cross my mind, but to my shame, I dismissed it with a shrug and light laugh. My workouts with the Amazons had been inspiring and I’d taken to them like a fish to water after an initial brief bout of awkwardness. My body, after an hour a day and three on weekends for the past six months, was lean and tight with hard muscles beginning to emerge from the softness of my skin. I was quite proud of the work I’d done on it and felt much more capable of defending myself against all comers.

As I’ve already said, pride is a spiteful master. Just when you think you have a handle on it, it turns around and bites you on the ass.

If you’ve ever watched a prison movie, you probably already know what the inside of a prison shower looks like, that being the site of so much action it seems, but in case you need to be reminded, I’ll tell you.

The shower room in the Rainwater Women’s Correctional Facility is a green tiled number that smells of mildew and sharply scented disinfectant. It’s one large square without dividers or privacy of any type. Twenty showerheads, ten to each side, jut out nakedly from the wall. The knob beneath each head dispenses just two temperatures. Cold and colder. The water pressure is sometimes set to ‘sandblasting’ and sometimes, ‘gentle rain’. It’s always a bit of a gamble as to which you’ll be blessed with. The floor is solid cement with a large drain in the middle and is always slimy. Shower shoes are always recommended attire.

Anyway, back to my story.

Shower time was usually closely regulated, but I’d managed to get on the good side of the guards and could pretty much shower whenever I pleased. This was the first time I went so close to ‘lights out’, but I figured myself safe enough, since most of the others would be busy wrapping up their business before turning in for the night.

With a nod to one of the guards who sat behind thick plexi-glass in the observation station, I took the short hallway and followed my nose to the shower room. By this time, our uniforms had been switched to those atrocious bright orange jumpsuits and I had a fresh one under my arm, with my shower shoes in my other hand.

Snapping the naked flourescents on, I listened to the steady drip drip of the faucets while I disrobed, tossing my dirty uniform into the laundry chute and grabbing a stiff and scratchy towel from the pile outside the showers. Slipping into my shoes, I walked into the shower proper, selecting the third nozzle from the end and, taking a deep breath, hit the button.

Icy cold water shot out full blast, drenching me in seconds and sending a spray of fine, stinging needles to pierce the closed pores of my skin. We weren’t allowed shampoo or conditioner, so the slimy bar of off white soap would have to do. Humming softly to myself, and let me warn you right now that I am not a singer, I proceeded to lather up as best I could, musing idly that my nipples were so hard, I could probably etch my name into the ceramic tiles with them and smirking at the thought.

So wrapped up in idle thoughts and off key singing was I that I never heard the snickering coming from behind and to the left of me. I lathered up my hands and proceeded to start on my hair, at that time still long and thick, when soap made its stinging way into my eyes, causing me to drop the soap and reach blindly for the towel I’d dropped beside me.

My motion was arrested by the feel of thick hands on my hips and a pair of muscled thighs pressed tight to my bare ass, grinding into me wantonly. I tried to straighten up, but another pair of legs trapped my head between them, forcing my body to bow tautly.

The water shut off abruptly and evil laughter came to ears which were muffled by wet cloth.

"Hello again, little fish. Tell me, do your little buddies get to play with you like this? You like em ta give it to ya up the ass, do ya?"

I tried to struggle, only to have the legs around my head clench tighter, crushing against my skull.

"Yeah, I thought so. Those freaks probably like it when you struggle." The body moved away from me slightly, though the hands remained tight on my hips. "Let her up, Shorty."

The pressure on my skull loosened and I shot up quickly, rubbing at my stinging eyes and whirling on my tormentor.

Mouse took a short step back and laughed. "Well, well, well. The little Angel has horns, huh? That’ll just make this more fun."

"What do you want from me?"

"Same thing I’ve always wanted, fish. You. You’re getting too big for your britches and ya need someone ta knock you down a few pegs. Your friends are always around to protect you." Mouse took an exaggerated look around the room. "Don’t see em anywhere now, though." Her grin turned into a leer. Thrusting out a hand behind her, the woman grunted as a long length of wood, a mop handle by the look of it, was slapped solidly in her palm. "Let’s see how pretty you can scream for Mouse, ok?" Looking past me, she set eyes on the woman still standing behind me. "Hold her steady, Shorty."

Hard hands clamped down on my shoulders, freezing me to the spot as I blinked my stinging eyes, trying to clear my vision enough to watch as Mouse took a few practice swings with her stick. "Here it comes, little fishie."

From the corner of my eye, I saw the tip of the stick start toward me as Mouse planted her feet on the wet concrete and swung. I tried to dodge out of the way, but Shorty held me fast and the wood cracked against my unprotected side, grazing my hip bone.

Clenching my teeth against a scream, I felt my knees buckle as my right leg went numb. Shorty held me up, tight against her body, and laughed as Mouse drew back for another swing. The stick went low, cracking solidly against the outside of my right knee, welting the skin and totally numbing my leg. I listed drunkenly, almost managing to get away from Shorty’s slippery hold before she clamped down hard on me once again.

The room echoed with their laughter and my heavy breathing and something in me snapped. It was like that night in my apartment all over again, and the redness of rage washed over my vision once again. The mop handle came at me again, but this time I was ready. I caught it in my right hand and pulled hard, managing to grab it away from Mouse.

Like the bat before it, the weapon felt perfect in my hands. I found myself twirling it experimentally, getting the heft of the handle even as my body jerked away from Shorty’s grasp. My leg threatened to give out, but I willed myself to stand straight and steady, narrowing my eyes to mere slits as I stared down my tormentors.

"Think it’s fun beating up on defenseless women, do ya?" I taunted, twirling my weapon again and enjoying the looks of uncertainty that were crossing the women’s faces. "Well, this time, you miserable sack of shit, you picked the wrong girl!" Grabbing the handle firmly in my hands, I swung for all I was worth, listening to the satisfying crack as it landed hard against Mouse’s arm, right above the elbow. Drawing back, I pivoted and swung again, catching Shorty behind the legs and neatly sweeping her off her feet. She landed with a splat onto the puddle filled floor and rolled away quickly, her eyes wide and rolling.

I had no idea how I knew these moves, but I went with the feeling, enjoying my body’s reactions and the adrenaline surge that accompanied them. Mouse was howling in pain, cradling her arm and screaming incoherently at me. I stood patiently, working some feeling back into my leg as I did so, and waiting to see what would happen next.

The third woman took advantage of my stillness to rush into the fray. I walloped her in the abdomen as she came at me, and when she doubled over, I finished her off with an upswing to the face, watching as teeth and blood fell from her face in a ghastly torrent.

With a bellow of rage, Mouse came at me again. I drove her back with a hit directly on her injured arm, but she continued to come at me, her eyes filled with hatred and rage. Raising my staff, I aimed higher, levering a blow at her unprotected skull.

A strong sense of déjà vu flashed though me and, suddenly sickened, I pulled the blow at the last moment, glancing the handle off her meaty shoulder and dropping my weapon in horror.

Still bellowing, she crashed full into me, taking out my already weak leg and bearing me to the floor with her. I immediately curled up into a fetal ball, legs tucked tight to my chest and my arms clamped hard around my head.

Jumping off of me, she grabbed the handle and brought it down on my back time after time after time until all I could feel was the sting and welt of the falling wood as my body rocked to the rhythm of her blows.

How long the beating went on I’ll never know, because my body gave up the fight and I passed out, falling quickly into a place that knew no pain.

To this day, almost five years later, I believe the only thing that saved my life that night was the fact that I’d chosen such a late hour to go into the showers. The lights out head count is taken with the utmost seriousness in the Bog and the warning buzzer must have rung during my beating because when I woke up, I was alone, save for a broken and bloodied mop handle and the third woman’s broken teeth sharing space with me.

When I came to full consciousness, my body was a flaming ball of exquisite agony, pulsing with a life of its own that mirrored the beating of my heart. My back and ass were on fire and I wondered idly if my spine had been damaged. Trying out an experimental move, I screamed out in agony as my muscles sent warning flares up and down my nerve endings. Doubling over, I retched weakly between my splayed arms, screaming as that action further jolted my already overloaded senses. "Oh God," I cried out softly into the emptiness of my seeming tomb. "Please help me. Somebody, please help me."

Only the dripping of the showers answered my plea.

I knew that the only person to get me out of this situation was me. Despite my agony, I shuddered at the thought of being discovered, huddled, bloody and shivering, the next morning. "Ok, Angel. This is your chance to show how tough you are."

I’d always been a big one for mental pep talks, and if there ever was a time one was needed, it was now. Breathing as deeply as I dared, I managed to drag myself up on my hands and knees, swaying violently as spots of pretty colored lights swam in my vision, threatening to engulf me and take me under with them once again. I spared a long moment considering exactly that option, before dismissing it out of hand. "Get a move on, woman. Don’t let them beat you. You can do this. You have to do this, right? Right. So let’s just get up and get moving."

The spirit was more than willing, but the flesh was beyond weak. Getting to my feet was not an option, so I resigned myself to a slow crawl across the slimy shower floor, fighting against the seductive pull of unconsciousness with every inch of progress I managed to make.

After what seemed like an hour, but was in reality no more than five or ten minutes, I managed to make it out of the shower proper and into the changing room. Just as standing was impossible, so too was clothing myself. Shaking my head and telling myself that only the guards would be around to see me in my helpless nakedness, I set off for the hallway using that same slow crawl and willing myself to stay alert and fully conscious.

I made it to the hallway and was slumped down, panting through the pain, when I heard the sound of running feet heading toward the hallway. I knew instinctively what had happened. I’d missed the head count and was being searched for. Luckily, I had spoken briefly to the guard as I went to the showers, and so I slid back against my haunches and waited for them to find me.

The sounds of running footsteps came closer and the light in the hallway dimmed as a large body filled the entrance. "Angel!" a voice cried out, spying my huddled form. The figure broke into a run once again, skidding to a stop bare inches from me. "What happened?!? Who did this to you??" Forcing my eyes open, I craned my stiff neck to look up into the concerned eyes of Sandra Pierce, who was pulling graveyard shift that month.

"Help me," I whispered, biting my cheeks against the sobs that were threatening to overcome my resolve. The relief at having been found left me feeling weak and nauseous, fully conscious of my pain for the first time since just after I’d awakened.

"Who did this to you?" she demanded once again, squatting in front of me and running tender hands down my lacerated and bruised back. She yanked them away quickly when I yelped, her voice sorrowful and tender. "Oh, Angel."

"Please . . . ." was all I could manage to get out. "Please . . . ."

"Simmons!" she shouted over her shoulder. "Get down here with a stretcher and tell Kotter to call the doc!"

Pulling my strength from somewhere, I managed to grab her arm. "No! Please. Just . . .take me to my cell. Please."

"Angel, I can’t! You’re badly hurt. I’m taking you to the infirmary. The doc needs to look you over."

"No! Please!"

"Angel . . . ."

"No. Sandra, please. I can’t let them win. Take me to my cell. Please."

"Angel, you know I can’t do that. You’ve been badly beaten and your back’s a bloody mess. You might have permanent damage. You need to be checked out."

"Here then," I pleaded, fighting the darkness that hovered at the edges of my vision. "Can’t let them win."

"Who did this, Angel? Was it Mouse and her crew? Tell me."

My strength gone, I slumped against her, letting the sobs finally come.

Though to this day I’m not sure how I managed it, I was able to talk Sandra into allowing the doc to examine me in the hallway to the shower room. After determining that no major damage was done, the head guard agreed to take me back to my cell. Though she had to carry me in her arms like a small child, I felt an absurd sense of triumph in the fact that I would spend the night in my own bed, in my own cell. I can remember falling into bed, still sobbing, praying that one day, a way would be found to give my abusers the justice they so richly deserved.

I’ve heard it said that sometimes, when prayers are made with a pure and hurting heart, someone listens and gives an answer. Mine certainly were.

*  *  *

It’s nighttime once again and as the prison settles down for the evening, I look back over these pages I’ve managed to write and can’t help but wonder what you must think of my naivete in the face of so much obvious danger. I’ve also noticed that I’ve managed to, yet again, bring the story back around to me, though it was never my intention to write a tale about myself. However, I’ve also discovered that if the Muse points you in a certain direction, it’s always best to just follow along so your words don’t turn on you and make you fight and scrape for every inch gained.

In the preceding twenty or so pages, I’ve used two different pens to differentiate between things happening now and scenes from my checkered past. Since I’ve grown to absolutely detest this purple pen of mine, I’m going to trust that you have figured out my writing style by now and will be able to tell the difference without it.

*  *  *

The morning after my altercation in the shower, I woke up wishing I hadn’t. There wasn’t a place on me that didn’t throb and my body was doing a very good job convincing me to just throw in the towel and spend the day in bed trying to let the blissful fog of unconsciousness soothe away the pain.

Luckily, my brain had other ideas, most of which involved dragging my ass out of bed and being seen as one who wouldn’t back down from a fight anymore. After a long internal debate, I decided to go with mind over matter and slowly pulled myself, like an arthritic old woman on a rainy winter morning, out of bed and onto my feet. I stood by the side of the bed, panting, swaying and willing down the terrible nausea that had decided to come out to play.

After making sure that I wouldn’t lose consciousness with the least of my actions, I slowly began to prepare myself for the day. The rough cloth of my prison uniform rubbed the raw welts littering my back and I used the pain to steady and center my wavering resolve. Come what may, I knew that the only way I would be able to face myself was to start my day under my own power and wear my injuries as a badge of honor for a battle well fought and hard won.

Deciding to skip a breakfast I would, by all rights, be unable to keep within the confines of my stomach, I headed, at a slow walk, toward my sanctuary, the library. As I walked, I took in the glances tossed my way, some filled with barely veiled sympathy, some with hatred, and some with a new sort of respect. The prison grapevine was apparently in good working order.

There was also a sense of excitement that permeated the prison, as if a very important event were about to happen and everyone but me knew all about it. I couldn’t help but wonder if it had anything to do with me, while at the same time praying fervently that it didn’t.

Corinne met me before I even made it to the library door, catching me under the arm and leading me into the warm room with a hard sheen of respect shining in her eyes. Helping me over to one of the tables, she sat me down in a newly padded chair and bustled over to her hotplate, quickly returning with a mug of fragrant tea.

"Drink this down, Angel. It’s got some stuff in it that’ll help ease your pain."

I took the mug gratefully, bringing it to my lips and inhaling the steam with a sense of pleasure. It smelled of mint and lemon and something almost familiar, though I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. I took a sip, groaning out my gratitude as the mellow taste soothed the rawness of my throat and warmed my insides. My stomach was apparently happy with the gift, for it remained steady and silent. "So, you heard, I guess."

Corinne smiled, her grin almost hard and predatory. "Sure did. Mouse’s arm is in a cast and her little friend won’t be talking clearly for quite awhile."

I winced. "I didn’t mean to hit them that hard."

Reaching out, my friend put a gentle hand beneath my chin, tilting my head up. "Don’t ever be sorry for defending yourself, Angel. They would have killed you last night if they could have. You managed to stop them, and put them out of commission for a long while to boot. Not bad for a night’s work."

I winced again. "I’m not proud of what I did, Corinne."

"You should be."

"Well, I’m not." I ended the conversation by taking another sip from the mug and tilting my head back, my eyes drifting closed. The fact of the matter was that my actions scared me. It’s one thing to know you’re capable of defending yourself. It’s quite another to realize that you have the strength, the skill, and even the will to kill another human being. I’d already done that once. I had no desire to ever do it again.

Corinne sat herself in the chair next to mine, placing a warm hand on my wrist. "I’ll cancel your teaching session for today."

My eyes popped open and I fixed her with a stare. "I’d rather you didn’t. I made a mistake by taking a shower alone. I paid for it. Those women don’t need to suffer for my ignorance."

"They won’t suffer, Angel. It’ll only be for a day or two, until you’re well enough to teach again."

Somehow I managed to straighten myself in my chair, leaning over just slightly to meet Corinne’s concerned gaze with a steady one of my own. "Corinne, please. I need to do this. I appreciate that you care for me, but I don’t want to be coddled, by you or anyone else."

After a long moment, Corinne threw back her head and laughed, her soft round belly jiggling in time to her mirth. "Well, well, well, our little Angel is all grown up."

I looked at her for a long moment, then let out a slow sigh. I even managed to chuckle a little. "Not really. For a minute there, I was worried that I’d offended you."

Corinne laughed again, shaking her head. Then she leaned over and engulfed my upper body in a hug that smelled of cinnamon and warm affection. "Don’t you ever change on us, Angel. You’re perfect, just the way you are."

"Thanks. I think." The words, spoken from the warm heart of a cold killer, warmed me right down to my toes. It was one of those unexplainable paradoxes of prison life, but one I accepted gratefully. Love, after all, is love and you learn to take it where you find it and be grateful for the giving.

Corinne finally released me and sat back in her seat. Looking closely, I could see that same sense of barely repressed excitement hovering around her.

"Corinne, is something going on here that I don’t know about?"

The smile that crossed my friend’s face would have done the Mona Lisa proud. "Could be," she allowed.

"Are you gonna tell me what it is?"

Her grin widened. "Angel, sometimes it’s good to experience certain things by yourself."

Shaking my head, I heaved a sigh of frustration.

"I think you’ll like it. You’ll see."

"Can you at least answer two questions?"

"Try me."

"Ok. Will this thing happen today?"

"If the prison grapevine is correct, yes."

"Alright. Does it have anything to do with me?"

Corinne’s thin brows knit together in thought for a moment. Then her face cleared. "Perhaps not at first, no. But I have a feeling that one day, it will have everything to do with you."

I resisted the temptation to roll my eyes. "So, that’s all you’re gonna tell me, huh?"

My friend smirked. "Yep."

Any retort I could have made was cut off by the entrance of my two students, who walked in giggling and looking at me in a way I’d never seen before. Hero worship.

This time, I did roll my eyes.

Some three hours later, I found myself in a blissfully quiet library, taking a well deserved break. The session had gone only minimally better than the day before and I was beginning to despair over ever getting the basic concepts of English across to my two willing students. Several Spanish to English translation dictionaries hadn’t helped as much as they should have and my mind was too tired to think up something new.

Corinne sat behind her desk, her gray hair sparkling in the round, soft light of her desk lamp. The sound of her ancient fountain pen filled the air with its soothing melody and I allowed my whirling thoughts to calm. The tea had done immeasurable good and, all in all, I was feeling as well as could be expected, given my ordeal.

The comforting sounds of pen to paper combined with the ticking of a clock to put me into a light doze which was more healing than all the sleep I had gotten the night before. A different sound cut through my senses suddenly, causing me to bolt upright in my chair, my body groaning out its protest quite loudly. "What was that?"

Corinne kept silent, smiling that blasted enigmatic smile yet again.

The sound repeated, then became a chant as more voices added their strength to the harsh chorus. Then the noise of metal on metal wove through, keeping time to the voices. My eyes narrowed, trying to make out the words. I stiffened suddenly as I realized that the chant wasn’t a group of words, but rather one word repeated continually.

"Fight! Fight! Fight!"

Turning to Corinne, I struggled to get up out of my chair, thoughts of retribution by proxy tumbling through my scattered thoughts. In my mind’s eye, I could see Pony going up against Mouse and her gang with inmates standing around, cheering their favorites.

As she was often wont to do, Corinne appeared to read my mind and smiled a calming smile. "They’re not fighting. Listen closer."

Try as I might, I could only hear the word "fight" being shouted over and over and over again. I looked back over at my friend. "Is this the surprise you were telling me about?"

"Most likely, yes."

"But it’s not a fight."

"No."

"Then what is it?"

Turning her attention from me and back to her letter, Corinne smirked. "Only one way to find out, Angel."

Still not trusting my friend completely, I nevertheless managed to lever my sore body up and out of my comfortable chair and stand on my own two feet once again. "This better be a damned good surprise," I muttered half under my breath.

"Oh, it will be," Corinne smugly told her paper.

Shooting her a withering glance, I gingerly made my way out of the library.

The shouting and banging became ever louder as I made my way to the prison’s main square. If I haven’t described it before, the Bog is made up of eight levels of cells which run around an open central square. Two sets of winding metal steps, one on either end of the square, wait patiently, their railings rubbed raw of paint from the press of hundreds of hands.

As I made my way down the long hallway that housed the library and stepped out into the square, my vision was filled with hundreds of orange-suited inmates yelling, jumping and chanting in unison, their faces bright with excitement and anticipation. They had split into two huge groups, leaving a narrow alley in the middle, looking much like a gauntlet of old. Even the stairs were crowded with inmates all looking toward the far entrance with expectant expressions.

My lack of height compromised my vision, and by this time, curiosity was killing me. Like the Red, or to be more accurate, Orange Sea, the inmates before me parted to admit a grinning Pony who gently herded me though the crowd and up onto the first riser of steps. Critter and Sonny were also in attendance, and both grinned at me and slapped me on the arms, gently, in congratulations for surviving the beating of the night before. I grinned back happily. "What’s going on?" I shouted above the din.

Critter grinned. "You’ll see!"

Settling back and crossing my arms over my chest, I resolved to wait it out. The sound of the chant finally came together in my ears and I realized that the women weren’t yelling ‘fight’, but ‘ice’. I turned back to Pony, confused. "Ice?"

My friend simply nodded and directed my attention back to the far end of the square and the barred door standing there. My attention managed to wander at the exact second the chanting stopped and the cheers began, swelling in intensity until I was sure my eardrums were going to burst with the force of the noise.

Returning my attention to the waiting door, my eyes caught a flash of bright orange surrounded by the dun brown of guard uniforms. One of the guards stepped forward and grabbed the keys hanging from his belt, using one to unlock the massive door and sliding it open.

An expectant hush settled over the prison as the guard stepped back, hand on the butt of his baton, which was hanging from a loop at his belt. With a nod to his companion, he started forward once again. As they stepped through the door, the prison exploded into a cacophony of sound. Plastering my hands over my ears, I watched the spectacle unfolding before me.

The two guards stepped through with almost military precision, obviously well prepared for trouble. Then, walking a perfect half step behind, arms and legs firmly manacled, came the center of everyone’s attention.

I found myself riveted. The sounds around me seemed to fall away into silence, though my body continued to feel their vibrations. Standing at least half a head taller than the men surrounding her, a vision stepped into the prison proper, moving with a regal grace the likes of which I’d never seen. She seemed to command the room with the strength of her spirit, issuing a compelling summons I found myself unable to turn away from.

Her hair was black and shining, tumbling in violent waves down her back and brushing over shoulders so broad and perfect that they strained the orange jumpsuit that clung to her magnificent form like a lover. In that moment, I would have given anything to be that particular prison uniform.

Her face seemed carved of alabaster, a perfect rendering of some ancient goddess full of fire and fierceness, all slashing cheekbones and full red lips.

But her eyes. If I live to be a hundred, I’ll never be able to describe the beauty of their perfection. Shining fierce and proud, they glowed the deepest blue of the hottest part of a candle’s flame. Or, perhaps, the center of a perfect block of ice.

With that thought, I came to realize the meaning of her prison name, and it fit her like none other has before, or ever will.

Her stare burned hot and cold at the same time, taking in the whole room while dismissing us all.

Closer she came on long, muscled legs that carried her like a predatory beast. Her guards followed like a retinue of fawning advisors, keeping her adoring public at a safe distance, lest she lash out, chained limbs and all, killing with just a thought.

Her gaze was straight ahead until she mounted the first step. Then, ever so slowly, her head turned and I felt the heat of those cold eyes as they engulfed me, drowning me in a pool so deep and so pure that I couldn’t help but go willingly to my death. Our gazes locked and I’m sure my face went white. An eternity passed in that brief second. Her soul called out and mine answered as visions spun out between us of past lives led and sacrifices made. All in the name of a perfect love that was never born and would never die.

The attention of the entire prison was upon us, but I had eyes only for her. She represented freedom in a way that even life outside the confines of this prison never could. I saw the blue of a perfect summer’s day in her glance and the promise of safety, and a tattered soul, and a love so deep, offered up in one brief look, if only I could gather the courage to reach out and take it.

My body followed where my mind had already lead and, quite beyond my conscious will, my arm lifted, reaching out to confirm with solid, human contact that this was no mere dream but a living, breathing reality that stood before me.

A flash of brown entered the periphery of my vision and I felt my arm being gently shunted aside as a guard stepped back, shattering the moment. A smirk curved the soft, full lips of my enchantress. With the raise of an eyebrow and the barest ghost of a wink, she turned her attention from me and headed up the stairs to the segregation unit, leaving me more bereft than I can ever remember being.

The sound rushed back, as if from a vacuum, and my head spun from the intensity of the moment. Pony caught me as I sagged back against the railing, the strength suddenly gone from my legs. As the prisoner was led into her new cell, the crowd started to break up and Pony and Critter each took one of my arms, leading me back down the stairs and toward the library, Sonny keeping close behind.

I remember very little about that short trip. The best metaphor I can come up with now is to liken it to the touching of an electrified fence unawares, being galvanized by the current, and, if lucky, living to feel the after-images as they tingle through your seared nerve endings.

So wrapped up in these strange new feelings was I that I didn’t even notice when we finally entered the warm dimness of the library. My new friends escorted me to my chair and parked me there, then grinned down at my dazed expression before talking quietly with Corinne and leaving me to my thoughts once again.

The next thing I can truly remember is Corinne approaching me with a mug of her famous tea. She handed it to me and I gulped almost the entire thing down, unmindful of the intense heat burning at my tongue and palate.

The pain hit a split second later, and I slammed the mug down, fanning my face as my eyes watered. My friend had the good grace not to laugh at my foolishness, but I felt like a child nonetheless. I know I blushed from more than the heat of the tea, and the scarred table top suddenly became an interesting work of art, one requiring my full attention and study.

Corinne patiently waited me out and, finally gathering up the tattered remnants of my courage, I chanced to look up, internally wincing against the look of gentle mocking I was sure was in her eyes.

Instead, her gaze was calm and compassionate and I sunk into it with a feeling of relief. "Are you alright?" she asked in a gentle, quiet voice.

"I . . .I’m not sure. I think so." Looking at her, I struggled to put my feelings into words. "What happened?"

Corinne smiled. "Ice happened."

PART 2

"WHO IS SHE?" That one question suddenly encompassed all of me. It was something I needed to know as badly as I needed air to breathe and food to eat.

In answer, my friend rose from her chair and went back to her desk. Opening one of the drawers, she withdrew a scrapbook and came back to the table, sliding it in front of me. "That should give you some of your answers."

Opening the book, I looked down at the first newspaper headline and some of my feelings of recognition clicked into place.

Even if you’re not from this area, if you are old enough to have been able to read during the late nineteen sixties, you may remember the name Morgan Steele. At the time, she held the dubious honor of being the youngest female mass murderer in American history. By now, I’m sure someone has surpassed her record, but it was headline news for the time period.

Morgan was fifteen, and a child of the streets, when her best friend was murdered in a drug buy gone wrong. It’s said that Morgan was out of town on other business at that time, but when she came back and found out what happened, she went berserk. Stealing a gun from a pawn shop, the teen stalked the people who had murdered her friend and, almost a month later, trapped them all in a warehouse. There were sixteen members of a street gang in that warehouse that night. Morgan killed them all. When her gun ran out of ammunition, she went after the survivors with a tire iron. And when that broke, the finished the last teen off with her feet and fists.

Responding to a ‘disturbing the peace’ call, police entered the warehouse just in time to see Morgan snap the neck of her final victim. Then, her rage not yet spent, she went after the two policemen who tried to apprehend her.

She was shot five times and spent almost two months in the hospital before recovering enough to stand trial.

The verdict was a foregone conclusion and only the sentence sparked interest. Because she was a juvenile, the death penalty, though perhaps warranted, was not an option. Most thought she would spend her time in a juvenile hall until she reached twenty one and was released with a clean record. In a landmark decision, the judge passed a life sentence without possibility of parole, to be served in an adult penitentiary.

There was some public outcry over the decision, but for the most part, people seemed satisfied that justice had been properly served and Morgan was taken off to the Rainwater Women’s Correctional Facility to serve out the rest of her natural life behind bars.

However, there were things going on behind the scenes and Morgan’s case wasn’t left to lie in some newspaper morgue collecting dust. High powered attorneys stepped forward and, during the next five years, managed to take the case all the way to the United States Supreme Court. On March 16, 1972, the Supreme Court declared that Morgan’s sentence was unconstitutional. Four months later, on her twenty first birthday, Morgan Steele was released from prison, a free woman.

After my eyes scanned the last article, I closed the scrapbook and slid it back across the table to Corinne. "She was just a child when she came here. What happened to turn her into the person who would receive a welcome like the one I just saw?"

Corinne smiled sadly. "I think something happened to her while she was in the hospital recovering from her wounds. The person I met wasn’t the same one who murdered all those teens in cold blood. She was quiet, respectful. She just wanted to do her time as smoothly as possible. She didn’t want trouble." My friend caressed the leather cover of the scrapbook idly as her eyes took on a far away look. "Trouble managed to find her, though. In the late sixties, the gangs ruled this prison, even moreso than they do today. Racism was a big issue and there were racial riots almost every week. Beatings. Stabbings. Fires. You name it. The guards were quitting faster than they could hire new ones. The governor even threatened to send in the National Guard to restore order."

Corinne sighed. "It got to the point where you either had to choose sides or risk being murdered even by your own ‘people’. It was hell."

When my friend looked up, there was a twinkle in her eyes. "Ice was never known as a person who did things conventionally. Rather than join a gang, she started her own. The Amazons."

"Amazons? Who are they? Aside from being a group of mythical women warriors, I mean."

"You should know, Angel. Three of the top members are your close friends."

"Who?"

"Pony. Critter. Sonny."

I was shocked. In all my association with them, I had had no idea that my friends were gang members. "You’re kidding me."

"Nope. They’re members of the Amazons. A gang Ice started when she was here last."

Intrigued, I leaned closer to Corinne. "And what do these Amazons stand for?"

Corinne shrugged. "Whatever they want to stand for. They are the gang in this prison."

"But . . .but that doesn’t make any sense! They all seem so nice!"

"They are nice, Angel. They can also be totally ruthless. It all depends on where you’re standing." She caressed the book again. "Let me try and explain it to you. Like I’ve already said, the gangs were destroying this prison. No one knew what to do to stop it. Ice, who by this time had developed a reputation as the penitentiary’s best fighter, approached some other women who were also known for their fighting ability, intelligence and loyalty. These women banded together to form the Amazons, a new gang. The best of the best, and dedicated to bringing the prison back under control. It took them several months, but when it was all over, the gangs had been pushed back. The Amazons became a sort of inmate peace keeping force. They help people who need it and punish those who need that too. They make sure no one gang is overtly stronger than the others, and they help to protect the truly oppressed."

"And she did all this when she was fifteen?"

Corinne’s grin turned smug. "Yup."

"Wow." Looking at the fond smile on my friend’s face, I was moved to question further. "If you don’t mind my asking, Corinne, what’s your interest in all this?"

"Oh, that’s simple enough. Even though I was an old lady without value as a fighter, I still had some influence in this prison. The whites wanted that influence and the blacks wanted to destroy it. It was the one thing they banded together in. One night, members of both gangs came with molotov cocktails, threatening to burn me and my library down if I didn’t choose." Her eyes took on that peculiar hard shine that I had noticed from time to time before. "Ice came out of nowhere and took them all on by herself. The gangs lost eight people that night. One person’s still in the hospital. In a coma."

I gasped out, horrified. "And the rest?"

"Oh, they all recovered. Eventually." Corinne sneered. "I was never bothered again. I think part of me fell in love with her that night; my dark avenger. What she did, it was . . . beautiful." She turned back to look at me, her eyes full of love for the woman known as Ice. "She’s kept an eye out for me ever since. Even when she wasn’t in prison, she made sure I was safe. The library has been allowed to exist, and grow, in peace and I’ve been allowed to do the same. Thanks to her."

"That’s amazing."

"Yes, she is."

"So, do you know why she’s back in?"

"It’s not very clear. From what I’ve been able to gather, when she got out last time, she was approached by some very important people."

"Who?"

"Difficult to say, but I’ve heard that they’re the type who wear dark suits and sport very Italian sounding surnames."

"The Mob?!?"

"So I’ve heard. Somehow, they managed to get her to join up with them. I have to admit that I was pretty shocked. I felt sure she would go straight after her time here. But she didn’t."

"So what happened?"

"My contacts tell me she was able to go quite far in the organization, despite the fact that she has absolutely no Italian blood in her whatsoever. Apparently she was some sort of gun for hire, on contract with these fellows. Quite good at her job too, as if you couldn’t guess that already."

I listened to Corinne, shaking my head at her story. The mystery of why this young woman, who was given a miraculous second chance, would choose to go back to crime was one I really wanted to solve.

"From what I’ve heard, she was sent to take out a witness who was testifying at an upcoming extortion trial. The strange thing is, the witness was apparently testifying for the defense. That doesn’t make much sense. Unless, of course, there’s someone high up in one of the Families who wants this Boss behind bars for some reason. Something happened and she got caught. Word is that she was set up, big time."

"Do you think she did it?"

"I don’t know. I don’t think so. It’s just not her style. The Ice I know doesn’t take out witnesses, no matter which side they’re testifying for."

"Well, it seems like the Ice you knew changed a lot once she left prison."

"True. But still, something just doesn’t add up. I really became suspicious when I heard that she was stuck with a court appointed defense attorney. The Mob usually helps its own in these situations. Even when you screw up, they’re usually behind you all the way."

I felt my own smile spread across my face. "Well, then. It looks like we’ve got our own mystery to solve. Colombo, watch out. Angel’s on the case."

My mirth was halted by a hard hand on my wrist. "Angel," Corinne said seriously, "tread lightly. Ice is a very private woman and if you pry without her consent, you’re going to end up on the receiving end of a whole barrel full of trouble, no matter who your friends are. Though I sense that there’s going to be a very important connection between the two of you, she is a very, very dangerous woman. Above all else, you need to remember that."

Swallowing hard, I remembered the icy eyes that had met my own only an hour ago, and nodded. "I understand."

Smiling again, Corinne gently squeezed my hand. "Ice can be the best friend you’d ever hope to have, Angel. She can also be your worst enemy. Like I said, tread lightly around her. Give her a chance to feel you out, to get to know you. She doesn’t trust anyone, not completely. But if she thinks you’re worth it, and I know you are, things will come. Good things, I think."

After another moment, I nodded again. Knowing my next statement was going to sound totally stupid, I steeled myself against the probable laughter. "Corinne, when she looked at me just now, I . . . .well . . .I felt something. It was the strangest thing I’d ever felt in my life. Almost like I knew her. And not just that. I . . .loved . . .her." I shook my head, damning my tongue for not being able to come up with a better way to express the myriad of sensations that went through me when our eyes had locked for that one brief, perfect second. "I can’t explain it. I mean, I’ve never met the woman in my life before just now, but . . . ." My voice trailed off as I heaved a heartfelt sigh. "I know I must sound like an idiot to you," I mumbled miserably.

My hand was squeezed again. "Not at all, sweet Angel." Tilting my chin again, Corinne met my eyes. "When I was younger, before all that stuff with Arsenic and Old Husbands. . . ."

I groaned.

" . . . .I used to have a sort of talent for seeing things. Things that weren’t really there." My friend’s seamed face creased further in a grin. "Now, I suppose in most parts of the world, that would be called insanity. The good part was that those things often turned out to be true."

"You could see the future?"

"Some. Or the past. I wasn’t always sure. It got confusing, sometimes." She laughed lightly. "Good thing was, I was born in Louisiana, were that sort of thing is pretty much accepted as a gift, rather than a curse. In the right circles, of course. It faded as I got older, but I still get flashes now and then. And I got a most definite flash the morning you ran into my library, covered with breakfast. It was something I saw in Ice that first day as well."

I looked up at her, sure my disbelief was showing clearly on my face. "Corinne, forgive me for saying so, but I find it hard to believe that Ice stumbled in here after being pursued by a bunch of crazed inmates. Especially wearing her breakfast on her shirt."

My friend laughed again, a light, musical sound that filled the library pleasingly. "No. I’m talking about what I saw in her eyes. Ice is an old soul. Ancient, in fact. I couldn’t even begin to guess how far back she goes. Even when she first got here as a young girl, her eyes were ancient, as if they’d seen more of the world than any mortal had a right to. It was . . . disconcerting at first. I got used to it after awhile." She turned her gaze to me, appraising. "I see the same thing in your eyes, Angel. A wisdom that belies your innocence." Her grin deepened, and I swore for the second time that I could see the faintest glimpse of fangs in her mouth. "That, of course, only makes you all the more appealing."

A frightening tingle went down my spine and my skin humped up in gooseflesh. I suddenly felt very uncomfortable in Corinne’s presence, seeing her for the first time as the woman she really was, an unrepentant murderer. The walls started to close in on me and I’ll freely admit to the start of pure panic.

Seeing my state, Corinne broke the lock of our gazes, reaching down and smoothing the flesh of my arms. "Don’t be afraid, Angel. I’m not here to hurt you." Her laugh, when it came, was almost bitter. "I’m nothing but an old woman, after all. Who’s seen much too much of life."

Suddenly I felt very much ashamed of my reaction. Turning my hands, I gripped Corinne’s arms tightly. "You’re much more than an old woman to me, Corinne. You’re my friend." I’m sure I was blushing by this time. "I’m sorry I reacted the way I did. It’s just. . . all this talk about seeing things that aren’t there and ancient souls . . . . I’m just a small-town Methodist, after all. We’re not supposed to believe in those things."

Corinne’s expression gentled, changing her back into the lovable old grandmother I’d come to know. "It’s alright, Angel. I’ve been here so long that I sometimes forget just how frightening this place can be." She shrugged. "It’s home to me now, but I need to realize that most don’t feel that way." Releasing herself from my grasp, she pushed her chair away from the table and stood. "Anyway, just remember what I said. Keep your eyes and ears open, stay gentle and unassuming around Ice and you’ll do just fine."

"Thanks, Corinne."

"No problem, child. No problem at all."

The next couple of weeks went by quickly. There’d been a breakthrough with my Mexican students and teaching them had turned from a chore to a pleasure. They took everything I gave them and practically begged me for more.

Money and used books started coming into the library in regular shipments and Corinne and I kept ourselves very busy cataloguing them and sending out thank you letters to our contributors. More and more people were coming to visit the library, for a variety of reasons, making Corinne a very happy woman. She continually bustled about, preparing her famous tea and sharing stories with the other inmates. There was almost always a class going on in one corner as well, making the library, for the first time, a crowded, friendly place to be.

Ice had been released into the general population after just two days in segregation and the prison, though the excitement had settled down somewhat from her initial arrival, still remained on its best behavior. Montana, who had been the head of the Amazons during Ice’s absence, handed over her mantle of authority gladly and would sometimes come into the library, something she hadn’t had time to do before, to chat or read. Though still quite intimidated by the somber, beautiful woman, I got to know her a bit better during these quiet times and found her to be a kind, considerate, intelligent woman very passionate in her beliefs.

She told me that she had once headed a Women’s Separatist community in Montana, hence her prison nickname. When the Equal Rights Amendment came up for ratification, she headed up an all-out campaign to get it placed within the Constitution. That campaign eventually led to charges of black-mail and extortion, and she was convicted of those crimes in Pittsburgh. She’d been in The Bog for seven years, an abnormally long sentence for her crime, and hoped to be released soon. The women’s community still existed and she missed her home terribly. I enjoyed listening to her stories of an entire community that existed without the presence of men.

My little side business of being the person who got things for you started to really take off after the shower incident and I was busier than I’d ever been in my life. Despite the fact that I was locked behind high walls, I started to actually enjoy my life for the first time in a long while.

Taking Corinne’s advice to heart, I stayed far away from Ice. As the days passed, my memories of our first encounter began to fade slightly and I chalked most of the bizarre feelings up to some sort of post traumatic mental lapse combined with whatever special herbs were in Corinne’s magic tea. Strange stories of past lives and old souls gradually took up space in some far, darkened corner of my mind, to be taken out and examined only in the deep quiet of a prison night.

As late spring passed into early summer, I ventured outside the dim cave of the library one fine day. The feeling of warm sun on my skin was pure bliss and I sank down into a small patch of soft grass with a feeling of pleasure. Relaxing my body and turning my face up to the sun, I let my eyes drift closed and listened to the sounds of insects and birds as they wove their natural song around the sounds of weights being pressed and balls being hit. The sweet smell of new life perfumed the air around me and I took in deep breaths of it, humming with pleasure.

As I’m sure you’ve noticed often happens with me, I was so wrapped up in the pleasure of the moment that I didn’t notice that things had changed around me. My first clue came when part of my fuzzy brain suddenly noticed the absence of human sound in the yard. Then, feeling a very warm presence behind me, I whirled, managing to get to my knees and bring my hands up in a defensive posture as I did so. Breathing heavily, I managed to look up, then up again, till I met the fierce blue eyes of Ice, who was smirking down at me, apparently quite pleased with herself for catching me unawares.

After a moment, she squatted that long body of hers down in front of me, plucking a blade of grass and twirling it idly between her beautiful, tapering fingers. Then, casually, she met my eyes again, capturing me totally within her icy blue regard. "I hear you’re the woman who can get things."

If I hadn’t been trapped before, the sound of her low, resonant, melodious voice rolling through my senses did the trick. I’m afraid I blinked at her stupidly for a moment, trying to wrap my totally befuddled mind around her words. "What?"

As opening lines went, that one had to rank at the very bottom and my brain received a mental high kick for that particular piece of literary brilliance.

Ice smiled, then. An oddly endearing and achingly familiar little cockeyed grin that sped my heart right up. "Was I wrong about that?"

"Uh . . .no. Not at all." Now if I could only figure out what she wasn’t wrong about, I’d be ahead of the game. An old axiom of my mother’s came into my brain. ‘When in doubt, always try honesty.’ I gave a mental shrug, figuring at this point, it was better than nothing. "What were we talking about again?"

An ebony brow lifted as she regarded me more closely. "Is something wrong?"

"No! No. Nothing’s wrong. Nothing at all. I . . .ah . . .just didn’t hear you the first time." Brilliant, Angel. Just brilliant. "Could you . . .um . . .repeat your question? Please?"

A long arm tossed the blade of grass away and Ice clasped her hands between her spread legs. "I asked if I was wrong in assuming you were the person who could get things."

Oh! "Oh! No. You weren’t wrong at all. About that, I mean." Taking in a deep breath, I tried again. "What I mean is that I am the woman who can get . . .things. For people."

To this day, I can still remember praying harder than I’d ever prayed in my entire life. I prayed that a huge riot would break out in the yard, or that a sudden rogue tornado would touch down suddenly, sweeping me away from this Oz I’d suddenly found myself in. Even an earthquake would do in a pinch, just so long as I was close to the fissure and could throw myself into the breach. The vivid flash of falling into a pool of bubbling lava went through my mind, shutting that particular fantasy down but quick.

Ice looked down at me with a look of almost infinite patience and a faint sparkle of amusement shining in those magnificent eyes.

I swallowed. Hard. "Is there . . .something I can get for you?" Finally! My first coherent sentence of the day. And none too soon either, my shrunken ego was more than happy to point out.

Ice appeared to consider the question, as if as surprised as I was that I’d actually managed to get it out. She met my gaze directly. "Do you know anything about Bonsai?"

Well, it was fun while it lasted. "Um . . .unless you’re talking about the oath those Kamikaze pilots used to shout out before crashing into the Pacific, then I’m afraid I don’t."

The dark head nodded. "Not many people do," she allowed. "Bonsai is . . .a sort of art." Her wonderful hands fanned out, describing her words. "You start with a tree. A small one. And you prune and shape and train it until it becomes like a vision you see in your mind."

"It sounds beautiful."

"I suppose."

Clearly, speaking of beauty made her uncomfortable. My mind was busy making mental notes. "So . . .you want me to get you, what. A tree?"

My tone must have sounded dubious, because she spoke up quickly to correct me. "No. I’m having some of mine sent over. I’ve already cleared it with Sandra Pierce. What I need is something called a bonsai rake."

"A rake?"

"Yes."

"How big a rake?"

"It’s about ten inches long and has a three-pronged metal piece at one end. It sort of looks like one of those cultivating tools you would use for gardening to break up the soil. Only thinner. And the prongs are smaller."

Looking away for a moment, I tried to picture what she was describing in my mind without the distraction of her nearness clouding my thoughts. "I think you should know," I said after a moment, "I don’t get anything that might possibly be used as a weapon. That’s a line I won’t cross."

Her eyes narrowed for a moment and I’ll freely admit to a fine thrill of fear shooting down my back at the look. Then she smiled that cocky half-grin again and I breathed out a silent sigh of relief. "I assure you, I have no intention of using it as a weapon. It’s a tool, nothing more."

"But still . . . ." I knew I was taking a big risk, questioning her like this, but like I said, there was a line I wouldn’t cross. For anyone.

"Tell you what. Why don’t you take some time and think about it. I’ll give you the money and the catalogue number and if you decide to go ahead and purchase it for me, great. If not, you can keep the money. No questions asked, no harm done."

"But . . . ."

She held up her hand, silencing my protestations. "And if you do decide to buy it, you can take a look at it when it comes in. If it looks like something I’d use as a weapon, then you can keep it, or throw it away. Again, no questions asked, no harm done. Sound fair?"

"But . . . ."

The hand she held up came down, approaching me, palm out. "Deal?"

We locked eyes again. Her gaze was direct and unassuming and I fell into it once again. That strange sense of drowning overwhelmed me and I felt my hand reach out to grasp hers. The touch of her warm palm to mine galvanized me and brought that image of touching an electrified fence blazing from that dark corner of my mind where it had managed to lay dormant until that moment.

Though I don’t really remember, I must have stiffened, because she released me after a perfunctory handclasp and looked down at me curiously. "Are you alright?"

Several moments passed as I knelt there, looking stupidly at the money she’d cleverly pressed into my palm. Licking my lips, I desperately cast about for something to say. If there was anything I was definitely not, it was ‘alright’. Such a mundane adjective didn’t even come close to describing what I was feeling. Still . . . . "Yes. I’m just fine."

After a final, appraising look, she smiled faintly again, then stood, smoothing the wrinkles out of her jumpsuit with her palms. "Good. Thanks for your time." With a final nod of her head, she turned and left, striding that long-limbed, cocky walk of hers over toward the free weight area.

My eyes followed her every step while I tried to find the most dignified way of gathering my jaw up off the grass at my knees.

Pony looked at me from behind Ice, giving me her rakish grin and winking at my obvious discomfiture. Then she laughed as Ice pushed her out of the way and commandeered the chest press bench, lifting an ungodly amount of weight with fluid ease.

My eyeballs joined my jaw on the ground as I watched her impressive chest and arms flex and relax against the weight of the iron she was lifting.

I was caught in a definite quandary. Those were my friends over there as well. Surely they wouldn’t object if I were to join them. The problem was, however, how to make it from where I was to where I wanted to be without managing to lose the last shred of dignity I had managed to hang onto.

To give myself some time, I decided that a full body appraisal was in order. One head, complete with befuddled brain and wide eyes. Check. Shoulders: sagging but still there. Chest: one heart beating three times its normal rate but in otherwise good condition. Arms: weak but present. Hips: let’s just not go there right now. Legs: definitely the weak point of this assessment.

Placing my hands firmly on the grass and absorbing some of the solid, sure strength of the earth through my flesh, I pushed myself up onto my feet, wildly pleased that my body seemed to bearing up well under its own weight. Alright. We’ve got standing down pretty good here. Now, let’s try out that walking thing, shall we?

One step turned into two, which turned into three, and before I knew it, I was making steady progress toward the weight lifting area where a large crowd had gathered to cheer the object of my attention on in what looked to be a prison record amount of weight to be lifted. As more inmates gathered around, blocking my sight of the event, I once again cursed my parents for tossing me into the shallow end of the gene pool.

A huge cheer rang out and though I couldn’t see anything, I imagined Ice had just managed to break whatever record she was trying for. As I stared at the inmates, trying to find a way through the sea of orange, something strange hit me. Whereas before, the exercise yard had always been rigidly segregated along racial boundaries, women from every culture were gathered around Ice, cheering her on. There was no sign of the tensions that usually permeated such gatherings. The yard was united in a common cause, to cheer a fellow inmate to victory. And somehow, by doing nothing more than pitting herself against several pieces of unyielding metal, this intense woman had managed to bring a harmony that was otherwise absent in the day to day running of the home we all shared.

A loud bell, signaling the end of the exercise period, freed me from my musings. With a sad sigh, I broke off my stroll toward the cheering crowd and made my escape back into the prison.

As I walked into the library, Corinne was there, as always, to greet me. The enigmatic smile creased her lips once again as she gestured, with her pen, toward one of the tables where a large book lay, its cover shining in the dim lighting like a beacon. Drawn toward it, my curiosity on full alert, I glanced at the shining cover, then back at my friend, my jaw once again becoming unhinged. "How did you know?"

She smirked, well pleased with herself. "I have my ways, Angel."

Shaking my head, I looked back down at the book waiting smugly for me on the table. My fingertips traced the title, my mind spinning with a sense of the macabre: The Art of Bonsai.

The next morning dawned gray and dreary and, as it was a Saturday, I elected to spend most of it camped out in my bunk exploring the wonderful world of bonsai. Reading of its history gave me valuable new insight into the woman known as Ice and I was drawn up into it, passing many hours in pleasant solitude as life continued on around me.

By mid afternoon, I had finished the book and as my body was beginning to get a bit stiff and sore from lying against the scratchy sheets, I decided to go down to take a shower, secure in the belief that I wouldn’t be molested.

The prison was rather quiet for a rainy Saturday afternoon and, as I walked past the cavernous laundry room on my way to the showers, I heard a soft, almost whimpering sound, followed by harsh whispering and the sound of flesh beating against flesh. Dropping my clean uniform to the tiled floor, I stepped around the corner, ready for action.

With the incapacitation of Mouse, the leadership of the white gang had been taken over by a huge mountain of a woman who went by the name of Derby. So named because she once was a queen of the roller derby, the woman was, not to put too fine a point on it, immense. Her face had the look of lumpy bread dough and her nose was so mashed that I wondered how she ever breathed through it. She didn’t smile often, which was a blessing, because most of her front teeth were either missing entirely, or had blackened stumps to mark what could have been. Standing close to six feet tall (and, in the prison, only Ice was taller) she weighed in at least two fifty, easy. Most of that looked to be that hard, solid kind of fat you see in the pictures of hard working peasant women that decorate National Geographic from time to time. I knew from experience that she was as strong as an ox and twice as mean.

As I slipped between two industrial washers, taking care not to be heard or seen just yet, I peeked around the corner at the scene before me. A young woman, no older than myself, knelt on the floor, terrified. A piece of duct tape had been plastered over her mouth and her arms had been bound behind her back with what looked to be a still-wet bedsheet. Her jumpsuit had been rent at the neck and pulled back over her shoulders, exposing her heaving breasts. Her face was bloody from multiple blows and her eyes were beginning to blacken and swell. My mind flashed back to the time that I was in the exact same position and, again, I snapped as I watched Derby’s coarse, blunt hands reach down to cruelly twist the young woman’s nipples, earning another whimper. The gang leader’s three companions, none of whom I recognized on sight, snickered and elbowed one another.

After a quick and fruitless visual search told me I’d have to go into this with no weapons but my wits, I stepped from my hiding place, body tensed and ready. "That’s enough, Derby. Let her go." My voice echoed in the cavernous room, bouncing back at me from all angles.

Slowly turning her head, Derby’s thick, rubbery lips split into a sneer as she spied me. "Well, well, well. If it isn’t the Amazons’ little fuck toy. How ya doin, fishie?"

"Let her go, Derby." Keeping alert, I shifted position, determined not to let myself be backed into a corner.

The other three women looked to their leader for direction.

"You just mind your own business, fish, or I’ll forget that Mouse asked me to leave you for her to deal with."

"I’m asking you one more time, Derby. Let the girl go."

She sneered again. "Fuck you."

As the woman turned back to her prey, I took the opportunity presented and made a running leap, jumping on her broad back and latching a strong arm around her throat. Slightly unbalanced, she staggered back a step, but before I could reinforce my choke hold, the other three came at me from three different directions.

It was like being hit by a semi. Derby’s knees collapsed from the pounding, and I went down with her, hitting the floor hard but refusing to release my now shaky hold. Brutal hands grabbed at me, but I used the newly developed strength in my legs to kick them away, listening with no small satisfaction as they grunted out their pain.

Reaching up, Derby wrapped a massive paw around my own hand and jerked it away from her neck, almost breaking my wrist in the process. Bellowing, she flung me away and I landed, slightly stunned, against one of the dryers. Ignoring the pain, I rolled to my feet quickly, my body still ready and balancing lightly on the balls of my feet as the Amazons had taught me.

"You little bitch," the giant said as she rubbed the rawness at her neck. "Fuck Mouse. I’m gonna kill you myself!"

She rushed at me, arms wide open as if meaning to give me a hug. Huge she might have been, but I was agile, and quick. As she lumbered at me, I simply ducked under one massive arm, spinning quickly and almost breaking into laughter as her momentum carried her into the dryer I had landed against just a moment before.

The air became blue with her curses as she turned around, holding her massive gut with one arm. "You’re dead, fish. Do you hear me? Dead!!"

"You’ll have to catch me before you can kill me, tubby."

Sometimes my mouth has a mind of its own, and this was certainly one of those times. Derby’s face turned a shade of red I’d never seen before and veins sprung like garden hoses from the thickness of her neck.

With a roar that shook the foundations of the room, she came at me again. As I dodged away for a second time, I spared a brief moment to wonder where the other three had gotten themselves off to. As she blundered past me, I looked around, finally seeing the other three gang members sprawled, unconscious, on the floor. Puzzled, I frowned, knowing that my kicks could not have possibly done so much damage.

My moment of inattention was about to cost me dearly. Recovering her wits, Derby had managed to come at me again and was, at that very second, cocking back a fist that looked to be roughly the size of a canned ham.

I froze, desperately trying to figure out which way to move to avoid being blown across the room. Right? Left? Up? Down? What?

It’s truly amazing how fast your thoughts tumble through your head at a time like that. I still hadn’t reached a clear decision when I saw the fist start forward, my face clearly in its sights.

I steeled myself for the coming blow while my mind still tried to talk my body into picking some direction in which to move. Finally, I decided left and was just starting to dodge in that direction when a long arm snaked into my field of vision, stopping the fist absolutely stone cold dead just inches from my face. The sound of the impact was amazing, ringing like a rifle shot into the room and rebounding back to me in echoes.

Derby actually whimpered as the tanned hand closed itself around her fist. I could almost hear the sounds of small bones breaking as her face turned from red to white in the beat of a heart.

A low, comforting and absolutely wonderful voice sounded to my left. "Why don’t ya try picking on someone your own size, Derby?"

Though caught totally within the grip of another, Derby’s false, bullying bravado showed no sign of shutting down. "I ain’t afraid of you, Ice."

"No? You should be." Without releasing her grip, Ice reached out with her other hand and gently pushed me in the direction of the still bound young woman. "Keep an eye on her while I take care of this one, will ya?"

I nodded, stunned by the full smile she gave me, then walked over to where the wide-eyed woman still knelt. "It’s gonna be alright now. You’re going to be ok." Still crooning gently to her, I stripped away her bonds, taking special care with the tape plastered cruelly across her face. Finally free, sobs overcame her and she collapsed against me, grabbing at the fabric of my uniform as if to an anchor. Enfolding her in my arms, I gently rocked her as my eyes drifted back over to the center of the action, drawn, as always, to Ice.

After being assured by my calm presence that the young woman was as well as could be expected, Ice released Derby’s hand and stepped back, putting her hands on her hips and appraising her panting opponent. "We can do this one of two ways, Derby. You can leave well enough alone and walk out of here with the broken hand I just gave you, or you can be an idiot and come at me, in which case you’ll go out of here on a stretcher. Which is it gonna be?"

Shaking out her swelling hand, Derby stared daggers of hatred at Ice, who looked back, cool and calm as her namesake. "You think you’re so damn tough, Ice. Well, you ain’t." Trying the bull-rush maneuver once again, she lumbered at Ice. Instead of dodging, though, Ice met the huge onrushing body with a knee in the gut, doubling Derby over. A slashing elbow to the back of her skull, and the gang leader went down like a sack of over-ripe apples, howling as her face met the cold stone floor.

I couldn’t resist. "Oooooh. Wrong choice."

Ice grinned fiercely at me, clearly enjoying herself as she danced out of the way of the falling body.

Actually gobbling in rage, Derby pushed herself up to her hands and knees, shaking her head and spraying fans of blood over the floor. Her face looked as if it had battled with a chainsaw and lost. Scrabbling back up to her feet, she came at Ice once again, her dripping blood staining her jumpsuit to a sickly rust color.

Ice met her with a high kick to the head, and then, in an absolutely incredible move, switched legs, straightening the behemoth’s body with another high kick to the other side. As Derby pinwheeled her arms, trying to maintain her balance, Ice launched a truly spectacular, right-from-the-hip side kick that caused the gang leader to actually leave her feet and fly halfway across the room.

She landed hard against one of the washers, her back bending almost double over its edge. The back of her skull smashed against the top with a huge, gonging clatter. Her legs gave out and she slid down the washer, landing on the floor in a bleeding heap.

"Had enough yet, Derby? Cause there’s plenty more where that came from." Ice smiled a smile that I can only describe as purely erotic. And I should know, because when I saw it, all the hormones in my body immediately sat up and did the mambo. "And it’s all for you."

Though I have no idea where her strength was coming from, Derby managed, by slow inches, to get herself back to her feet and she stood there, tottering, looking as if one stiff wind would blow her back to the floor again. "You’ll never beat me, bitch," she mumbled, half dazed.

I looked up at Ice, curious as to what she would do. Clearly, Derby wasn’t a threat to anyone anymore. The woman half stumbled toward her taller opponent, dragging one leg awkwardly behind her while wiping the blood from her nose with the back of her hand.

Ice stood calm and still, watching everything with that intensely piercing gaze that reminded me of an inquisitive bird of prey looking at a potential meal.

The distance between them closed, Derby drew back her fist, moving as if underwater. At the last second, her eyes rolled back in her head and she collapsed into Ice’s strong arms.

Smirking, Ice bore her weight easily.

At that very moment, as if by fortuitous circumstance, two guards strode into the laundry room, their batons out and ready. "Let her go, Ice," the taller one, Phyllis, said.

Shrugging, Ice did as she was told and Derby’s limp body once again crumpled to the floor.

"Now back away from her. Slowly."

Keeping her hands open and away from her body, Ice did as requested, taking two long, careful steps away from the downed prisoner.

Phyllis stepped over to the slumped form of Derby as her partner, Nancy, kept a wary eye on Ice. Squatting down, she pushed the heavy body over then brought her hand back. It was covered with blood. She turned wide eyes up to Ice. "Jesus Christ. What happened?"

Ice shrugged again. "She tripped."

"Bullshit. Tell me the truth, Ice."

I was about to speak up, when Derby came back to struggling consciousness. Phyllis dodged the flailing fists as she struggled to push the inmate’s huge shoulders back against the rough concrete floor. "Stay still, Derby!"

"Fuck that! I’m gonna kill that fucking bitch! Let me go!!!"

"Derby, I’m warning you, stay still!"

Nancy jumped in to help her partner and between the two of them, they barely managed to subdue the raging woman. Finally they were able to calm her and Nancy grabbed a fresh sheet from atop one of the dryers and pressed it down over Derby’s flattened nose. "Now, what in the hell happened here?" Phyllis asked again.

"What? Fuck, woman, are you blind?" Derby bellowed, her voice muffled with blood and a sheet. "Fucking bitch beat the shit outta me here! Fuckin’ dirty fighter."

"I’m not blind, Derby. I’m asking what happened."

Derby’s eyes darted around quickly, her obviously laboring mind trying to come up with some sort of excuse. Ice waited patiently, the faint smirk still present on her beautiful face. God, the woman wasn’t even breathing hard.

"Me and my buddies came in here ‘cause we heard a noise," the huge woman finally said. "We found that bitch beatin on the little fish over there."

It was obvious the two guards hadn’t noticed us before, because Nancy uttered an "oh shit" and bustled over, gently taking the young woman from my grasp and grabbing yet another sheet to dab away the blood on her face.

"Derby," I started, only to be stopped by a truly chilling glare from Ice. I looked back at her, confused, but kept my peace. The meaning of her look was clear. Shut up.

"We tried ta stop her, and she took us all out. Even hit me when I was down. Fucking dirty fighter."

I bit my cheeks against the need to say something.

Phyllis looked up. "Is that true, Ice?"

Ice shrugged.

Phyllis was a good guard and she obviously didn’t believe Derby’s story. But without any conflicting evidence, she couldn’t do anything about it. "Damn it, Ice, say something! You know you’ll end up in the hole if you don’t."

Ice remained silent, immovable.

"Yeah, the hole. That’s where that bitch belongs. Look at that little fish! She was gonna rape her if we hadn’t come in!"

That did it. Freezing glare or no, I was not going to stand by and let Derby continue to spew her lies while Ice did nothing to defend herself. My arms free of my injured burden, I shot to my feet, fire in my own eyes.

"Angel . . . ." The warning tone in Ice’s voice was unmistakable, but I was having none of it.

"No, Ice. I’m sorry, but no." I turned pleading eyes on the guard. "Phyllis, you know me. You know I don’t lie. I was on my way to the shower when I heard this woman whimpering. I walked in to find Derby and her three friends beating up on her. They’d tied her up and gagged her! I tried to stop them when Ice came in. She gave Derby the chance to leave, fair and square. Derby chose to fight."

"That’s a fucking lie!" Derby roared, once again struggling to get away from Phyllis. "You fucking piece of shit lying bitch!!"

Phyllis straddled Derby’s immense body while looking over at Ice. "Is what Angel’s saying the truth?"

Damn the woman to all seven levels of hell, she still wouldn’t answer!

"Angel?"

"It’s true, Phyllis. All of it. I swear. Ice didn’t start the fight. She finished it."

Finally, Phyllis looked over to the young woman whose beating had started all this. "Laura, who’s telling the truth, hon? Just tell us and we’ll make sure they’re punished."

Derby twisted her head to glare at the young woman, who caught the look and cowered against Nancy’s protective form. "You better answer right, fish, or I’ll fucking kill you."

Laura stifled a sob of fear.

"C’mon, hon. Just tell us. No one here will hurt you anymore. I promise."

After a long moment, Laura held out a trembling hand. "Sh…she did it."

"Who? Ice or Derby? Tell us, hon. Please."

"D—Derby. She . . .she was . . .was gonna . . .r—rape me!" Laura broke down into sobs once again and Nancy cradled her shaking form gently.

"Alright, Derby. You’ve just earned yourself a nice long stretch in the hole."

"Fuck her! You’re gonna believe that fucking fish??? She’s lying! They’re all lying!! They all just want to protect Ice, goddamnit!!"

Phyllis allowed Derby to struggle to her feet, then grabbed her arm and twisted it, high and tight, against her back. "The only liar here is you, Derby. Let’s go." She looked over her shoulder. "Take her over to the infirmary and meet me back in the office." Then she looked over at me. "And you two, get outta here before the warden hears what happened."

Breathing out a sigh of relief, I nodded. Phyllis smiled slightly, then quick marched the growling Derby out of the laundry room, followed closely by Nancy who gently guided Laura down the hall toward the infirmary.

The coldness in the room was suddenly very palpable and I searched around for something to say. "Thanks for your help," I finally commented softly.

Ice turned her deadly cold eyes toward me, her face completely devoid of expression. "I can take care of myself, Angel." Her voice was as cold as the bottom of a new grave. Without another word, she spun and stalked from the room, leaving me to my utter confusion. The three still unconscious members of Derby’s gang weren’t any help either. With a small shrug, I turned and left the room.

So, this is what a broken heart feels like.

Now, before you go crazy on me and ask where a thought like that could possibly have come from, let me go on record as saying that I had no idea either, at the time. All I knew is that I had done something to displease the woman who I was rapidly coming to see as some type of knight in shining armor. And it hurt. Badly.

What I didn’t know is why she had reacted so badly to what I had done. After all, I had stopped her from being branded a rapist, which, even in a women’s prison, is something that ranks right on the low rung with child abuse and molestation. While I didn’t expect gushing praise, I surely didn’t anticipate the coldness I received.

All thoughts of a shower gone in the excitement and its aftermath, I wandered aimlessly, wondering what to do. Part of me wanted to talk to Corinne in the hopes she could tell me what I did wrong. But most of me just wanted to crawl back into my bunk and forget that the day had even happened.

That part won out.

I crawled back into my bunk and laid out on my back, crossing my arms behind my head and staring sightlessly at the ceiling. My mind kept replaying Ice’s last words to me, trying to find a secret meaning that I had obviously missed. "She can take care of herself, she says," I mumbled to the silent plaster. "Well, of course she can. She managed to take out a woman the size of Texas without even breaking a sweat!"

My mind chose that moment to insert a scene depicting the fight in all its glorious detail. My hormones happily applauded as I shifted on the bed. Being attracted to a woman wasn’t something I really considered before. But, then again, there was never a woman in my life who looked, sounded and smelled like Ice. Still, it didn’t bother me too much. Small town girl or not, I had an open mind and knew how to use it. Usually.

My thoughts rode the morbid train right around to the beginning again. What did I do to earn such coldness? What was so wrong about speaking out to defend the innocent? If I hadn’t spoken up, Derby would have gone free and Ice would have been thrown in isolation for something she didn’t do. What unspeakable harm had I done?

Groaning, I flopped my weary body over onto my side, just in time to see the golden curls of Critter as she peeked into my cell. "Mind if I come in?" she asked with a friendly smile on her face.

Returning the smile, I struggled to sit up. "Sure! Come on in."

Nodding, Critter entered and sprawled out on my roommate’s vacant bunk. "Heard what happened."

I let out a slow breath. "Did Ice send you?"

"Nope. Corinne did. Figured you might need someone to talk to."

I shook my head. "How does that woman know so much?"

My friend grinned. "One of the eternal mysteries of the Bog."

"So . . .are you here to yell at me?"

"Nope. I’m just here to listen. And help if I can."

I sagged against the lumpy mattress, looking down at my hands. "I sure could use some."

"I figured as much."

Looking up, I met Critter’s dark, compassionate eyes. "Why was what I did so wrong? I was only trying to make sure justice was done."

"Justice has its own way of being served in prison, Angel. The one rule that stands above all the others is that you never rat out a fellow inmate. Even if they do something that to you is unspeakable."

"But . . . ."

Critter held up one hand. "Angel, why didn’t you tell Sandra it was Mouse and her gang who beat you up in the shower?"

Closing my mouth, I sat back and thought about her question for a moment. "Well . . .I guess it’s because I figured that I’d hurt them enough."

"Exactly. Prison justice. From what I heard, Ice pretty much wiped the floor with Derby today."

That brought an involuntary smile to my lips. "Yeah. She did."

"Do you think Derby got a pretty good payback for what she did to the new girl?"

"Well, sure! But Ice didn’t deserve to be put in isolation for something she didn’t do! And I couldn’t just stand by and let the guards, and everyone else, think that Ice was a rapist!"

"I know, Angel. I know. It’s hard just to stand back and do nothing. But sometimes you have to. Especially in here. Most of the people in this prison know Ice. They know what she’s capable of, and what lines she won’t cross. They know she wouldn’t stoop to rape. Hell, Angel, half the women in here would give their eyeteeth just to spend one night with her! She has no need to take what would be given freely."

I sighed, considering that thought. "I suppose you’re right."

Smiling, Critter got up from the bed and sat down beside me, slinging a friendly arm around my shoulder. "Course I am." Reaching out, she gently cupped my chin, bringing my gaze up to meet hers. "Angel, you know this stuff already. You made a mistake. But it was an admirable one that came from a good heart. This place has all too few of those. Ice was upset, but she knows why you did what you did. Things’ll work out. You’ll see."

A horrifying thought came into my head. "But what if Laura gets into even more trouble? If I hadn’t opened my big mouth, she wouldn’t have been forced to tell the guards who hurt her! Oh God!"

"Shhh. It’s ok, Angel. We’re keeping a close watch on her. Nothing’ll happen. I promise."

"But . . . ."

"Trust me, Angel. Trust Ice. Nothing will happen. She’ll be safe. In a way, you did her a great favor. Not everyone comes under the protection of the Amazons. Because of you, she is now. No worries, alright?"

Sighing, I looked down at my hands which were twisted in my lap. "Sorry. I guess I just made more work for you."

To my great surprise, Critter threw back her head and laughed. "Oh, Angel. You’re a treasure, you know that? An absolute treasure." Giving me a final hug, she rose from the bed and playfully cuffed me on the shoulder. "Take it easy, my friend."

Meeting her eyes, I couldn’t help but return her smile. "You too, Critter."

"I’ll take it any way I can get it." With a grin and a final wave, my friend left me to my thoughts, which were much lighter for her visit.

The next day was, of course, Sunday, and after taking my aborted shower of the day before and spending an hour in forced prayer to a God I wasn’t sure I believed in anymore, I made my way down to the sanctuary of the library.

Some time during my tossings and turnings of the night before, I’d decided to go ahead and purchase Ice’s bonsai rake for her. After seeing the woman fight first hand, I was sure she couldn’t do any more damage with a gardening tool than she could do with her fists and feet. The images of the fight pervaded my dreams all night, causing me to wake up in a sweat more than once, and let me tell you, the sweat wasn’t one of fear.

Before my shower, I’d managed to connect with one of my contacts on the outside who was just on his way to church himself. The deal was done quickly and with a minimum amount of fuss and I was assured that, if everything went well, I should see my new acquisition within the week..

Walking into the library, I immediately headed for my favorite chair at my favorite table and sat down, stretching my still sleepy body and rolling my neck to get the kinks out.

Corinne greeted me with a smile from her place behind her desk. "How are you doing?"

"Better, thanks. And thank you for sending Critter up to see me. She really helped."

My friend’s face dimpled. "Don’t mention it."

We sat for a few moments in companionable silence, the ever present ticking of the clock and the scratching of her pen on paper the only sounds around us. Most Sundays saw the library empty, but since Corinne considered it her home, it was open all the time, customers or no.

I looked down at the table, my fingers tracing over some of the deeply carved graffiti, trying to put into words the flow of my thoughts. Finally deciding to grab the bull by the horns, so to speak, I looked over at my companion’s gray head as it bobbed slightly with her pen strokes. "Corinne, can I ask you something personal?"

Her eyes were warm and kind as they met mine. "Of course, Angel. What’s on your mind?"

"Do you . . .um . . . ." My fingers investigated another piece of inmate artwork. "Do you find women . . .attractive?" I looked up to gauge the expression on her face from the corner of my eye, suddenly feeling very shy in her presence.

Placing her pen down on the desk, Corinne clasped her hands, appearing to give the question serious consideration. "Well, yes, I suppose I do. Not all of them, mind you. That Derby gives me a bit of a pain in my guts, but some . . .yes."

I nodded. "And . . .well . . .have you ever been attracted to one? A woman, I mean. I mean, I know you were married and all, but . . . ."

Her seamed face creased into a grin as she appeared to read my thoughts perfectly. "Indeed I have, Angel. Quite a few, as a matter of fact. Still am, if the truth be told."

The way she looked at me made me blush and turn away slightly. Perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea after all.

Seeing my discomfiture, she once again dropped that slightly predatory stare that she’d been known to grace me with from time to time. "You have to remember, Angel, that I’m quite a bit older than you are. Things were different when I was growing up."

"How so?"

"People weren’t so . . .open . . .with their sexuality as they are now. If you happened to be attracted to someone of the same gender, you kept it well hidden, or risk a huge scandal. If word got out, you could be whisked away to an insane asylum or even jail and no one wanted to risk that. Plus, my parents had quite a bit of status in the community where I grew up. Our family name and the reputation that went with it meant everything to them."

"So, you never acted on your attractions?"

The grin became predatory once again. "I never said that."

"Oh." My eyes dropped back down to the table.

I heard the faint scrape of a chair against the floor and, a second later, felt Corinne’s warm presence next to me as she took a seat at my table. "As I’ve said, things were much different when I was a young girl, and my family had status in my community. A marriage was arranged for me, and it was expected that I’d accept that as my lot in life. And I did, for awhile. I had no skills other than those of a wife and a hostess, and no money of my own with which to start a different life."

She paused, and when I looked up, I could see a faint smile on her face and a far away look in her eyes. "Then the war happened and Todd, my husband at the time, was drafted to serve his country. Suddenly, my little corner of the world was bereft of men and I found myself surrounded by luscious femininity." Her smile widened, though her eyes were still very far away. "Ah, what a blissful time that was. It was like tasting chocolate for the first time, or being under the influence of an addictive drug. Once I had it, I wanted more." Her pale cheeks took on a faint flush. "I’m afraid I went a bit overboard."

I was totally drawn into her story, my own questions totally forgotten. "What happened?"

"Todd returned from London and I’m afraid he caught wind of my little indiscretions. Now, when he went off to war, he was a placid, dull man. Easily manipulated. But he returned a greedy, power-hungry tyrant. He agreed to keep quiet on the subject if I would give him hush money. I tried that for awhile, but I’m afraid my parents became a bit suspicious. I had never asked for money before, and now it seemed that just about every week Todd would demand something more. Having no skills of my own with which to earn it, they were the only ones I could turn to. I’m afraid my excuses became somewhat repetitive."

"What did you do?"

"Well, Todd hadn’t been so chaste himself while in London. It seems he dipped his wick into some dirty wax and managed to come home with a good case of syphilis." Her smile turned wicked. "At the time, some of the physicians still treated that particular disease with arsenic."

My mind quickly put two and two together, came up with the requisite ‘four’, and forced me to look at my friend with wide eyes.

"Exactly. The treatment for my husband’s dirty little illness gave me the perfect means to extricate myself from his machinations. I made up a story about rats in the attic and he even went down to the store to buy me more of the stuff! Soon I was introducing it into his food, just small doses at first, of course. He’d never been very keen on taking his medicine, but I told him that I wouldn’t allow him into the marital bed until he’d become completely cured. Todd wanted an heir above all, so when I suggested doubling up on his medication, he complied without complaint. It was glorious."

Shaking her head, she laughed softly to herself. "And when the stomach pains started, I played the dutiful little wife and made sure to be seen weeping over my agony-ridden husband. I worked quickly then, stuffing all the arsenic down him I could. He died two days later. Such a grieving and bereft widow this world has never seen, if I do say so myself. His death was attributed to a case of the gastric flu that was going around at the time, complicated, of course, by his syphilis. Naturally, that little bit of information was kept quite hush hush and nary another word was mentioned. I was left with a tidy sum of money and a grand old house. And a maid who was young and beautiful. If there is such a thing as perfection in life, I had achieved it."

"So, what happened?" I’m sure I must have sounded like a persistent little child, begging for a bed-time story, but I couldn’t help myself. I was utterly fascinated by her tale.

"The money ran out quite quickly, I’m afraid. As did the maid. So, being a poor widow in the prime of her life with some social status to boot, I moved away to a town close by and found myself another husband. This time, I was lucky enough to find a rich, older gentleman who already had some long standing stomach problems. He wanted to be married quickly, and I was happy to oblige him. I quickly set myself up as the doting, long suffering wife. I accompanied him on his myriad of journeys to this doctor or that, always taking care to be seen and to be concerned. He was quite a hypochondriac, though in those days, it was known as eccentric. And you know what they say about the boy who cried wolf."

"He got eaten in the end."

Corinne flashed me that hard, triumphant smile of hers. "Exactly."

I shuddered at the expression but managed to keep my voice steady. "Why did you have to kill him, though? Did he abuse you?"

"Oh no. Randolph was quite a nice man when he wasn’t complaining about his various aches and pains. We got along quite well, as a matter of fact."

"Then why?"

"Because I had discovered an elemental truth about myself during my time with my first husband."

"And what was that?"

"I enjoyed killing. I enjoyed the power it gave me, and I enjoyed the benefits I obtained. I had no need for a man in my life, except for the money they would leave me at their deaths. It was clean. It was simple. And it was fun."

I shuddered again, but Corinne didn’t seem to notice. "And so you just . . .killed them. With no remorse."

"Precisely."

"Just like snuffing out a candle?"

"Very good analogy, Angel. That’s exactly what it was like. There were no bad emotions behind the act. Though I must admit that I enjoyed watching them suffer and call out to me as if I were some malignant angel of mercy who could grant them eternal peace. I imagine that’s what the old gods of death felt like when they snuffed out a life. Powerful. Happy. In complete control."

Swallowing against the dryness in my throat, I broke the lock of our gazes, once again looking down at the scarred table-top as if it would provide the answers I sought. Hard as I tried, I couldn’t seem to wrap my mind around the concept of joy in murder. It was as alien a thought to me as there could ever be. I thought back to my own time of depression and profound remorse that followed the killing of my husband. And that was done in self defense! The thought of killing him because I simply wanted to tore at my guts like a razor.

And yet here was a woman who I’d come to care for and regard almost like a mother figure, sitting calmly next to me discussing her enjoyment of killing as if she were reporting the weather. I felt a cold, dead space grow inside me and my body drew in on itself as I wrapped my arms around my shoulders, elbows tight to my chest.

Corinne’s expression became sad as she looked at me. "And now I’ve upset you, sweet Angel. That wasn’t my intention, I assure you."

"I know that Corinne," I returned, my voice soft and introspective. "It’s just that . . . . It all seems so hard to believe; as if I’m having a dream and just waiting for something to come along and wake me up. I guess it wouldn’t be so strange if I didn’t feel so close to you, but I do. I’ve come to care for you a great deal, Corinne, and when you tell me things like this about yourself, well, it scares me. It almost makes me feel that that caring is for a person I don’t even know, or maybe for a person who isn’t even there. And that’s frightening for me."

"And for that I apologize deeply, Angel. Though you’ve known who I was since the day you met me, I suppose that anyone can choose to overlook parts of someone they don’t wish to see. It seems to be part of the human condition. As if in ignoring it, it will simply go away." When she looked again at me, her gaze was calm and direct, showing me through eye contact alone everything she was, and could be. "Angel, I do care for you. Very much. You’ve been a ray of light in this dark and dreary place. But if you can’t look me in the eye without experiencing fear or revulsion, then I think it’s best if we end this here and now and spare us both later heartache."

As I gazed at my friend, I thought long and hard over the things she had said. And I knew she had spoken the truth. Corinne had never tried to come across as someone she wasn’t. She’d never hidden her deeds, nor made light of them. She spoke about her past with honesty and never tried to sugar-coat it for the benefit of my friendship. I realized that, in the time I had known her, she had always been a murderer, yet I had gotten to both know and care about her despite that fact, or maybe even, if I were to be totally honest with myself, because of it. And I also realized that without her presence, my life would be lacking something that I didn’t want to give up.

"I don’t want that, Corinne. I don’t want to lose you as a friend because of my shallow thinking. You’re an important person in my life and if you can forgive my fear and ignorance, I’d like to continue our relationship."

My friend smiled, obviously relieved. "I’d like that very much as well, Angel." With a happy grin, she slumped back into her chair. "Now, before we got off on this torturous tangent of ours, we were speaking about attraction to women, were we not?"

Her direct gaze made me blush once again and I nodded.

"Well, then. I’m assuming that you’re asking me because there’s a chance you might be attracted to someone right here in our happy little home?"

My blush deepened as I nodded again.

"Let’s see. Who could it be? Perhaps our fair Critter? I’ve seen the way she looks at you."

Her eyes twinkled mischievously as mine widened. Critter? "No. No, Critter’s a very attractive woman, but she’s just a friend."

"Hmmm." Obviously having fun at my expense, Corinne pretended to ponder the question. "Pony, perhaps? Or Sonny? No? Is it Montana then? Now there’s an intense, striking woman. Ah, if I were only a few years younger."

"No. None of them."

Her eyes went round with false innocence. "Then who, dear Angel? You forget, I’m an old woman. My mind isn’t as sharp as it once was. These guessing games go right past me, I’m afraid."

I took a deep breath. And then another. "It’s Ice," I mumbled to the tabletop.

"Who? Speak up, dear. My hearing’s not what it used to be either."

If there were ever a moment in my life where I would have truly enjoyed killing someone, it would have been right then. Corinne’s gaze was sharp and mirthful, allowing me no quarter. "It’s Ice," I repeated, more succinctly this time.

Her grin was triumphant. "Ahhhh. So the tall, dark and deadly one has managed to mesmerize my sweet little Angel, has she?"

"Corinne . . . ." I was surprised the sprinklers hadn’t been set off, my face got so hot.

"Oh come now, Angel. You think I haven’t noticed those cute little puppy-dog eyes you get every time you catch sight of her? I may be old, but I’m not blind."

"Corinne, please." If there had been an electric chair handy, I would have gladly strapped myself in and used a broom handle to pull the lever. Is it possible to die of embarrassment?

"Oh alright," my friend said, sounding a bit petulant. "You’re just so much fun to tease, Angel. Your face gets the most delightful shade of red. Almost a rose color. It’s quite beautiful."

"Corinne. . . ."

"Alright, alright. I’ll stop. For now."

A breath of thanks rushed out of my lungs. "Please," I managed to choke out.

"This attraction you have for Ice, does it bother you?"

"No. Yes. God, I don’t know!" Propping my elbows on the table, I slumped my still heated face into my hands.

"Alright, let’s go through this logically. Do you have a problem with the fact that she’s a woman?"

"No. Not exactly. I mean, I’ll admit it’s a little strange since I’ve never been attracted to a woman before, unless you count my first grade teacher Mrs. Price."

"I think we can be safe in leaving her out of this for the moment."

"I think you’re right. It’s not the attraction itself that bothers me so much. It’s the intensity of it. I’ve never felt something like this before. In anything. I know you’ve talked about the connection between us before and part of me wants to believe you but . . . ." I sighed, unable yet again to voice my thoughts. "This is just so beyond my experience I’m having trouble knowing what to do with my feelings."

"Have you ever thought of talking with Ice about them?"

I looked up at her, stunned. My mouth opened and closed a few times but I couldn’t get the words out.

"Cat got your tongue?" Corinne was positively smug.

"Are you crazy?!?"

"Some would say so, yes."

"I mean about this! Have you forgotten that I only talked to the woman for the first time the day before yesterday?"

"And your point would be . . . ?"

Still stunned, all I could do was shake my head. "You have got to be kidding me, Corinne. Please tell me you’re kidding me."

"I was quite serious, actually."

"Great. That’s just great. What do you suggest, Corinne? You think I should just waltz into Ice’s cell, pin her to the bed and say ‘Hey, Ice, I just wanted you to know that, even though we’ve said a grand total of five words to one another, I think I’m in love with you. And if it’s not love, it’s some intense kind of lust. Will you please kiss me’?"

My friend shrugged. "Why not? Works for me."

For the first time in my life, I actually growled with frustration. Collapsing against the table, Corinne started laughing so hard I was actually worried that she’d give herself a stroke.

As I sat there scowling and feeling rather petulant myself, my friend finally managed to bring herself under some sort of control. Isolated chuckles still escaped her as she dabbed at her tear-streaked face with a corner of her shawl. "Oh Angel, sweet, beautiful, wonderful Angel. How I ever survived thirty years in this depraved pit without your presence I’ll never know."

"I’m not laughing over here, Corinne," I muttered, giving her my best impression of a displeased look.

"I know, Angel. And I apologize for my outburst. It’s just that you forget about the beauty of innocence in a place like this. Its freshness brings a joy to my heart. Forgive me for expressing that joy through laughter. It’s not something I did much of before you came into my life."

Suddenly, I felt very much like a heel. "Corinne, I’m sorry. This is just all so confusing for me. My dreams as a little girl didn’t include serving time for murder or having an intense attraction to a fellow inmate, woman or man. I’m starting to feel out of control all over again, and I don’t like that."

"Oh Angel, I know what you’re going through, believe me. Just remember, though, you’ve only had a day or two to figure out what’s going on with you in regards to Ice. Getting a handle on those kinds of feelings will take time, and if there’s one thing we have in abundance here in the Bog, it’s time." She laid a gentle hand on my wrist and I absorbed the warmth of her skin gratefully. "My suggestion to you is to just sit back, relax, drink some tea, and let the world go on without you for awhile."

Despite myself, I cracked a smile. "Is tea your answer for everything?"

"Pretty much, yes. Would you like some?"

"Sounds like the best offer I’ve had all day."

Brown eyes twinkled as they looked back at me from over one of Corinne’s shoulders. "I could make you a better one."

"Don’t start."

My day managed to end much better than it started and for that, I was happy.

PART 3

THE END OF that week found me, as always, in the library, my thoughts on one subject in particular calmer if not more ordered. I’d only seen Ice to nod to in the hallways. Her eyes, when they met mine, were guarded, but no longer cold. I guessed that meant she’d forgiven me for my faux pas.

I had just put the finishing touches on an open book exam for one of my college courses when Phyllis stepped into the room bearing a small package and a smile for all of us, particularly Corinne. Since our discussion the week before, I’d taken the time to study the interaction between the two and noticed small things that I’d never had cause to see before. Though fraternization between inmates and guards was strictly forbidden, it looked like there was more going on between them than met the eye.

The tall guard headed over to my area as I closed my composition book, perching a hip on the corner of the table and looking down at me with warm eyes. "How’s it going, Angel?"

"Not bad. Just finished up the last of my courses for the semester."

"How’d you do?"

"Well, since it was open book, I think I got an A."

She grinned. "Tough life."

Returning the smile, I pushed the tablet and pen away from me. "How’s Laura?"

The young woman had remained in the infirmary most of the week, suffering from a skull fracture and a mild concussion from Derby’s beating. She’d just been released the day before and had been taken directly to the segregation unit for her own protection. I couldn’t help but continue to feel guilty about that since, in her own way, she was as isolated as Derby was down in the hole.

"She’s doin’ alright. She kinda likes the seg unit. Makes her feel safer. I think we’ll keep her there for a little while longer. Derby and Mouse are out of the picture for awhile, but there’s others who’ll try and finish what they started."

Some of my guilt must have shown on my face because she placed a hand on my shoulder, squeezing it slightly. "Don’t feel bad for speaking out, Angel. Justice was served. That’s a good thing."

"It’s not such a good thing if it makes her even more of a target than before, Phyllis."

"Angel, I might not want it this way, but the sad fact of life, hon, is that kids like Laura are always going to be targets no matter what they do. She’s little more than a kid who made a stupid mistake. God knows this isn’t the place for her, but what can we do? We just do our jobs and protect her, and the rest of the inmates, the best we can."

"Forgive me for saying so, Phyllis, but from where I’m standing, it doesn’t look like you’re doing a very good job at all. If Ice hadn’t walked in when she did, there quite probably could have been two of us beaten half to death instead of just Laura."

Shifting slightly, Phyllis curled her hand around the edge of the table, her knuckles whitening over the tan of her flesh. "It hurts to hear you say that, Angel, even though I know it’s true. The economy being what it is, people are paying more attention to gas prices than to prison expenses. The pay just isn’t high enough to entice anyone to come into this line of work. And the ones they do manage to entice usually don’t stay very long." She smiled. "The working conditions aren’t always exactly pleasant."

"I realize that, Phyllis, and I’m not blaming you, personally. It’s just that I think that most of the outside world sees us as a bunch of depraved monsters getting our just desserts. Not everyone in here is like that, though. And, underneath it all, we’re still human beings."

"I agree," the guard replied. "I just don’t know what we can do to change things. I’m not happy about young girls getting beaten bloody either."

"I know." Leaning back in my chair, I laced my fingers behind my head. "Maybe I’ll figure something out. After all," I glanced over to Corinne, "I’ve got a lotta time on my hands."

"I have faith in you, Angel," Phyllis replied, laughing. "Speaking of time, I need to get back to work." She held out the package she’d walked in with. "This came for you this morning. I rescued it before they could tear it to shreds."

Reaching out, I took the package, surprised to note that the wrapping was smooth and unbroken. As I’m sure you’re aware, the rule in prison is to thoroughly search all incoming and outgoing packages for contraband. That’s one of the reasons I never considered purchasing weapons for any of my customers, since I’d be the one sent to solitary and believe me, that’s a place you most definitely want to avoid at all costs.

I looked up at her, curious. She just smiled and patted my shoulder. "When I looked at the return address, I knew who it was for, " she said, as if that explained everything.

And perhaps, in a way, it did.

The package had come from the J & R Garden Supply Store and looked to be the bonsai rake I’d ordered the week before. My contact had come through for me once again. "Thanks," I said, for more than the package.

"No problem." Squeezing my shoulder once more, Phyllis levered herself off the table and turned to Corinne. "See you later?"

My friend dimpled. "Sounds good."

"Till then."

As the guard sauntered out, I turned to stare at Corinne, a smug grin on my own lips. "Corinne," I mock-chided, "are you going to get that poor guard in trouble with your lascivious nature?"

She turned her own smirk back at me. "I never kiss and tell, Angel."

"You should. Peter was a bit . . .dull. I could use a few pointers."

Her smile turned into a leer. "I’d be happy to show you."

I made a show of rolling my eyes. "We’re not going to start that again, are we? Besides, what would Phyllis think?"

"She’d think I was damned lucky," my friend growled.

"Enough of that." Pushing myself away from the table, I stood, idly twirling the long, thin package in my hands. Walking over to Corinne’s desk, I placed it in front of her. "Would you be sure Ice gets this?"

"I’m no postman. Give it to her yourself."

"No . . .I don’t think that would be a good idea. Really. Maybe I’ll get one of the Amazons to . . . ."

"Angel, you’re going to have to face her sometime, you know."

I sighed. "I know. But it’s only been a week. For all I know, she’ll take one look at me and send me flying out of her cell with one of those kicks of hers. I’ll be laid up for weeks! Who’ll help you with the library?"

My friend eyed me. "Don’t make up excuses to cover your cowardice, Angel. This deal is between the two of you. No one else. Just go up there and give her the package. It’s not like she’s gonna bite you." The leer returned. "Unless you want her to."

"Corinne . . . ."

She flapped her arm at me. "Just deliver your package and leave me be. I’ve got a date to prepare for."

Sighing, I retrieved the box. "This never gets any easier, does it."

"Nope. That’s what makes it so much fun. Now shoo."

With a last pleading glance, and seeing no help would be found, I spun on my heel and made my way out of my sanctuary.

The mind is an amazing creature, especially in its morbid tendency to spew out thoughts best locked away deep in the cavern of the subconscious. As I walked down the long, dim hallway leading from the library to the prison proper, I could almost see in front of me a black-garbed priest softly chanting the Lord’s Prayer as guards kept pace beside me.

The box in my hands became chains on my wrists and my heart sped up as my mouth became dry as dust. I imagined a cold gust of winter air that swept across my body and my skin responded as the hair lifted from my arms in stiff spikes. Just as I was beginning to wonder why my imaginary companions had morphed into the garb of Roman centurions, the hallway opened out into the prison’s main square, leaving me slack jawed and blinking with its sudden brightness.

"Angel," I whispered to myself, "you’ve got to start getting out more. I think that library’s starting to have a bad influence on you."

A few strange looks were cast my way by passing inmates and I firmly pushed the spectral visions from my mind, resolutely stalking toward the near stairwell as if I hadn’t a care in the world.

Ice’s cell was on the eighth floor and as I mounted the steps, quickly climbing, I wondered how she and the other inmates could stand to climb so much just to get to their rooms. My time with the Amazons had put me into pretty good shape by then, though, so the trek wasn’t as bad as it might have been months earlier.

Still, a ball of cold lead seemed to have taken up residence in my stomach, growing larger and heavier each step I climbed so that by the time I had reached the top, I wasn’t sure if I could take another step.

As I stood on the final landing, trying to regain both my strength and my will, I looked around and was thankful that most of the block seemed to be free of human habitation. Calming my breathing and centering my thoughts, I gave myself one of my patented pep-talks. "Alright, Angel, let’s get moving. Nothing to it, right? Just go in there, give her the package and leave. It’s not as if she’s gonna ask you in for tea, right? She’ll probably just grunt at you and send you on your way. No big deal, right?"

Right.

So why was my heart trip-hammering in my chest? Why was my skull pounding fit to burst and my guts twisting inside me like a roll of barbed wire? "Oh God. I think I’m gonna be sick."

A passing inmate, one of the few up and around on level eight, paused next to me, looking at me with concern. "Are you alright?"

I managed a weak smile. "Oh yeah. Never better." As she continued to look at me strangely, I frantically searched for something to say. "I’m . . .um . . .lost, I think. Can you tell me which cell is Ice’s?"

The inmate’s puzzled look turned into a smile. "Yeah, sure." Half turning her body, she pointed down the catwalk bordering the cells. "Last one to the left down there, in the corner. H-324."

"Thanks!"

"Hey, no problem! See ya around." I didn’t miss the speculative glance I got from my new acquaintance, and for whatever reason, it made my heart lighter. Ha! Take that, Ice! I don’t need to be scared of you. There are plenty of other fish in the sea.

Ok, so it was a bad analogy.

Heading down the catwalk with a lighter step, I glanced curiously into the cells I was passing. The eighth floor, for the most part, housed the most dangerous criminals in the Bog. Because of this, the prison authorities thought it best to give them single rooms. These rooms were the same size as the regular cells, but instead of a second bunk, a long stainless steel table ran along one wall.

Unlike the rest of the prison population, the warden’s edict banning items of a personal nature didn’t appear to extend to the worst of the worst. I wasn’t sure why this was exactly, but figured that a happy murderer was a safe murderer and so left my thoughts at that, lest I start becoming perturbed at the unfair irony of the worst getting the best.

At long last, I was standing outside of Ice’s cell, my body pressed up against the cool, pebbled cement of the wall. Maybe she’s not in! my mind shouted. Yeah, right. You’re not that lucky.

It’s absolutely amazing how your body can ignore a firm directive from your mind. Of course, at the time, my mind was shouting conflicting orders at it, but still, it was more stubborn than a mule, confused or not.

Suddenly a deep, sensuous voice broke into my thoughts. "Ya might as well come in, Angel. I can hear you breathing out there."

Flushing with embarrassment and not a little shock, I pushed myself away from the wall and walked toward the open door of Ice’s cell, pausing just outside and staring in.

Ice was lounging on her bunk, her back pressed up against the far wall as the rest of her long, strong body lay in peaceful repose, one leg cocked at the knee, the other fully extended. A thick paperback lay face down against her lower abdomen, its spine creased from many readings. The glare of the overhead flourescents made catching the title all but impossible, not that I didn’t try.

After a moment, I held up my encumbered hand. "I . . .um . . .your package came in today. Corinne suggested I come up here and drop it off."

Smiling slightly, showing no more than the barest quirk of her full lips, Ice shifted on the bed, then placed her feet on the floor, standing with the fluid grace that haunted my dreams. I was mesmerized. Again.

Watching as she came toward me, I licked my lips, still holding out my arm and willing my hand not to tremble as the heat of her body wrapped itself around mine, caressing my skin. Reaching out a long arm, she took the box from my hand, looking down at the untouched wrapping, then back up at me, one eyebrow raised to her hairline.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing. Just surprised it isn’t opened."

"Oh. Well, I trust you."

The eyebrow went higher.

I smiled weakly. "Besides, I’ve seen you fight."

Her little half smile came out again and I resisted shaking my head against the feelings that simple expression engendered in me. Her fierce eyes softened as they regarded me and, from deep within my heart, I felt the tug of whatever connection we seemed to possess. "Thanks," she said, her voice soft, her hand hefting the package and tossing it lightly.

"No problem."

How long we stood there, looking at one another in perfect silence, I’ll never know. As with our first meeting, whole centuries seemed to fall away with the weight of each breath. It was like looking at an old and cherished photo album that you forgot even existed and getting warm and happy from the memories. At the same time, it was much more, this connection. And much less. It had about it a simplicity so fundamental and a complexity so profound that my mind just decided to give up the ghost and simply ‘be’.

Though I didn’t want to break the moment, some part of me eventually came to the decision that this wasn’t the best of ideas, and so I broke the lock of our gazes, my eyes touring the room, looking for some safe space to land my gaze.

As if by providence, my eyes landed on the metal table that ran the length of one wall of Ice’s cell. It’s chill, shining finish was covered with a beautiful silk cloth, done up in purples, yellows, blues and reds of varying hues and emblazoned with what looked to be Chinese characters. Or they could have been Japanese. My Asian isn’t all that great, truth be known.

On the cloth, side by side, sat four bonsai trees looking like visions of a world far from here. The love and care that had gone into their shaping was obvious and, quite beyond my conscious will, my body was drawn to what my eyes were seeing. I barely felt the shifting presence as Ice stepped back to allow me into the cell.

Striding over to the table as if gliding on currents of warm summer air, I stopped at the boundary and simply stared, completely taken in by the vision before me. The four small trees bore the distinct stamp of proud individuality, yet when seen as a unit, they seemed to tell a story, the meaning of which darted teasingly around in my brain, tossing out hints which I failed to catch.

Looking at them was like seeing into someone else’s soul, all violent beauty, gentle caring and turbulent emotions fighting for space within the fragile shell of a living being. The deep profundity of hidden meanings niggled at me, stirring my curiosity, but rather than give into them, I chose to look upon the stark simplicity of the works before me. I imagined feeling warm sunlight on my face as it shone, dappled, through the leaves of a forested glen. The feeling of ultimate freedom and tender peace filtered down to me with the light, cocooning me in its gossamer web. It was like looking through a window and seeing an unending vista filled with warmth, peace and love. "Beautiful," I breathed.

Looking at art affected me that way and, in all honesty, still does. I hope to never lose that part of myself that sees joy and wonder in the most simple of things.

The soft sound of a throat being cleared broke me from my rapture and I turned to see Ice, looking faintly embarrassed and staring down at the box in her hands. "Thanks," she mumbled.

The look on her face made her fully human for the first time to me and I couldn’t help the feeling of surprised giddiness that went flowing through my heart and body. Laughter threatened to bubble up, but I remembered who I was with and tamped down on it, reining in control over my sometimes flighty emotions. "They really are beautiful," I replied softly. "Spiritual, almost. But primal too. A wonderful paradox."

When her eyes met mine, I saw the embarrassment had brought with it a bit of defensiveness. "Angel, they’re trees."

"Lying won’t help your case any," I replied, figuring that gentle teasing might do the trick. "They’re more than just trees and the work you’ve put into them proves my point quite nicely, don’t you think?"

She scowled at me, but didn’t refute my words. Inside, I pumped a triumphant fist.

"Come on, Ice. People must tell you that a hundred times a day! These are magnificent."

"Actually, no," she countered, getting a little of her confidence back. "Aside from the guards, you’re the first person I’ve ever allowed into my cell."

Ohhhhh shit. I reached my hand up to scratch at the back of my neck, something I did often when I needed to think quickly and the answers just weren’t coming. "I’m . . . sorry. I . . .didn’t mean . . . . It’s just that . . . they were so beautiful and I . . . ."

She smiled, slightly, one that reached her eyes and made them soft and warm. "It’s alright. I know you didn’t mean any harm."

My relief was palpable. "Thank you."

"No problem."

For lack of anything better to do, I let my gaze wander again. On the wall above the bonsai was a large map that looked to be from National Geographic. It sported the title "Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire". With little icons of battle plans and weaponry, it seemed incongruous, sitting as it was above a scene of such absolute tranquility. As I looked around further, I noticed smaller maps scattered about on the green-painted walls, each showing the territory of a once powerful empire which was, eventually, crushed to dust beneath the boot-heels of a stronger army.

"Interesting hobby," I remarked, more to hear myself speak than anything else. "Is there a message behind these?"

"World domination."

I whirled back to face her, catching the slightly sarcastic grin that made its way across her beautiful face. "Very funny."

Her eyebrow went up again. "What makes you think I’m joking?"

I stared at her for a moment, then shook my head. Something told me there was more truth to those words than I wanted to hear.

The small space around us, and the energy with which we were filling it, became too intense suddenly. I’m afraid I took the coward’s way out. "Well, I guess I should go now. I hope you enjoy your rake."

"I’m sure I will. And thank you."

I couldn’t help it. I had to smile. "You’re very welcome. Anytime. If you ever need anything else, just remember who can get it for you."

"I’ll keep that in mind."

"You do that. Well, I guess I’ll see you around?" Intense as the situation was, part of me, a big part, was absolutely loathe to leave.

At her nod, I grinned again and walked to the barred door of the cell. Just at the threshhold, I paused and turned back. "Ice?"

"Yes?"

"I just wanted to say that I’m sorry. About what happened last week. My words put you in a bad position and I want you to know that I never meant to do that."

"It’s already forgotten."

"Thanks!" I paused, desperately trying to think of something to say, but my words, it seemed, had been all used up. "Well, goodbye, Ice."

"Goodbye, Angel."

As I stepped from the cell, not looking back, I had a distinct sense of loss. But the knowledge that she had both forgiven me for my indiscretion and allowed me into a place where no one else had ever gone warmed me like a blanket on a cold winter morning. I carried that feeling within me and savored it at odd moments.

It was a good day.

The next several weeks traveled on in their usual interminable fashion. As before, I spent most of my time in the library, cataloguing, writing, teaching and chatting with Corinne and the others who also made this place their home. I continued my daily workouts with the Amazons and sometimes, if I was lucky, Ice would join us for a bit.

When that happened, invariably what seemed like half of the prison would gather around, watching her athletic form go through its paces while badgering and begging her for the finer points of some of her varied fighting techniques. Some questions she just ignored, while others she would answer with a demonstration, using one or another of the Amazons as a sparring partner.

Like the others, I watched her every move and when I wasn’t drooling over the perfection of her body, I was taking furious mental notes, learning everything I could from a woman who was, in my estimation, one of the greatest fighters ever. Not that I'd ever had cause to see many up close and personal, mind you. But, as you can no doubt tell by reading this far into my tale, when it comes to Ice, I can be quite biased.

One such morning found me out in the yard, my bare foot red and stinging from repeated kicks to the canvas heavy bag that continued to mock me with its smug complacency. My lesson today was round kicks and Pony, as always, was a patient teacher. She’d started off easy, marking a spot on the dirty canvas with a piece of cinder and asking me to kick at it repeatedly with my right leg, demanding that I hit the exact same spot with each blow. After I had managed to hit the mark flawlessly for what felt like three or four thousand repetitions, she moved the mark higher, then higher again until my body was completely laid out and I was forced to stand up on my toes just to launch the kick. The tendons in my groin bellowed out their protests quite stridently.

After missing the mark for the tenth time in a row, I stopped, panting lightly and putting my hands on my hips. "I can’t do it, Pony. I’m just not tall enough."

Suddenly, the radiating heat of another body slid itself against my back as hands moved to displace my own from my hips. Long, tanned fingers took their place, splaying slightly against my abdomen. "Sure ya are," came the low, sultry voice in my ear, its tenor, combined with the supple strength of the body behind me, sending entirely different signals to the tendons, as well as other areas, in my groin.

The voice came at me again, caressing my senses as the warmth of strong flesh leeched itself through the resilient fabric of my jumpsuit. "You’re just not in the right position."

As you might have already guessed, at that point in time, I could think of no other position in the world that could have possibly been more right than the one I was in.

Strong hips thrust lightly against my backside, angling my pelvis so that my right side was slightly closer to the hanging bag. "It’s all in the positioning, Angel. Feel my body as I make the kick."

Melding us seamlessly together, Ice launched a light round kick to the topmost part of the heavy-bag. Even with a teasing shot, the chain rattled out its protest as the bag swayed as if blown by a violent wind. The feeling of Ice’s body uncoiling against me as she released the blow was indescribable.

"Feel that?"

"Oh yes."

"Ready to give it a try?"

"Uhhh . . .maybe once more?" Yes, I could play stupid with the best of them, alright.

Her hands tightened around my hips as, into my vision a long leg slashed, rocketing into the bag and, it seemed, managing to sway the entire building with its strength. The metal links holding the bag to the eaves groaned again as if they seriously considered snapping in a shower of rust just to protest the abuse they were receiving. "Better?"

"Oh yes, much better, thanks. I’m almost sure I’ve got it down now."

"Almost?" From the tone of the voice in my ear, I knew my game had been discovered and I tensed slightly, waiting for the inevitable.

After a second or two with nothing happening, I relaxed. "Yes, almost. Once more should do the trick."

"Are you sure." Ice’s tone was rich with suppressed mirth.

"Positive. Just one more time. That’s all I need."

"Alright. Once more and then you’re on your own."

"Check."

Once again, her hands tightened against me and I leaned back into the strength of her body as the muscles clenched, then loosened, their motion caressing my back with sensual abandon. Her long, thick, soft hair fanned across my shoulder and slid against my cheek, filling my nostrils with its wonderful fragrance. My eyes slipped closed and I imagine I had the goofiest grin of pure bliss stamped across my face.

Unfortunately, in my pleasure-filled haze, I had forgotten about the difference in our heights. When my eyes opened again, I caught the twinkle of perfect sapphires as they gazed back at me in amusement. "Ya can’t learn much with your eyes closed, Angel."

"Were they closed?"

A faint smirk was all the answer I needed.

"Oh. Well . . .I was . . .feeling the kick. With my body. Like you told me. Right?"

"Feeling the kick."

"Right. With my body. Just like you said."

"And what did it feel like?"

Involuntarily, my eyes closed again. "Heavenly."

A burst of laughter told me that my comment had been uttered aloud. I felt the blush begin at my toes and spread at a record pace throughout the rest of my body. I made a weak try to escape the situation but Ice merely tightened her arms, pinning me to her body. "Don’t worry about Pony. She’s just taken one too many hits to the head."

"Hey!" my friend shouted in mock outrage, tears still rolling down her cheeks.

"Just ignore her," Ice said as she released her grip on my hips and stepped back away from me. It took all my effort not to step back with her, but one long look at Pony’s still red face convinced me to stay where I was.

"Alright, Angel," Ice said from her place behind me, "try it now. Remember, it’s all in the positioning of your body. Visualize the kick and then go for it."

Visualize the kick, she says. The only thing I can visualize right now are her arms around me again. Alright, Angel. Enough of that. You’ve got a job to do, so just go on and do it.

Taking a few deep breaths to calm my racing heart, I ran through the kick once more in my mind, visualized my foot hitting that high black mark, then let loose, twisting on my foot and shooting my leg out and up.

I grinned as I heard the satisfying smack of flesh against canvas and felt the bag give with the force of my kick. Pony, who was holding the bag to steady it for me, flew away, almost colliding with a weight bench.

"Yes!" I crowed.

Pony turned wide eyes to me. "Where in the world did that come from??"

With a triumphant smirk of my own, I narrowed my eyes at my astounded friend. "Let’s just say I needed the right motivation."

A soft snort sounded behind me and I whirled in time to see Ice quickly cover her mouth with her fingers as her eyes shot skyward in an expression of devilish innocence. When her fingers came away again, her usual no nonsense expression was settled firmly over her features. "Alright, you did it once. Good. Now keep practicing until you can hit that same spot repeatedly without missing."

I groaned.

She narrowed her eyes at me, then her expression cleared. "Angel, look. This stuff isn’t easy, but if you want the tools needed to defend yourself against some of these idiots, you’ve got to practice." She smiled slightly. "Besides, you’re a natural. You’ve got a good, strong, compact body with a low center of gravity."

"You mean I’m short."

"No. I mean you’ve got a good, strong, compact body with a low center of gravity. Makes you hard to hit. Plus, you’re quick. If you try one of those high kicks at an opponent, say Derby’s size, you’ll surprise the hell outta her."

I nodded. "Surprise is good. Surprise is great, as a matter of fact. I just wish . . . ."

"What?"

I sighed, feeling my shoulders slump slightly. "I just wish I didn’t have to learn all this. Don’t get me wrong, I know I have to learn to defend myself. I just wish I could learn without having to hurt anyone else, that’s all."

Ice stepped close once again, reaching out and laying both hands on my shoulders. Her gaze was deep and direct and utterly serious. "Angel, in a place like this, sometimes you don’t have a choice."

As she stood looking at me, the silence drawing out between us, I could tell she could feel the strength of my convictions because her eyes changed color with her thoughts. After a moment, she stepped away and turned toward Pony. "Come at me."

Pony blinked. Then a slow, pleased grin spread across her face. "Alright." She rolled her neck in slow circles, loosening the tendons, then jerked her head sharply left, then right. The resulting sounds of vertebrae realigning themselves made me faintly nauseous.

Then, with a shout, she threw herself at Ice, her hands, feet, arms and legs a wild blur of motion. It reminded me of nothing so much as one of those horridly dubbed Japanese ‘kung fu’ films that my father used to watch in lieu of going to church on Sunday mornings. I can remember being too sick to go to church a few times and snuggling on the couch with my father, trying hard not to laugh at the seemingly outlandish fight sequences lest my absorbed parent chase me from the room and back into my boring old bed.

Watching some of those same moves in person, however, gave me an entirely new respect for the techniques I’d only laughed about in the past. Wild though they seemed, each strike was furiously controlled, aimed at one specific part of the body, and determined to do as much damage with as little effort as possible.

Pony was truly a sight to behold with her slashing limbs and wild, almost feral smile.

Ice was a different beast altogether. Her eyes half lidded and almost bored, she blocked each and every blow with seemingly lazy ease, turning Pony’s blows away and bleeding their strength while doing nothing to counterattack. The muscles of her body were loose and relaxed, her breathing even and steady.

I watched with absorbed fascination as I noticed that none of the slashing blows came anywhere near hitting her, though it was obvious that Pony was doing her level best to connect. Rather than become frustrated, however, Pony simply changed combinations and angles, coming in high, then low, then low again, trying to confuse her opponent.

Ice wasn’t buying into the rapidly shifting tactics, content to maintain her ‘lion lazing in the sun’ pose as she used her long arms and legs to continue to shunt the blows coming at her from all directions.

The mock battle began to draw spectators from all corners of the yard, but I was adamant on maintaining my position at the head of the crowd, using my ‘good, strong, compact body’ and my ‘low center of gravity’ effectively. Ice watched me from the corner of her eye, grinning slightly as she saw me stubbornly battling the crushing press of the crowd at my back and sides.

Pulling out another weapon in her arsenal, Pony twisted her body, then launched a truly spectacular spinning back kick at Ice’s midsection. Her reaction faster than a striking cobra, Ice neatly caught Pony’s outstretched foot, turning the ankle outward just to the point of snapping.

Pony yelped, then slapped her thigh with her open hand, calling ‘mercy’ with the action.

After another second, Ice released Pony’s foot and grinned as the other woman hopped backwards, cursing and rubbing her ankle. "You know that move never works on me, Pony. Why do ya keep on trying it?"

Planting her aching foot on the ground, Pony put her hands on her hips and scowled. "Because it works on everyone else, and one day, Ice . . . ."

Ice snorted. "Dream on." Then she turned to me, eyebrow raised in silent question.

I nodded. "That was good."

"Alright, Pony. Get Montana and Critter to work with her. Half an hour of Aikido, half an hour of blocks. Hour and a half of each on Saturdays."

Pony nodded her dark head, her hair wet with the sweat of exertion. "You got it."

The warning bell sounded, ending the exercise period and I turned to Ice, smiling. "Thank you."

Nodding at me in acknowledgement, she turned and slapped Pony on the shoulder before stalking off toward the building, her boots kicking up tiny puffs of dust as she walked.

Pony came up to me, with her cocky grin and sweating form, and flung a casual arm around my shoulders, bulling us both through the dispersing crowd and back toward the prison that was our home.

"That was fantastic, Pony. How long did it take you to learn all those moves?"

She shrugged. "I’ve always been into karate and other forms of martial arts. Got my black belt when I was fifteen or so. When Ice was here before, she really helped me out a lot. Still can’t beat her though."

"Do you think you ever will?"

"Nah. She’s way beyond anything that’s out there." She grinned again, that wild, free grin that sparkled her dark eyes. "Sure is fun to try though." Releasing me as we stepped into the building, she turned. "Heading back to the library?"

"Yeah. You?"

"Down to grab a shower. Tell Corinne I said hello, alright?"

"Will do. Thanks again, Pony."

With a rakish grin and an imaginary tip of a hat, she turned from me and was gone, her orange-clad form swallowed up by the long, dank halls of the prison.

I too continued down the hall a few more yards, then made a left into the library, catching a flash of orange as another inmate entered ahead of me. And found myself almost plowing right into the broad back of Ice as she stood just within the entrance to the room. Excusing myself hastily, I stepped away, watching as a huge smile crossed Corinne’s face. "As I live and breathe. The great Morgan Steele has actually graced my library with her presence!" Standing, my friend grasped beneath her left breast in mock pain. "Take me now, Lord! I’ve finally lived to see it all!"

Smiling slightly, Ice shook her head and walked over to the desk, meeting Corinne half way and enveloping her in a massive hug.

I could feel my face go tight in shocked reaction as I watched the scene play out before me. In the time I’d known her, though not long, to be sure, I’d never ever seen Ice be so physically affectionate with anyone. In a way, it was akin to watching a statue come to life and grab an unsuspecting passer-by. I was stunned.

Stepping away from the hug, Corinne held Ice at arm’s length, looking her up and down. "My God. I thought growth spurts were supposed to stop at eighteen! You’re even taller than when I saw you last!"

Ice rolled her eyes. "Corinne, I saw you last week."

"Yes, I do seem to remember someone grunting at me as I passed by in the hallway. Was that you? And here I thought we’d obtained a penitentiary pig."

"Corinne . . . ."

Slapping Ice lightly on the arm, Corinne backed away, grinning unrepentantly. "So, what brings you into my evil web? Come to talk to an old, and I’m not getting any younger by the way, friend? Or was it something else?"

"Well, actually, I was wondering if that book I’d ordered had come in yet."

Corinne tapped her chin, her eyes twinkling. "Book. Book. Ah yes. The Gulag Archipelago, wasn’t it?"

"You read Solzhenitsyn?" I blurted out before I could ram my foot down my throat.

Ice did a slow turn, facing me with narrowed eyes. "Something wrong with that?"

"No! No, not at all! I was just . . .um . . .he’s one of my favorite writers."

As she continued to stare at me, I turned my eyes pleadingly to Corinne.

"Don’t mind Angel. She’s just a literary snob. Doesn’t think the rest of us common folk could tell the difference between Dostoevski and Doonesbury."

"Corinne!"

Smirking, Ice turned back to Corinne, hands on her hips. "So, is it in yet?"

"Something I’ve asked my husbands many a time, my dear, though the answer in this case would be no."

"Alright, then. Would you please send someone to tell me when it does come in?"

"Ah, ah, ah, dear Ice. Not so fast. You’re in my domain now, where I rule as Sovereign. Now sit down at that table over there, relax, and drink some tea or else!"

"Or else what?"

"Never you mind ‘or else what’, Ice. The tea’s ready and waiting to be drunk. Get that cute little butt of yours over to that table and sit down."

There are times when I could cheerfully yank my tongue from my throat, and this was definitely such a time. A laugh erupted before I could stop it, earning me another icy-eyed glare from my intimidating companion. I winced, expecting some form of retribution, only to relax when none was immediately forthcoming.

Ice turned back to Corinne and the air became thick and heated with the intensity of their stare-down. After a long moment of utter silence, Ice threw up her hands and turned on her heel. "Fine." Stalking over to the table, she pulled out a chair, turned it, and sat down, straddling the back.

Corinne grinned triumphantly, though her eyes still held that teasing sparkle. "Good Lord, Ice, you were doing ‘petulant’ when you were fifteen! I would have thought that would have been one of the things you’d have grown out of by now."

"Just pour the damn tea, Corinne, or I’ll show you some other things I haven’t grown out of."

Tipping me a wink, Corinne turned and busied herself at the teapot, humming gleefully. A few moments later, she returned, bearing two steaming mugs, one of which she set before Ice, and the other slid home in the space beside the tall woman. "Such a bully," she murmured, patting Ice affectionately on the shoulder. Then she turned to me, hands on hips. "Well, what are you waiting for? The Second Coming? Get on over here, Angel, and stop acting like you’re watching two dogs going at it in the front yard."

Blushing and properly chastised, I slowly walked over to the other side of the table. Slouching gingerly into my seat to avoid any more scathing commentary, I meekly took the offered mug and sipped down the hot tea, my eyes studiously avoiding the other two women.

"She takes to teasing almost as bad as you do," she stage-whispered to Ice.

"I wonder why," Ice remarked drolly. "You should have that tongue of yours declared a lethal weapon and confiscated as contraband."

Corinne smirked. "Then what would all my lady-friends think?"

A fine spray of hot tea spewed forth from my lips at Corinne’s remark, managing to douse part of the table and part of, to my utter mortification, Ice. As Ice jumped from her chair, batting at the hot droplets clinging to her skin, Corinne collapsed against the table, howling with laughter.

I rose from my chair quickly, trying to help clean her arm, when Ice batted my hands away. "Please," I begged, "let me help you."

"No. No, you’ve done enough. Just sit back down."

Corinne laughed harder, slapping her hand down on the table, which caused the mugs to jitter violently, tea splashing over their sides and adding to the mess already there.

Ice walked over to the hidden hotplate and grabbed one of Corinne’s neatly pressed linen handkerchiefs, dabbing the scalding liquid from her skin and uniform. All of our heads turned sharply toward the door as a badly out of breath Critter came to a sliding halt, just inside the library. "Ice," she panted, grasping her heaving chest, "you gotta come quick. Psycho broke out and she’s got a shiv at some guard’s neck. She’s asking for you."

"Shit." Throwing the rag down on the table next to the teapot, Ice bolted from the room, Critter hard on her heels.

Corinne and I exchanged a look before I too jumped to my feet and ran out the door, trying hard to keep Critter’s bobbing curls in sight.

*  *  *

As I look over these notes I’ve written, it occurs to me that you, the reader, are probably wondering exactly who Psycho is and why she needed to speak to Ice. As your faithful chronicler, it is my sworn duty to keep you informed, and shall do so right now.

The first thing you should know is that, although her prison nickname was ‘Psycho’, no one ever, ever called her that to her face. Her birth name was Cassandra Smythson, and that was the name she went by in the Bog.

The second thing you should know is that Cassandra was dangerously insane. A battery of psychiatrists performed a battery of tests to prove it. She was floridly psychotic but had many moments of perfect lucidity. She was also Obsessive/Compulsive and one of her obsessions was Ice.

Cassandra had been in the Bog since she was eighteen, making her a resident for six years as of the time of the events I shall soon be recounting. When she was eighteen, and a senior in high school, Cassandra had come home after a night of drinking and drugging, to find her mother waiting for her. Words were exchanged and Cassandra went into the kitchen, pulled out a butcher knife, and proceeded to stab her mother thirty seven times, killing her. The coroner stated that, based on the level of blood loss, fully ninety percent of the wounds were inflicted post mortem. Then she went through the house and killed her two younger brothers as well as her sister, who was three at the time.

After spending the night in the house with the dead bodies of her entire family, she went into school and killed three fellow classmates. She was working on her teacher when the captain of the football team rushed in and managed to subdue her, though not until he had suffered numerous cuts of his own in addition to a concussion and the loss of his previously capped front teeth.

It’s no lie to say that it was obvious to everyone that Cassandra Smythson was totally crazy. The police knew it, the judge knew it, the psychiatrists proved it, and the public knew it. The best thing anyone could have possibly done for all concerned was to put her into a nice, safe, secure mental institution and throw away the key.

That, of course, wasn’t to be. Juries being what they are sometimes, Cassandra was found competent to stand trial, and did so. Her guilt was a foregone conclusion, though a lot of credit should go to her team of lawyers. They did the best they could and put on a very strong case that pointed almost every finger imaginable toward her insanity.

The jury didn’t buy into it and found her guilty of seven counts of first degree murder. The judge should have taken the tiger by the tail and sentenced her to life in a facility for the criminally insane. Instead, in a show of infinite ‘wisdom’, he decided to take the jury’s recommendation, and so Cassandra Smythson joined the ‘lifer’s club’ at the Bog.

After a full month in the segregation unit, Cassandra was released into the general population. Two days later, she murdered an inmate, luring her into the laundry room (here’s a hint from yours truly: if you ever find yourself in prison, stay away from the laundry room. Lots of bad things happen there) and stuffing her into an industrial strength drier, setting the temperature on ‘high’ and leaning against the door for close to an hour, laughing and singing to cover the sound of the inmate’s ever weakening screams.

After this little fiasco, the Division of Prisons demanded that she be placed in an insane asylum. The judge would hear nothing of the plea, issuing a counter demand, backed by a judicial order, to keep her locked up in the Bog.

The Warden decided to place Cassandra in the only secure place in the prison, the segregation unit, where she was to be locked into her cell twenty three hours a day, to be let out only for a shower and a brief walk around the yard, fully manacled and under strict supervision.

While this arrangement was infinitely better for the safety of the other inmates, it did nothing for their sense of peace. When deep into her psychosis, Cassandra would throw herself into the bars of her cell, screaming at the top of her lungs for hours without rest.

For obvious reasons, the time new inmates spent in segregation was cut from one to two weeks to two to five days. And still, most of the new ones would come out of their time in the unit white faced and shaking, needing nothing so much as a nice, long, quiet rest in their new cells.

After six months, or so I’m told, Cassandra began to calm down and her screaming outbursts didn’t occur so frequently. Many of the guards felt that she was finally becoming accustomed to her new home. They soon found out the truth.

Many penitentiaries have stories of inmates who are well known for keeping, taming and loving pets of the animal variety. Alcatraz had its Birdman. The Bog had Cassandra.

It seems that an industrious gray rat found its way into both Cassandra’s cell and her heart. Now rats are very intelligent creatures who are easily trained and respond to the sound of their names being called by their owners. This particular rat, whom Cassandra named ‘Heracles’, was a fine representative of his species. In seemingly no time at all, the insane inmate had him doing little tricks for her, which in turn kept her subdued and quiet.

Cassandra’s favorite trick, pointing directly to her psychosis, was to wait until a new inmate had settled in for the night and was sound asleep in an adjacent cell. Then she would release Heracles, who would scamper through the bars and into the new one’s cell, climb up the stiffly starched and threadbare sheets, and nose around until his twitching whiskers found bare flesh. Then he would stand there, doing his best impersonation of an innocent rat, while the inmate would scramble away, screaming as if all the demons of hell were at her heels.

Cassandra would throw her platinum blonde head back and laugh, an insane cackle that seemed to cut through your soul like the butcher knife she’d wielded with such devastating results.

Obviously, this behavior resulted in regular trips by the guards into Cassandra’s cell, trying to take her prized pet from her. And, of course, the insane woman would go into a fit of fury until the guards just threw up their hands in capitulation and let her keep Heracles, with the admonition that she never do it again. It never worked.

No one knows exactly why Cassandra’s other obsession was Ice. The two never talked, but when Cassandra would be led around the exercise yard like a dog on a leash, her deep brown eyes would remain pinned to Ice’s long form for the duration, her face totally expressionless.

So concludes my exposition on the woman known as Psycho. Now, back to the story.

*  *  *

I finally caught up to Critter just as she reached the second floor landing where the segregation unit was housed. All I could see before me was a press of brown-clad bodies standing stiffly, their night-sticks at the ready. Ice had just parted the crowd, stepping to Sandra Pierce’s side, as I ran forward and the guards closed ranks behind her, blocking my view once again.

Grabbing my hand, Critter led me around to the side of the crowd and from there, I could peek over the head of one of the shorter guards by standing on my toes and lifting my head as high as it would go. A stiff neck and aching calves were but a small price to pay to assuage my curiosity.

Cassandra was standing just outside the barred steel door that led into the segregation unit. She had one of the newer guards, a thin, sour-faced woman named Carla, in a headlock and had a steel shiv placed on the woman’s pronounced jugular. When Ice stepped through the crowd, Cassandra’s face split with a coy grin. "Well hello there, my dear Ice. So glad you could join my little party." Her sing-song voice was high pitched like that of a young girl and her brown eyes were dark with insane glee.

"What do you want, Cassandra," Ice stated bluntly.

The other woman’s head cocked to the side as her grin widened. "Isn’t that so like you, Ice. No time for chit chat. Always busy." She tightened her grip on the guard’s neck, who gasped wheezingly. "What do I want. What do I want? Well, let’s see. I’d like world peace. A cure for cancer." Her grin turned malicious. "And to stick my little tool deep into this little piggy’s neck and feel my hands turn hot with her blood." She winked. "Does that answer your question, pretty?"

"Cassandra . . . ."

"Oh please, Ice. Must you be so formal? Just call me Psycho. All my friends do." Her leer returned as she ran her eyes brazenly over Ice’s orange-clad form. "And I consider you one of my . . .closest . . .friends."

Ice turned to Sandra. "What happened?"

Cassandra cut in before the guard had a chance to speak. "Oh yes, Sandra, do tell our dear Ice what happened. And don’t leave out any of the details. While she listens to the whole sad story, I’ll just play pincushion with my sweet little piggy here. You’d like that, wouldn’t you piggy? Can you squeal for me? Squeal nicely for your Auntie Psycho?"

The captive guard uttered a sound best classified as a cross between a scream and a squeal, aided as she was by the sharp jab of Cassandra’s shiv into the tender flesh of her neck.

"Oh, very good, little piggy. I just might have to keep you around to play with for a while. Would you like that?"

"Cassandra, please."

The blonde woman sighed. "Oh alright, Ice. You know, you really should learn to be less serious about things. You’re so much more beautiful when you smile." She released her tense grip on the guard just slightly, laughing as her shiv came away with a droplet of blood. Sticking the pointed end of it into her mouth, her eyes rolled back in her head as she licked the blood from the weapon, making the action an erotic display.

Sandra turned her gaze to Ice. "The Warden got another complaint from one of the newbies. He sent Carla in to get rid of Heracles."

Ice’s eyes narrowed in anger. "Damn it, Sandra. That was just stupid."

The guard lifted her hands in a placating gesture. "I know, Ice. I know. And Carla broke the rules by not asking me first." She shot a glare to the captive guard who returned it with frightened eyes.

"Where’s Heracles now?"

Sandra gestured. "Still in her cell. She grabbed the guard before Carla could make it inside. We’ve been standing here ever since."

"And what a wonderful stand-off it is too, wouldn’t you agree, Ice? All these big bad guards against li’l ol’ me. Whatever shall I do?" Grinning evilly once again, Cassandra pricked Carla’s neck once again, laughing as blood welled up in the tiny puncture. The guard screamed again.

"Alright, Cassandra, that’s enough!" Ice demanded. "You’ve made your point. Now let her go."

Cassandra moued her lips. "No can do, I’m afraid. No, this little pig needs to be taught a lesson. The only reason I asked you here, Ice, is that I know, of all the other little rodents in this festering boil they call a jail, you’re the one who would most enjoy the sight of a good kill."

"Cassandra, please. You’ve already scared whatever little sense she might have had right out of her. Killing her will accomplish nothing."

"Perhaps not," Cassandra agreed. Then she grinned once again. "But it’ll make me feel good. And I do so enjoy feeling good." The insane woman turned her gaze to the side a moment, then looked back at Ice, her eyes blazing with new purpose. "Tell you what. I’ll give up this little pig of mine if you agree to take her place, Ice. Does that sound good? Think about it. You . . .me . . .together. Doesn’t the thought of it make your blood run hot?"

Sandra stepped forward. "Forget it, Cassandra."

The inmate brought up her shiv again. "Stay out of this, head sow, or there’ll be one less pig in the pen."

Grabbing Sandra back by the sleeve of her uniform, Ice stared down at the head guard. "Let me do this, Sandra. It’s the only way this is gonna end."

"Listen to her, Sandra!" Cassandra crowed. "Ice has a fine mind trapped within that beautiful skull of hers."

"Ice, I can’t let you do this. It’s totally against procedure."

"Fuck procedure! Your procedure went right out the window the minute your guard went into Cassandra’s cell alone."

"Ice . . . ."

"Sandra, listen. This is the only way to resolve things. I’ll be alright."

"Oh, she’ll be very alright," Cassandra supplied.

"Ice, I can’t."

"Then I’m not giving you a choice. You’ll have to stop me, and I don’t think you wanna do that." Ice’s eyes grew cold and flinty. Sandra looked down after a moment. "Alright, Cassandra, we’ll do it your way. Send the guard over here and I’ll come to you."

"Sorry, Ice. I run the show here, in case you hadn’t noticed. I’m the one with all the cards, after all. No, you come to me first. Then I release the little piggy."

"Alright, fine." Before anyone could think to stop her, Ice strode toward Cassandra, who tightened her hold around Carla’s neck. Holding up her empty hands, Ice allowed the other woman to grab her by the arm while releasing her tight grip on Carla. Bringing her leg up, Cassandra kicked the guard back to the others, then twisted Ice’s arm up behind her, putting the shiv to the taller woman’s elegant neck. "Oh, Ice," she said in a throaty voice, "this is so much better. To think of all the nights I’ve dreamed of this. You in my arms, my knife at your beautiful throat. I’m getting chills just thinking about it. And now I have you."

Ice stayed as calm and collected as her nick, her demeanor giving nothing away. "Alright, Cassandra, ya got me. What now?"

The blonde’s eyes became unfocused with thought. "Now? Well ya know? I hadn’t really thought about that. I suppose I could kill you like the sweet little sacrificial lamb you are, but then I’d never see you again and that would be a pity." She rested her chin on Ice’s broad shoulder, apparently deep in thought with what few working brain cells she still managed to possess. Then a smile lit up her beautiful face and she straightened behind my friend. "Got it. I’ll let you go, my beauty, if you, in return, will fulfill two . . .small . . .conditions for me."

Ice’s raven brow hiked upward to hide behind her bangs. "And those would be?"

"First you must promise to speak to that disgusting little warden on my behalf. Convince him that my sweet little Heracles is here to stay if he wants peace in his jail. Would you do that for me, Ice?"

"No promises, Cassandra, but I can try."

"That’s all I ask. I know how . . .persuasive . . .you can be . . .when you set your mind to it."

"And the other condition?"

"Kiss me."

The other brow joined the first. "What?"

"Kiss me. Right here. Right now. Declare your passion for me in front of God and guards." Her grin became hard at Ice’s surprised hesitation. "Answer me quickly, Ice, or you’ll be trying to breathe through the hole I’m going to put in your neck."

"Alright," Ice drawled in a deadly soft voice, a totally feral smile putting its stamp across her features.

"Oh goody!" Cassandra chirped, pulling the shiv away as she turned Ice to face her. Turning her head to the side, she looked up into Ice’s stormy eyes, her expression one of well-feigned innocence. "Will you lead or shall I?"

Smirking, Ice lowered her dark head, by slow degrees, the raven fan of her hair all but eclipsing Cassandra’s fair features. I stared on, gape-jawed with shock and, if I’m to be totally truthful here, more than a bit envious, even with the current conditions.

The kiss was raw, hard, almost exactly how I pictured a kiss from Ice to be. As her mouth covered the soft, full lips of Cassandra, the blonde woman’s eyes rolled back in her head as her eyelids fluttered, then closed completely. A deep moan sounded forth from her throat, clearly audible to everyone looking on.

A tan, long fingered hand threaded itself through the fall of Cassandra’s hair, pulling them closer together as Ice deepened the kiss, seeming to devour the smaller woman’s mouth with her own. Several of the guards shifted position. I shifted position, suddenly aware how intensely hot it had gotten in the prison. A hand clapped my shoulder, and when I turned my head, Critter was grinning and shaking her head. "Whoo hoo," she mouthed.

I nodded back, fervently, while another part of me sat back in shock at my supposed enjoyment of such a deadly situation.

Ice moved her other arm slowly from its place behind her back, trailing sensual fingers up Cassandra’s thin, but beautiful, body. The moans increased in intensity, causing more shifting by the watching guards. Up those beautiful fingers went, playing over a firm, flat abdomen, trailing over full, firm breasts, across a jutting collarbone and down the nearest arm.

Even from where I was standing, I could see the gooseflesh that followed Ice’s touch. I’m afraid I shivered at the sight, my own skin prickling in empathetic reaction as I imagined those fingers trailing over my own skin.

Then, with a swiftness that brought me out of my erotic haze, Ice’s thumb jabbed at the nerves in Cassandra’s wrist, causing the smaller woman to drop her shiv. With smooth economy, Ice brought Cassandra’s arm behind her back, breaking the kiss and stepping behind the blonde woman as she did so.

Cassandra blinked in dazed confusion, her free hand coming up to finger suddenly chilled lips.

The troupe of guards rushed in then, bulling Cassandra down to the ground and quickly slipping handcuffs onto her slim wrists. One of the guards grabbed the shiv, tucking it away safely as Sandra pulled the blonde up by one arm. "Anyone call the State Hospital?" the lead guard called out.

"Yeah, Sandra. They’re on their way."

"Good. I hope they manage to keep her locked up for more than twenty four hours, like last time." She turned a relieved look to Ice. "Even though you nearly cost me my job, Ice, thanks. You saved at least one life here. I owe you one."

"No problem."

"You gonna talk to the Warden?"

Ice nodded, straightening her uniform. "Yeah. I made a promise. I’m gonna keep it."

Sandra returned the nod. "Good luck."

"Thanks."

The head guard grunted, tugging the bound inmate along. "C’mon, Cassandra. Let’s go see your nice, new padded cell, shall we?"

"Eat dirt, pig," Cassandra replied, pursing her lips and spitting at the guard’s face. "Goodbye for now, my dear Ice! Don’t forget to write! I’ll miss you!"

Shaking her head and dusting herself off again, Ice headed in the direction of Critter and myself, a totally disgusted look on her face.

"That was one for the books, Ice," Critter said, grinning.

"Yeah, whatever."

"Good luck with the warden," I supplied.

"For all the good it’ll do." Turning on her heel, she strode down the stairs and off toward the separate building that housed the warden’s quarters. Our eyes followed her as she went.

"I’m gonna have to add that particular ‘kiss ‘em senseless and then disarm ‘em’ move to my repertoire," my friend commented softly. "I’ll be the happiest fighter in the Bog."

"Yeah, if you don’t try and use it against Derby."

"Well that image just ruined my lunch! Thanks a lot, Angel." She elbowed me in the side. "And here I thought you were my friend."

Laughing and clapping Critter on the back, I turned and left the scene, the images of the kiss playing in a continuous loop through my head, despite my best efforts to stop them.

An hour later, Ice came back into the main prison, her expression stony, her eyes cold and furious. The inmates she passed on her trek, myself among them, ducked quickly out of her way, lest that piercing glance be cast our way. As she stalked up the stairs on her way to her cell, I couldn’t help but wonder just what went on inside the warden’s office.

Though I wasn’t to find out what happened between Ice and the warden until some time later, something good did come of the meeting. Heracles got to stay.

There was a celebration in the Bog that evening.

*  *  *

Nights are very long and very dark when you’re an inmate. Time passes in eons instead of seconds. Your cell is freezing in the winter, when the storms come down from Canada, entrenching the old stone prison in a block of unblemished ice. In the summer, it becomes a sauna. If you listen hard enough, you can almost hear the heat as it insidiously radiates its way through the permeable concrete blocks, bathing you in its sticky essence.

As you lay in your narrow bunk at night, counting the lumps in your mattress and hoping you aren’t sharing your sleeping space with creatures of the animal or insect variety, you can’t help but hear the mournful sound of the wind as it whistles through the gables or the ghostly knocking noises that sound as the plumbing settles in for the night. Sounds of snoring, shouts and solitary pleasures filter through the bars of your cell on silent currents.

Your mind becomes your enemy during long prison nights when the lights have been shut off, turning your world into a darkness full of wanton killers. If you close your eyes to the darkness, you might imagine yourself in some faraway fantasy land with freedom as your most cherished possession. But, in darkness or light, the living reality of your condition exists in the form of a cold barred door not five feet away, standing silent sentinel over your dreams.

The memory of the kiss was with me that hot summer night. As I tossed and turned against my sweat-damp sheets, fruitlessly trying to get it out of my mind, darkness and silence conspired to taunt me, giving my thoughts no other direction in which to turn.

Over and over I saw Ice’s sleek, dark head lower, her full lips encompassing those of a waiting Cassandra. I could almost see their tongues sliding against one another as they dueled in a sensual battle for supremacy.

I wondered again what it felt like to be Cassandra Smytheson in that minute. How did it feel to be turned from predator to prey by the power of a kiss? How did it feel to be pressed up against the heat of that strong, perfect body? What was it like to feel those long, tapering fingers draw their way up your body, leaving trails of sensation in their wake?

When my hands started to roam in the direction of my thoughts, my mind made a firm decision to cease and desist. Taking matters into my own hands was something I hadn’t done since I entered the Bog and if I was very lucky, that record would remain unblemished.

Blowing out a sigh of frustration, I turned over on my side, punched my pancake-flat pillow a few times and tried to get past the visions in my head.

Sleep, when it finally came, was anything but restful.

PART 4

AS THE LAST warm days of summer gave way to the cool chill of fall, the colorful autumn leaves signaled my anniversary. One year behind bars. I was no longer the young girl who had first entered the building, trembling and crying so hard that every figure I passed seemed to glow with shimmering radiance as they taunted me and hollered names at me I had never heard shouted in quite that context before.

No, I was a year older, a year wiser. The Bog was still a very frightening place, but in that time, it had managed to become, in a fit of morbid perversity, a home to me, and many of its inmates, family. I never really understood the phrase ‘Institutional man’ until the first morning I woke up after a sound sleep without one memory of a terror filled dream of incessant claustrophobia and total loss of freedom. Somewhere along the line in that year past, I had stopped looking at each morning as one step closer to eventual freedom and started looking forward to the adventure it would bring.

That doesn’t mean that I didn’t long for freedom, because I did, and still do. I ached for it the way one would ache for a drop of water in the desert. I yearned for it. Hungered for it. But I no longer obsessed over it. That, in its own way, was a very liberating feeling for me.

Without doubt, my friends aided me in this transformation. Corinne helped every day, being at turns scathing and grandmotherly. The Amazons helped, teaching me to be the best kind of fighter, the one who defends the weak, while at the same time lending me their friendship and support unconditionally. And Ice helped. The mystery of her kept my mind occupied during times when it might otherwise have dumped me into a vat of depression too deep to crawl away from.

In the days after the incident with Psycho and Heracles, Ice had remained very distant and withdrawn, spending most of her time in her cell, staring at nothing and talking to no one. But gradually, with the speed of an iceberg melting in an Antarctic winter, she began to come out of her self-imposed prison, letting us in again. Or at least as ‘in’ as anyone ever was allowed to go.

Much to the surprise and delight of Corinne, she would sometimes make the trek into the library where she would sit, sip tea, and listen as we talked, occasionally adding commentary when she felt it was warranted. Wordy she was not, but, as I came to find out, Ice possessed a keen intellect; a razor sharp mind that, had circumstances been different, would have caused her to come out at the top of whatever profession she chose. That made her situation all the more heart-breaking for me.

Sometimes we would sit beside one another at one of the tables, talking about our common interests. Solzhenitzyn invariably came up as a topic for conversation and debate. She would speak with a quiet intensity about his message of the true freedom one gained from oppression, be it the body, as in Cancer Ward, or the entire being, as in One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich or The Gulag Archipelago. Her arguments were always well worded, well thought out, and shone forth with the true belief in his vision, a vision which she shared under much the same circumstances as the writer himself.

There were other times when I would sit, sipping my ever-present tea, and listen to the interplay between Ice and Corinne. Though they spent most of their time batting keenly edged barbs back and forth, there was a strong undercurrent of deep affection between the two. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t even slightly jealous over the relationship those two women shared. Ok, I was a lot jealous. At least at first. As close as I’d gotten to Corinne, there was a line I couldn’t cross. A line I didn’t even know existed until I saw her interact with Ice.

Conversely, I was jealous at the seeming ease with which Corinne seemed to bulldoze down those walls around Ice’s heart. I had known Ice for almost six full months and had yet to scratch the surface of the most intense person I’ll ever have the privilege to know. I wanted so badly to sink myself deep within her, to get a sense of that person I had seen in her eyes the day we first met. I knew it was there, waiting for me to take it. I just didn’t know how.

Still, the passing days saw us drawing closer, if only by mere inches, and I contented myself with waiting, watching and listening, secure in the knowledge that I would one day find the magic needed to look into the window of her soul. After all, didn’t a person have to peel back the tough skin of an orange to get to the succulent fruit beneath?

The coming of fall also brought with it an increase in tensions among the inmates. It was as if, knowing that the coming winter would force them to be in one another’s intimate presence for the next several months, they were staking out claims on prime territory early, so as to avoid the rush.

This was especially prevalent in the yard, where many petty skirmishes over the least of imagined transgressions turned to all out bloody wars among the gangs. The Amazons had been very busy trying to keep the peace over the last week or so and, to my dismay, I hadn’t seen very much of any of them, Ice included.

On one particular day, I decided to venture out into the yard. Early fall had been cool and rainy, keeping me inside most of the time. The lack of fresh air had been making me feel restless and edgy and the thought of four or five months more of the same caused Corinne quite pointedly to suggest that I either go outside for awhile or stay away from her library until I could force myself into a better mood.

Taking her not so subtle advice, I decided to take a walk outside. It was a Saturday, the one day when there were no outside restrictions, and so when I stepped out into the cool, but sunny, fall air, I couldn’t help but notice that most of the prison seemed to want an open sky over their heads. The yard was crowded with prisoners and, near the basketball courts, the two largest gangs seemed to be getting ready for yet another tussle.

After recovering from her injuries, Derby managed to regain control of the white gang, wresting the leadership from Mouse. It appeared that surviving a beating from Ice gave her more status with her cronies than Mouse’s surviving a beating from me.

Shaking my head and smiling a bit, I moved toward the weight area where Ice was standing, nonchalantly curling a fifty pound dumbbell as if she were lifting a feather pillow and spotting Critter who was gamely trying to bench press ninety pounds over her head.

As I walked, I allowed my eyes once again to drift back toward the two gangs who were massing like thunderclouds toward the center of the yard. The other gang’s leader, a woman who went by the prison name of Trey, was currently standing nose to nose with Derby. I’d always liked Trey. She was a tall woman with dark skin and dark eyes and a wide, infectious smile. She had, at one time, been the shining hope of the Lady Vols basketball team and still retained that athletic physique. She’d come down to the library occasionally to pick up some books that would help her complete her Physical Therapy degree and we always got along well enough. I found her to be soft-spoken and intelligent and was really surprised when I found out that she was a gang leader. Since that time, of course, I’ve grown to understand gangs and gang leaders and have come to the realization that not everyone is a Derby or Mouse.

I finally joined my friends in the free weight area, coming to stand beside Sonny, who was doing some bicep curls of her own, albeit with much less weight than Ice was using. The entire group seemed casual and unconcerned about the potential gang fight. "Hi, Sonny. Looks like a storm’s brewing over there."

Grinning a greeting at me, Sonny looked over to the growing groups of women. "Nah. They’re just having a pushy fight."

"A what?"

"A pushy fight. You know. Derby pushes Trey. Trey pushes Derby. They trade insults on whose mother is the bigger whore." She shrugged. "Shit like that."

"And that doesn’t concern you?" Looking back over my shoulder, I estimated that at least a hundred women from either side had joined in and the crowd was continuing to grow.

"Nope. Everything’s cool right now. If it gets worse, we’ll step in."

The sound of a heavy weight hitting the cracked concrete interrupted whatever more I might have had to say and I looked up, catching an orange streak flashing out of the corner of my eye as Ice blew by me. "Let me guess. It just got worse."

Sonny winked, dropped her own dumbbell and shot to her feet, grinning wildly. "Yup."

Turning fully toward the group, I watched as my friends jumped into the developing fray, led by Ice who leapt between the two gang leaders, one long leg lashing out strongly. My eyes followed the arcing path of a shiv as it flew through the air, tumbling end over end and flashing brightly as the sun winked off its metal finish. Critter was on the weapon in a flash, scooping it up and slipping it inside her jumpsuit.

Ice interposed her long body between the two lead combatants, grabbing Derby by the front of her jumpsuit and pulling the huge woman up onto her toes. Pony and Sonny each grabbed one of Trey’s arms, holding her back. "You know the rules, Derby," my friend said in a low, even voice. "No weapons."

Derby was red-faced with anger. "Fuck off, Ice. This ain’t your fight. You got no business interfering."

"When you pull a weapon, it becomes my business. You want those guards up in the towers to spray this place with bullets?"

"I don’t give a flying fuck. Just as long as I get what I want."

"And you can get what you want without the shiv. I don’t give a shit if you beat one another to death, but no weapons. Got me?"

At Ice’s statement, I looked up, noticing that indeed the guards in the two towers nearest the altercation were standing on the catwalk, their rifles aimed and ready. I felt a little shiver of fear race down my back at the thought of a high-powered weapon being aimed at me or at my friends. I hoped Ice would be able to settle the dispute peacefully.

Looking around, I noticed the hard smiles on the faces of the inmate onlookers. Off in a corner, a woman was taking bets. It sickened me, but I struggled not to let that sense of disgust show. It was like being present at an execution.

After a long moment of tense silence, Derby finally nodded and Ice let her go and stepped away. She turned her head toward Trey, nodding to the Amazons to let the other woman go, which they promptly did. "What about you, Trey? Have any weapons?"

Trey snorted. "Me? You think I need a knife to beat this two-bit wannabe honky piece of trash?"

Roaring, Derby lunged at Trey, to be stopped by Ice’s firm hand against her chest.

"Answer my question, Trey."

"No. I don’t have any weapons." She tipped a wink in Ice’s direction. "But you’re more than welcome to search me if you like."

At Ice’s nod, Sonny and Pony patted down the taller inmate. "She’s clean, Ice."

Ice smiled slightly. "Alright then. Have fun."

With a regal elegance all her own, the leader of the Amazons strode forth from the circle of inmates, the smirk on her face faintly pronounced. The prisoners closed ranks again as the Amazons followed Ice out of the crowd.

"So, what now?" I asked as my friends walked over to me. Behind them, the two gangs had resumed their tense stand-off.

Ice shrugged. "Guess they’ll pound the shit outta one another and be done with it."

"What are they fighting over?"

Sonny stepped into the conversation. "Use of the basketball court. Derby wants it for her gang and Trey isn’t willing to give it up peacefully."

"All this for a basketball court?"

Sonny shrugged. "It’s territory. That’s important to people like them. Law of the jungle."

I looked over at Ice, who wasn’t inclined to disagree with Sonny’s blunt assessment. "Well that’s about the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. They’re willing to risk getting killed for a sport?"

"That’s about the size of it," Critter replied.

In front of me, the voices had risen once again as Trey and Derby began to shove one another back into their respective groups. I could feel my own anger build up inside me. "This is just idiotic! I can’t believe grown adults would stoop to something this . . .this . . .juvenile!"

"We’re talking about hardened criminals here, Angel," Critter supplied. "Not exactly an Einstein in the bunch, ya know."

"Yeah," Sonny jumped in. "Besides, it’s not as if this shit doesn’t go on in the outside world. Whole empires have been overthrown for lesser reasons."

"That’s ridiculous. We’re not talking about the acquisition of land here."

"That’s exactly what we’re talking about," Ice interjected softly. "Trey’s gang has the basketball court. Derby’s gang wants it. It’s that simple."

"And you don’t see any problem with that," I replied, disbelief evident in my tone.

Ice shrugged. "As long as they stay outta my way and don’t endanger anyone else, nope."

"Well I do." Giving them all a last baleful glare, I spun on my heel and started walking toward the huge crowd, determination in my every step.

As if surprised to see me with such an expression on my face, and I’m quite sure most of them were, what with me being Little Miss Innocent and all, the crowd parted and I slipped through the throng of onlookers without difficulty, managing to make it up to the very front. I stood there, hands on hips, waiting to be noticed.

After a moment, Trey turned her head to meet my gaze, a small smile playing over her lips. "You better get outta here, Angel. You’re gonna get hurt."

Derby took that moment to chime in in her own literary style. "Yeah, fishie. Wouldn’t wanna get that cute snatch of yours all busted up now, would ya? Your Amazon buddies wouldn’t be happy if they didn’t have their little play-toy around to fuck anymore."

She made as if to grab me, then froze, looking over my shoulder. I didn’t have to turn to guess who was behind me and I’m afraid my smile grew rather smug. "Can I ask you a question?" I directed my words to both parties.

Derby grunted.

"What in the hell are you doing here?"

"What the fuck does it look like we’re doin’, fish? Playin’ checkers?"

"What it looks like is two three-year-olds squabbling over a plastic shovel in the sandbox. I’d like to think that you’re both a little more mature than that."

Derby scowled, no doubt trying to wrap her lumbering mind around the visual I provided. "Shows how much you know," she finally mumbled.

"Then tell me, Derby. Because I really want to understand."

Clenching and unclenching her fists, the huge woman looked down at the ground, unable to say anything.

I turned to Trey, who was standing there smirking at me. "What about you, Trey? Can you tell me why you’re doing this? I thought you were more intelligent than this."

The tall gang leader shrugged. "Intelligence doesn’t have anything to do with it, Angel. It’s a simple matter of space and possession. There isn’t much in the pen you can call your own. This is ours. Someone comes along and wants to take it from us, we fight. Nothing more to it than that."

"You do realize that the guards could come out here and take it from you in a second, right?"

Trey smiled that dazzling grin of hers. "Course I realize that, Angel. We all realize that. But until the guards come and take it away from us, we’ll fight to keep it. They have their space, we have ours. It keeps us happy. Well, for the most part, anyway."

I sighed and scratched my chin, trying to think of some logical argument that would sway her to my view of things. "Alright. How about if you guys trade up? Derby’s gang takes the basketball court and Trey’s gang takes the softball field. Would that work?"

"What the fuck are you, crazy?" Derby exploded. "Ain’t no fucking way we’re givin’ up the field!"

"But I thought you wanted the basketball court."

"I do want the fuckin’ basketball court, ya idiot! And I want the field!" She looked at me as if I’d suddenly given birth to a second and third head.

"And what are you going to do if you get the basketball court?"

Derby squinted her eyes at me. "You mental in there or somethin’? We’re gonna fuckin’ play basketball on it!"

Taking a deep, cleansing breath, I slowly counted to ten, willing my frustration to drain away. "Alright then, how about this? It seems like you’re willing to beat each other’s brains in for a few square feet of broken concrete and rusty backboards, right?"

"Noooow ya get it, fish. Very good."

"Well, instead of fighting for it, why don’t you play for it?"

"Play what? Fuckin’ Twister?"

There are some moments in every person’s life when they fantasize about seeing whether it really is possible to twist someone’s head off. For me, this was one of those moments.

Luckily, Trey took that moment to step in and save me from my second, and this one intentional, murder. "Basketball, Derby. She wants us to play basketball."

"Well no shit, Sherlock! That’s what we’re fightin’ about, ain’t it??"

Trey rolled her eyes. "Against each other, Derby. Am I right, Angel?"

I smiled in relief. "Exactly right, Trey. Five of your best against five of Derby’s best in a ‘winner-take-all’ game. You win, you keep the court. They win, they get it. Make sense?"

Derby did her level best to imitate a large-mouth bass, and I must say, her effort was a good one. If I’d have had a pebble in my hand, I might have been tempted to play my own little basketball game. Forcing my evil thoughts down and away, I simply waited for Derby to fully process my idea.

Trey stepped to my rescue once again. "I think that sounds like a great idea, Angel."

"Thanks," I replied, grinning at her.

Nodding, she turned her attention to the still gaping Derby. "How ‘bout you, white bread? You up for a little five-on-five?"

After a moment, the large woman nodded vehemently. "You got it, spade. I’ll wipe up the court with your ass."

"Yeah, if you can even see the court past that inflated tire you call a belly, honkey. Your fat gut’ll be bouncing more than the ball!"

I rolled my eyes, tensing up as the two behemoths started going at it again. This was definitely not what I had in mind when I started this little windmill tilting expedition. "Enough, you two. Save it for the game, alright?"

"Alright," Derby spat. "Fine. We get Ice."

That statement caused the courtyard to erupt. Derby’s gang was shouting in frenzied appreciation while Trey’s gang was protesting quite loudly.

"Forget it!" Ice’s low timber was easily heard above the din of the crowd. The inmates went silent. "It’s your game. You play it."

"At least referee, Ice!" someone shouted, to the agreement of the rest.

Ice held up her hands. "Oh no. No thanks. It was Angel’s idea. Let her ref."

I spun on my heel, wide-eyed. "Are you joking? Look at me, Ice! I wouldn’t last a second with these monoliths. You’d do much better." I tried out a smile. "Besides, you’re much more intimidating than I am." As I met her eyes, my smile deepened. I just couldn’t help myself. And if you ever had the chance to look into those perfect sapphires, you wouldn’t either. I decided to go for broke when it looked like she wasn’t going to waver. "Please?"

"C’mon, Ice!" another inmate shouted.

"Yeah, c’mon!"

Isolated pleas continued from the crowd until Ice finally relented. "Fine. Be here tomorrow at noon. Whoever wins gets the court for the next year and all my decisions are final. Got it?"

The courtyard erupted again, the inmates joining together in mutual excitement of the next day’s contest. Chancing a look into the corner of the yard, hard by the fence, I saw the resident bookie had garnered some helpers and was doing a brisk business.

Shaking my head at the sheer unreality of it all, I graciously accepted words and pats of congratulations as I made my way from the center of the melee.

"Great job, Angel!" Critter shouted as she came over to me and slung an arm around my shoulders, hugging me briefly as we walked. "When they spring ya, you should apply for a job at the UN. Those bureaucratic idiots could use people like you!"

Blushing, I allowed Critter to lead me back to the free weight area, where Ice was lounging on one of the benches, watching me with a smile on her face.

I stopped before her. "I hope I didn’t break any rules or anything."

The smile broadened, sucking me in. "No. Ya did alright."

My blush deepened, beyond pleased at the unexpected compliment. "Really?"

"Really. Great job of negotiating there."

"Thanks. And thank you for watching my back. And agreeing to referee. I really appreciate that."

"No problem. Ya owe me one."

My mother was always fond of telling me that when someone opened a door, you’d best go through it before it slammed in your face. "You name the time, Ice, and I’ll name the place."

The other Amazons went absolutely silent at my bold comment. From the corner of my eye, I could see incredulous expressions on every face save one. Ice narrowed her eyes at me in an expression that became extremely predatory and caused my mouth to instantly dry. "You’ve got yourself a deal, Angel," she said, the low, soft, smoky voice caressing the vowels and consonants of my name like a lover.

Oh boy.

*  *  *

That evening, I stood in my cell, shoulders slumped, head down, sweat-streaked, covered with printer’s ink and dust, and totally exhausted. We’d finally received the shipment of textbooks we’d been begging for for months. When we opened the boxes, it was apparent that they had been sitting in some warehouse or other since, perhaps, World War Two. Maybe even earlier than that. The dust on the boxes and books was thick enough to cut with a knife and was that greasy kind that just makes you shudder when your hands sink into it. My sinuses were stuffed so full of it that I remember being surprised that when the inevitable sneezing fit came along, I didn’t shoot my head clear off my neck.

To say I was miserable would be putting it mildly, but it was late and I wasn’t about to chance another encounter in the showers no matter how good at defending myself I’d become. Though Derby and her cronies seemed to be pleased with the arrangement I’d managed to work out, the woman’s mercurial mood swings made her too dangerous a fate to be tempted a second time.

Resolving to bear my misery stoically until morning, I turned down my bed, wincing at the thought of laying my grimy body down on the still-pristine sheets. In the Bog, you get clean sheets once every two weeks, come hell or high water. And since I was already in hell, and a rescuing flood didn’t appear to be on the horizon, I didn’t appear to have much choice in the matter.

Just as I was stripping off the last of my jumpsuit, Critter and Sonny showed up outside my cell wearing identical grins. Those expressions quickly turned to amused smirks when they caught sight of my dishevelment. They entered the cell, threw my grimy uniform up over my chest, grabbed my arms and quick-marched me down to the showers, promising to stand guard outside the door to protect me from any unwelcome surprises.

Once I realized my eventual destination, my struggles ceased quite nicely.

It was disconcerting being in the shower alone again and my mind didn’t help, insisting on showing me flashbacks in vivid detail of my previous encounter with Mouse and her crew. Though the rational part of me knew I was as safe as could be expected, the cautious young woman in me still checked every shadow in every corner to make sure I was well and truly alone.

Satisfied with my assessment, I peeled off the rest of my clothing, grabbed a clean towel and padded into the dank shower room, listening as the dripping faucets laid out a counterpoint to my soft footsteps. I added a melody line, humming quietly to myself to keep the demons at bay as I walked over to a gleaming showerhead and prepared to be assaulted by the frigid spray.

"Damn, that’s cold!"

My flesh humped right up in swift agreement and I had to force myself back under the stinging spray, rubbing my hands furiously over my grimy face to restore circulation as much as to remove the dirt and dust that had accumulated on my face.

Grabbing the slimy cake of soap, I hurriedly got right down to it, once again cursing the hard mineral water for the pitiful attempt at lather I was able to work up.

After I scrubbed my skin to the point of rawness, I set to work on my hair, wincing as I worked my fingers through the wet tangles, resolving to myself once again to just get the whole mess chopped off and be done with it.

Despite the temperature of the water, I found myself relaxing as my body became clean once again. A final rinse and I turned off the shower, grabbing my towel and drying myself off briskly, still humming.

As I turned from the wall, my towel gathered up to my chest, I froze. There, standing no more than five feet away, hands on hips and an unreadable expression on her face, was Ice.

Shock poured through my body with the speed of a freight and I felt my muscles tense up again, as my hands gripped the towel spasmodically. "Jesus, Ice! You scared me! Where did you come from?"

My silent watcher merely raised an eyebrow and smirked, her eyes drilling into mine. I stared back, thoroughly disconcerted. "Is . . .there something you wanted from me?" I asked finally.

Her gaze dropped down to my feet, then did a slow crawl up the rest of my body till she looked into my eyes once again. "The time is now, Angel. Is this the place you had in mind?"

I looked around the empty shower for a moment, trying to figure out exactly what she was referring to. When it hit me, suddenly, I whipped my head back to face her, sure that all the blood had drained from my face. "What . . . ?"

As she closed the distance between us in one easy stride, I could feel the almost unholy heat as it radiated from her body through the thick fabric of her jumpsuit. Still looking at me through those piercing, hard-cut gems, she reached up casually, grasping the front of my towel and drawing it easily away from my body.

My brain must have short-circuited because the messages it was sending to the rest of my body were indecipherable. I stood there, gaping up at her, as she reached out that same hand and tilted my chin upwards.

"Is this what you wanted?" she murmured as she brought her head down slowly, still pinning me with her bright gaze.

The first touch of her lips on mine brought out feelings I’ll never be able to fully articulate. It was like dying. It was like being born. Like drowning. Like flying. Like unsullied innocence and primal want. It was raw and tender. Achingly familiar, though I’d never felt anything like it before.

Contradictions? You bet. But they didn’t stop my body from completely melting into hers as she deepened the kiss and slowly moved forward until my back was pressed tight against the tiled wall of the shower, which produced within me another set of contradictions. The tiled wall was cold and damp against my back while the front of my body was pinned to a great wave of living heat. The clean scent of her was almost overwhelming, as was the silken texture of her thick hair as it brushed lightly against my cheek and neck, to fall against my shoulder and linger there in a soft caress of the finest silk.

I’m sure I moaned, but she swallowed it up as the very tip of her tongue danced across my lips, seeking out an invitation which I willingly granted.

As my lips parted, she engulfed me, pressing ever harder against my trembling body as she explored my mouth with probing sweeps of her tongue, mapping, it seemed, every inch within. When my knees threatened all-out rebellion, she smoothly insinuated her own leg between them, bearing my body up against the length of her thigh.

I know I cried out then; as a part of me which had become molten slid along solid muscle.

Breaking off the kiss, she slid her hands between the wall and my body, her palms and fingers cupping themselves against my backside as she looked down into my eyes. "You’re very beautiful, you know." Her voice was husky with some unnamed emotion, though by the look on her face, I guessed it to be desire.

I tried to return her compliment in kind, for she was incredibly beautiful, but my ability to speak must have fled with my senses because it was nowhere to be found. Instead, I nodded, hoping to get across to her the intensity of my feelings without benefit of words.

The kiss had left me reeling. My only anchor to reality seemed to be the rock-steady leg seated between my thighs and the hot hands beginning a slow caress against my back.

"So innocent. Pure," she continued in an almost-whisper as she brought her lips down upon mine again.

This time, I returned the kiss, reaching up to tangle my fingers in her hair, pulling us closer together and inhaling great lungfuls of her scent as it mixed with the arousal in my own. She growled, deep in her throat. Sharp teeth nipped at my lips and I felt them start to swell, tingling as they pulsed with the beat of my heart. Not wanting to be left out of the picture, my hips picked up the rhythm of our dance, guided by the hands on my back.

I could feel the big muscle in her thigh clench and relax beneath me, pressing into me smoothly before withdrawing, then pressing again, relentlessly. Her large hands kept me steady and the feelings continued to increase in intensity until it was all I could do to lay my head back against the chill wall and let my body take over completely, which it did willingly and without complaint.

Ice followed me, lowering her head still further and attaching lips, tongue and teeth to my neck, nipping, suckling and tonguing as my head whipped back and forth against the cracked, chipped tiles of the wall. I could feel the hard tendons in my neck stand out as my jaw clenched hard against the pleasure soaring through my body.

Her hands seemed to be everywhere on my body; measuring the breadth of my shoulders, running up and down my clenched and straining arms, cupping my breasts and molding them to her palms, trailing down the outsides of my spread thighs and back up, grasping my waist and aiding in my ever quickening rhythm.

Colors spiraled in kaleidoscopic patterns behind my tightly clenched eyelids and I know I must have begged her not to stop because I could feel her chuckles against the skin of my neck. I bit on my own lips hard enough to draw blood, and it was that taste that followed me down as my body became one tiny, brilliantly shining point of light in that eternal half-second before detonation.

As she leaned in slightly closer, the slight brush of coarse fabric against my painfully erect and wanting nipples was all the catalyst I needed.

I know she felt it coming, because she released from my neck, buried her face into my shoulder and grabbed my hips, thrusting her thigh up against me smoothly. I trembled and shook as a great braying sob burst from my captive lungs.

"Don’t be frightened," she whispered into my ear. "Let it out. Let it come."

My body released, pulling in energy, it seemed, from the world around me and sending it back out in torrents of sensation and light, thundering through my body like a herd of untamed horses stampeding across acres of fertile land. I could feel the sting of tears in my eyes as I furiously chewed the inside of my cheeks to keep from screaming out. My body wasn’t under my own control anymore and the feeling, quite frankly, scared the hell out of me.

Finally spent, I collapsed into her all-encompassing embrace, my tears falling on the fabric of her uniform and glittering like tiny diamonds in the muted lighting. "I’m sorry," I whispered, still sobbing and not knowing quite why.

"Shhh," she crooned, her voice low and comforting in my ear. She took us both to the floor, cradling my body like a mother would her child and rocking me with my head tucked under her chin.

After what seemed like an eternity, my crying tapered off and she pulled away slightly, once again lifting my chin with gentle fingers. "You alright?"

Meeting her glance briefly, I lowered my eyes, blushing. "Yes. I . . .don’t know what came over me."

"Sometimes it hits people that way," she said, smiling slightly.

"Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, right?"

"Something like that, yeah." After placing a tiny kiss to the crown of my head, she rose, bearing me up with her and setting me on my feet. Then she reached down, picked up my towel and handed it to me, helping me wrap it around my body.

Then she stepped back and looked at me, her eyes so warm and full of caring that I felt my eyes begin to water once again. "Ice, I . . . ."

"Shhh," she whispered again, reaching out a finger and laying it across my lips. "Thank you, Angel."

With another crooked smile, she turned on her heel and was gone from my sight.

*  *  *

A half hour later, I was standing in my cell, looking at my face through the wavery lines of a cheap prison mirror bolted securely to one wall. The picture I saw was identical to the one that stared back at me an hour earlier, though much cleaner, to be sure.

Why, then, did I feel that a stranger was looking back at me?

I remembered the stories I used to hear in the girls’ room at school, about the first time you went ‘all the way’ with a boy and how much different you were supposed to feel the next morning. Fitting my mother’s definition of the sexual behaviors of a ‘proper’ young woman to a T, I’d waited until my marriage bed to see if that old adage bore fruit. But, aside from some slight soreness between my legs, I didn’t feel any different than any other morning. The loss of my virginity didn’t usher forth any blinding wisdom or staid maturity. It just . . .happened.

I’ll admit to a bit of disappointment, but soon chalked the whole thing up to another of the seemingly unending ‘old wives’ tales’ taught to almost every young girl during her formative years.

Apparently, I was wrong. Whatever had happened between Ice and myself in the showers had changed me in some fundamental way that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. The change eluded me the way a word will dance tauntingly on the tip of your tongue, refusing even the most desperate pleas to come forward and announce itself.

One of the worst parts was that I couldn’t tell exactly how I was feeling about the whole thing. Good? Bad? I didn’t know and that frustrated me. On the one hand, I was happy, gloriously so, that my midnight fantasies had finally come to fruition. On the other, I felt a curious sense of emptiness deep within me, as if I’d been shown the glimpse of a wonderful future full of possibilities, only to have it snatched from my grasp at the last second.

Perhaps it was the casualness of the entire encounter, at least from Ice’s respect. Living life between high walls and steel bars hadn’t robbed me of that mushy romantic side. Many things shone through in my dreams, but being pressed up against the shower wall by a fully clothed Ice wasn’t one of them. At least for a first time, anyway.

But I knew, too, that Ice had enjoyed herself. At least on some level. I could tell by the way the taste of her kisses changed. By the way she breathed and moved over me. By the way her heart thundered against my chest.

And she was tender, beyond all doubt. Incredibly tender. Especially in the way she held and soothed me at the very end.

Why, then, when I was strong enough to once again stand on my own, did she leave? What went through her mind at that moment? Was I just another assignation? Another seduction in a long line of them? The rumors of her sexual appetite were as great as those of her fighting prowess. Everyone, it seemed, had a story to tell. And if even one quarter of the stories were true, she had slept her way through the entire Bog, twice. And that was before she was let out the first time.

Obviously, I was intelligent enough to realize that the vast majority of rumors came from deluded thinkers with serious wish-fulfillment issues. But I also knew that within every legend lies a kernel of truth. If I ever wanted to learn the real story behind the myth, I suspected that I would have to quickly become very adept at separating the wheat from the chaff.

All these feelings accompanied me, laying on my shoulders like the world upon Atlas, as I slid between the cool sheets of my prison bunk. The shifting, mournful wind matched my turbulent thoughts perfectly and it was a long time before sleep finally claimed me that night.

*  *  *

When the morning brought with it no inspiration, divine or otherwise, I decided to give in to my demanding stomach and head down to breakfast. Arriving earlier than I normally would have, I was faintly surprised to see the cafeteria filled almost to capacity. I might have imagined it, but the noise level seemed to dim appreciably as I stepped into the muggy room, only to rise once again by the time I’d grabbed my tray, waiting in line behind the others for my serving of thick gruel that tasted like nothing so much as library paste.

After grabbing the bowl thrust at me and picking up a mug of horridly strong coffee, I looked around to see if anyone I knew occupied the tables. When only strangers’ faces stared back at me, I quietly made my way over to one of the corner tables and sat down, determined to enjoy what passed for breakfast in peaceful solitude.

As my senses got used to the crowded din of the cafeteria and began to settle in on little snippets of conversation, the gruel turned to a hard leaden ball in my stomach. Turning my head slightly as I lowered my spoon, I set my gaze upon four women who were sitting at the edges of their worn, metal seats, their heads bowed conspiratorially together. "Yeah," one said in a voice full of brazen mirth, "the perfect little Angel got her wings clipped but good last night."

"Ice bags another one!"

The group slapped hands as they laughed and elbowed one another.

"I heard she squealed like a pig," said the third.

"No, it was more like a bitch in heat!" The fourth lifted her head and let out a screaming yowl to demonstrate her point.

Other heads turned and laughter began to roll through the group seeming to pound upon the concrete walls like some maleficent wave.

Dropping my spoon, I stood up so quickly that I sent my chair flying back to clatter against the far wall. At the sound, heads turned my way and the laughter died off quickly.

Caught halfway between crying and screaming, I settled for stalking out of the cafeteria with as many tattered shreds of my dignity as I could possibly preserve. Which wasn’t much.

I know I must have looked like Satan come to earth as I marched out of the cafeteria and toward the stairs. Inmates took one look at me and gave me wide berth. The expressions on their faces would have caused me to laugh had I been in the mood for it.

Instead, I ignored them, taking the stairs two and three at a time, my breath coming short and fast through my nose. As I reached the top floor, I strode down the long corridor, the paint-chipped bars of Ice’s cell growing larger with each step I took. Gone was the trepidation I’d felt in my last trip to this particular inmate’s home. I was an angry woman on a mission of retribution.

I strode through the open door to her cell, then, not breaking step, stalked over to where she sat on her bunk, her back up against the wall, her long legs splayed, feet firm to the floor. I stopped in between her knees, staring down at her, hands on my hips, knowing my eyes were flashing messages which I hoped were well and easily read.

She looked up at me, her expression calm and serene as an unblemished lake, waiting.

I took in a breath. Then another to calm my temper enough so that I could speak coherently. Her calm attitude only made my anger burn hotter. "God damn it Ice! Isn’t it bad enough that you fuck me and leave me standing there like some two dollar whore? Did you have to go and brag to your god damn friends about it too?!?" Now I’m not usually much for swearing, thinking the words trite and very overused, but there’s a time for everything and, for me, the time for swearing was then.

Though the expression on her face didn’t change, oh, her eyes . . . . The vibrant blue leeched out of them, leaving a glittering silver behind. It was like looking down into the twin barrels of a shotgun and I found myself actively fighting back a strong current of almost primal fear. "Finish what you came here to say, Angel," she purred, her voice deathly soft and smooth as satin.

"Finish . . . ." I trailed off, disbelieving. "You don’t get it, do you?! They’re laughing at me down there, Ice! It’s nothing but a joke to them! Well, it’s not a joke to me!" I threw my hands up in the air, keeping myself from breaking down by the greatest force of will. "My god, Ice, I thought we were friends. I thought I meant more to you than . . .than . . .than just another notch on your god damned bedpost."

She stood so quickly that I didn’t realize what had happened until I felt her long body pinned up against mine. "That’s enough, Angel," she said in that same quiet voice.

"No, Ice, it isn’t enough! It isn’t nearly enough!"

"Yes it is." Pushing me away slightly, she turned and headed for the door to her cell.

"Wait! Where are you going?"

For a long moment, it looked as if she wasn’t going to answer me. Then she turned, slowly, that glittering steel still very present in her eyes. "Alright," she drawled, smiling a smile so cold it chilled me to my very marrow. "I’m going to pay Sonny and Critter a little visit. We’ll see how well they can spread stories with their tongues ripped out of their mouths."

As she turned once again, I reached out, stopping just short of touching her arm. "No, wait. Don’t do that. They wouldn’t spread stories about me. They’re my friends."

Back came those eyes again, though this time I swore I could see a small seed of hurt in them before the emotionless mask settled back down over her face seamlessly. The corner of her mouth turned up in a smirk. "I see. Your . . .friends . . .wouldn’t spread tales out of school, but I would, is that it?"

I stood there, hundreds of conflicting feelings shooting through me at her soft, uninflected words. The anger drained from my body, leaving me off balance and uncertain.

She closed the distance between us and looked down into my face, sharp gaze assessing. Was that disappointment I saw? "Tell me Angel," she said in a completely emotionless tone, as if she were talking about nothing more important than the sports scores, "if your opinion of me is so low, why did you let me fuck you last night, hmmm?"

With that, she turned away and stepped to her bed, reclining lazily on the mattress and dismissing me completely. I stood there, rooted to the floor, my mouth opening and closing, fruitlessly trying to form words to thoughts that weren’t even complete. "Ice, I . . . ."

She held up her hand, not looking at me. "No, Angel, it’s alright. I think we’ve said pretty much everything that needs to be said. You don’t have to worry about the stories; they’ll be stopped. You have my word on that. As for the rest . . . ." She twisted her wrist, as if throwing something away to the wind.

As I stood there, staring at her like a cross between a spanked child and a spurned lover, my mind sifted through a myriad of things I wanted to say. I bit at my lip, a bad habit of mine, and winced at the soreness still present from the evening before. Taking a deep breath, I decided to go for broke. "Can I ask you a question, Ice? Can you at least tell me why?"

"Why what," she muttered, staring down at her hands.

"Why you did what you did. Last night, I mean. Why you came to me in the showers. Why you made . . . ." My voice trailed off, together with my thoughts. What did we do last night? Make love? Have sex? What? That I didn’t know was the most frustrating part for me. Looking down at Ice and trying to read her emotions through the carefully blank tableau of her face was something akin to being blind and entering the Philadelphia Art Museum. Not very enlightening, to say the least.

It was by the barest of margins that I resisted stomping petulantly on the floor. "Damn it, Ice. Say something! Anything!"

The eyes that finally met mine were cold and hollow. "What do you want me to say, Angel?"

"Tell me why! That’s all I’m asking here!"

Her broad shoulders shrugged slightly. "You made an offer. I took you up on it. Simple as that."

If you are incredibly lucky, there will be very few times in you life that you will ever feel what I did when those softly spoken words seeped into my ears. I could almost feel my heart close in upon itself as it shrank from their meaning, cowering. Tears came again, but I held them back with steely determination.

"Why are you looking so surprised? It’s what you expected to hear, isn’t it? A cold blooded murderer takes an innocent young girl as a trophy then brags about it to her friends?" She shrugged again. "Happens all the time here. If it wasn’t me, it would’ve been somebody else."

That did it. The damn broke and my anger rushed forth, controlling my emotions once again. "You cold-blooded, heard-hearted, evil son of a bitch!"

I felt my hand go up, though to this day, I have no idea what I was planning to do with it. It was caught in a grip of iron and I suddenly found myself, once again, face to face with Ice. She smiled coldly down at me. "I wouldn’t do that if I were you, or ya just might find out how true those words really are."

Tugging hard, I was surprised when my hand came easily free. Still, I met her gaze dead on, vowing not to show any fear. I was with a predator and I knew it. If she smelled fear on me, the situation could turn from bad to worse in a heartbeat.

Refusing to even give her the satisfaction of seeing me rub my tingling wrist, I stood my ground, staring up at her, almost daring her to show me her worst. When she didn’t, my racing heart started to calm and my anger along with it.

As I looked at her, her face seemed to change, as faces often will when you stare at them long enough. I began to imagine I could see past that carefully cultivated fierceness and into the woman beneath; a woman who had held me so tenderly in the shower the night before, rocking and soothing me with a gentleness this present persona belied; a woman who could create such a marvelous sense of freedom with just a few hand-held tools and a few stunted trees; a woman who would unhesitatingly thrash the living daylights out of an inmate twice her weight for laying hands on an innocent girl. Most of all, though, I imagined I could see a woman with whom I felt a profound connection that not even the heat of our anger could dissipate.

"I don’t believe you, you know," I finally managed to say in what surprised me by turning out to be a normal tone of voice.

"About what?"

"About what you said. That it was a game, that I was a trophy. You may have said those words, but I don’t think you meant them at all."

Raising one eyebrow, she continued to stare down at me, her face still completely expressionless.

"You’re hiding something."

"Oh? What am I hiding?"

"Your feelings."

The eyebrow arched higher as a faint smirk played across her face. "I’m a murderer, Angel. An assassin for hire. I lost anything that even resembles feelings a long time ago. Don’t waste your time looking for something that isn’t there."

I allowed my own smirk to curve my lips. "Oh, it’s there alright. You just have to know where to look."

"And you know where to look."

"No, not yet. Not completely. But I will." Taking a big risk, I brought up my hand again, one finger extended, and poked Ice in the chest. "Beneath that oh-so-cold exterior lies a living, beating, feeling heart, Morgan Steele. And I’m gonna find it. I’ve got nothing but time on my hands, and believe you me, I will find it." Grinning triumphantly, I turned on my heel, prepared to make my dramatic exit.

I was a step away from the door when the barely whispered words met my ears. "I hope you do, Angel."

Lacking the courage to turn back and catch the expression on her face, I continued out of the cell and into the hallway, a woman whose mission had been changed irrevocably.

*  *  *

Sunday dawned cold and with a drizzle that was just a degree or two short of being sleet. Apparently, though, I was the only person in the prison surprised when the much anticipated basketball game managed to go off without a hitch.

That’s not to say it was smooth sailing. It appeared that the game of ‘inmate basketball’ was quite a different animal than any I’d seen before, and believe me when I tell you that, being from the mid-west, I’d seen enough of ‘normal’ basketball to last me several lifetimes. The rules seemed to be non-existent and the object appeared to me to be ‘stuff the ball through the net while injuring as many opponents as it was possible to without becoming a victim yourself’. There were several instances when I began to doubt my wisdom in assuming that this would be a peaceful way to settle the differences between the two gangs.

For her part, Ice appeared to be having fun. Her job seemed to be to keep the fights from becoming too bloody and interrupting the flow, if it could be called that, of the game. Rain glittered in her thick, black hair and every so often she would shake it out, sending a fan of fine mist out over the yard.

Our eyes would meet occasionally and, for those brief moments, nothing else seemed to matter to me. Her small grin warmed me inside and the rain, as well as the roar of the crowd and players, seemed to fade away to nothing. Then, invariably, another fight would break out and her attention would be called back to the game and I would feel the cold and damp all over again.

When it was over, Trey’s team easily maintained possession of the court for the next year. The score might have been closer, and the game more interesting, if Derby had put some of her more athletically inclined people in to play. Since her overblown ego didn’t allow that, it was, quite simply, a rout. Trey, who by herself managed to score more points than Derby’s entire team combined, was paraded around the court on the shoulders of her teammates, grinning wildly and proclaiming her dominance to all who would listen.

It was with a feeling of great relief when I finally pulled my protesting body up off the rain-slicked tarp that Critter had managed to put down and escaped back inside the warmth and quiet of the prison walls. All in all, I was quite pleased with myself. My plan, for better or worse, had worked and peace, or what passed for it in the Bog, reigned for one afternoon at least. Ice wasn’t mad at me and our connection seemed as strong as ever, despite the wounding words of the day before.

It was another good day.

PART 5

THE LAST WARM day of 1978 dawned sunny and clear as if Mother Nature was snickering behind her hand, giving us a last glimpse of a summer we wouldn’t see for another half year or more. Ducking outside at the earliest opportunity, I strode onto the nearly empty field and sat cross-legged in grass which still managed to maintain some measure of its vibrant color despite several hard frosts which had ravaged it.

Closing my eyes and tilting my face toward the sun, I imagined that if I could just listen hard enough, I’d be able to smell the fresh cut grass and hear the sounds of summers past; the laughter of children, the splashing of water and the almost monotonous drone of a baseball announcer coming through the tinny speakers of an old transistor radio. The images playing behind my closed eyes warmed me inside and I felt a smile break across my face as I was swept up in my fantasy world. The cold walls of my prison home were far away as I sat there, determined to enjoy this fleeting glimpse of both summer and freedom for as long as I could.

My training had caused me to become more aware of the world around me, even while deep in my musings, and so I almost immediately caught the subtle current of change in the air around me. With a sense of disappointment, I lowered my head and opened my eyes to find Ice lowering herself to sit, also cross-legged, on the ground some feet from me. Her hands snaked across the carpeting of grass, plucking one thin stalk and twirling it between her fingers as she looked around the yard for a bit before turning her head to meet my interested gaze. Her lips curved into a gentle grin that lit up the vibrant pools of her eyes and softened the harsh planes of her face. "Morning, Angel."

The sound of her slightly husky voice warmed me more than the sun and my memories put together and I couldn’t help but return her smile. "Morning, Ice."

Nodding her dark head at me, she broke the lock of our gazes, seeming inclined to allow the comfortable silence to stretch out between us as she continued to casually scan the yard.

I, however, wasn’t one to pass up even the slimmest chance to get beneath that armored exterior. My mind whirled, tossing out and discarding several opening gambits. Finally, I decided on the old tried and true direct route.

"Can I ask you a question, Ice?" I winced as the words slipped past my lips. They always seemed to be the first ones out when I talked to her and some part of me wondered if she’d ever get tired of hearing them so often repeated.

She turned to me slowly, a small smile playing across her lips. "What’s on your mind, Angel?"

"Well, I was wondering about your . . .trees. I don’t know if I’m breaking some code of conduct, but I’ve been thinking about them a lot. They’re each individuals, but when I look at them as a group, they seem to tell a story. I was wondering if, maybe, you could tell me what that story was."

She looked away again, scanning the fat clouds strolling across the sky for so long that I was sure she wasn’t going to answer me. When she turned back, her face was less open, but her eyes weren’t completely shuttered and that gave me some hope. "I call them the Four Freedoms," she said in a voice soft as the wind rustling through the grass.

"The Four Freedoms?" I asked, careful to keep my tone neutral. There were times, especially ones like this, when Ice reminded me of a skittish colt, all fire and nervous energy. One wrong word and I knew she’d bolt. I sensed I was going to get to the bottom of something very important here and so I did my best to keep things as calm and peaceful as I could.

Nodding, she tossed the blade of grass into the wind before picking another and looking down at it. She took a deep breath, as if contemplating whether or not to go further, then tossed the second stalk away and interlaced her fingers. "The one on the very left, the small one that’s kinda wild? That’s the Freedom of Innocence. The one next to it, the big one, is the Freedom of Power. The next is the Freedom of Love, and the last is the Freedom of Wisdom."

As I sat there, pondering her words, I tried desperately to think of what to say next. Knowingly or not, she had just given me a huge insight into the workings of her soul and I wanted to dig ever deeper to bring out the person who could see freedom in concepts like innocence and love.

But I also knew that if I gave in to my urgings and pushed too hard into the rich subtext, I’d soon find myself alone. Backing off a bit, I decided to attack the general overriding concept rather than look too hard at the specifics.

"Do you think about freedom a lot?" While it sounded like a stupid question, there was a method to my madness.

She shrugged. "Not too much anymore. I’d rather not waste my time thinking about things that can never be." There was a deep sadness in her eyes and I sensed, with a sinking heart, that she was talking about far more than simple freedom from this prison we called home.

"You’ll get out someday, Ice. Your sentence carries a chance of parole, doesn’t it?"

Smiling sadly, she nodded after a moment. "A slim chance, yes. But it’ll never happen."

"Why not?"

"I’m a murderer, Angel. Simple as that. I was convicted of killing a government witness." She shrugged again, then shook her head, laughing mirthlessly. "Not something the parole boards like to hear when they’re looking at your release papers."

And with that statement, I realized I’d blundered into yet another hidden landmine. In all the time I’d known her, I’d never asked whether she had indeed committed the crime for which she was convicted. She’d never volunteered the information and as far as I knew, only Ice herself knew where the real truth lie.

I felt, in that moment, how I imagined a novice firewalker must feel. Afraid to go forward and risk getting burned; afraid to step back and risk losing face.

Faced with those choices, I picked the third. To do nothing. Leaning back slightly and letting my arms bear the weight of my upper body, I looked up at the robin’s egg blue sky as I felt the gradual ebb of edgy tension from the body close to mine. I smiled internally, knowing I’d made the right decision. The comfortable silence stretched out between us and, for once, I wasn’t inclined to break it.

After several long, peaceful moments, Ice softly cleared her throat. I could feel the heat of her eyes upon me, but I continued to look up at the sky, waiting for her to share whatever was on her mind. "How about you?" she said finally. "Do you think about being free again?"

Smiling, I turned to face her. "Not as much as I used to, but yes, almost every day."

"What do you think about?"

"Mmmmm." My smile widened, unbidden. "A walk in the park at dusk. Eating an ice-cream cone. A nice, long, hot bath." Trite, but true. All of it. Especially the bath part. It had always been one of my favorite things to do, especially on a cold winter’s evening. "But when I really feel like the walls are closing in on me, I remember this place I used to go to in the summers when I was a young girl."

Ice nodded at me to continue, her eyes bright and interested.

"My father had a friend who owned a cabin on some property in Canada. It was a wonderful place, all glass and wood, with a huge porch that ran along the front, a loft upstairs where most of the bedrooms were, and a fireplace so big my father could fit inside without bending over." Shifting slightly, I stretched my legs out, running them back and forth over the nubbly grass. "It sat in the middle of a huge pine forest, about fifty yards up from a beautiful lake. The path from the house to the water was covered in a carpet of pine needles and if you tried to make the walk with bare feet, you’d wind up covered in sap."

I felt a warm tingle begin inside me as the pleasant weight of my memories settled in. "There was a short green dock by the shore where my dad’s friend kept his speedboat tied. It wasn’t a very big one, but it was fun to go out in. I can remember sitting on the dock, feeling the sun on my shoulders as I looked over the lake at the colorful sailboats that raced almost every day. They reminded me of butterflies in a meadow and I remember envying the passengers their freedom. My father had something against girls learning to sail, but he couldn’t stop me from watching. They were so beautiful."

I shifted a little, plucking at the grass with my fingers, not really seeing it. "There were a couple of kids my age there and I remember us racing out to another dock which sat out in the middle of the lake. Well, it wasn’t really the middle, but it seemed that far when I was young. All I knew was that the water was over my head and that scared me, at first. But once I learned to swim, it was fun to go out there and dive off the dock. My friends used to go underneath, where there was an air pocket." I found myself laughing at the memory. "Not me though. Never was brave enough."

Some more grass came loose under the relentless assault of my fingers. "We’d go up there for a month every summer. We never had a television, but my dad would bring his radio. At night, after dinner, he’d build a big fire in the fireplace and sit listening to baseball while my mom did her famous jigsaw puzzles. I’d sit there, listening to the crackle of the fire, and read. Then, when it got late, I’d go upstairs and fall asleep to the sounds of crickets, bullfrogs and the wind whistling through the pine trees."

I hugged my arms tight around my knees, awash in the memories. "Those were the happiest times of my life." I sighed. "My father bought the cabin and land from his friend when I was thirteen. The cabin burned down the next year. But one day, when I walk out of here, I’m gonna go back up there and rebuild that cabin from the ground up with my bare hands and spend the rest of my life there, free and at peace."

When I turned my gaze back to my silent listener, I found her eyes so full of utter longing that it made my heart stop just looking at her expression. I felt my hand go out to her, felt her own capture it and cradle it tenderly as a sad half-smile crooked the corner of her mouth. "It sounds . . .like a good place to dream about."

I smiled. "It is. It’s a wonderful place. I can share it with you, if you’ll let me."

Compressing her lips, she gently let go of my hand, then drew her knees up to her chest, wrapping her long arms around them. "No, that’s alright. It’s your dream. Something that belongs to you and only you. Something this place and these people can’t take away from you. You keep it."

I sidled closer until we were almost touching. "I’d like to share it with you, Ice. The only thing better than having it all to myself is being able to share it with someone. With . . .you."

Catching the odd expression on her face, I allowed my grin to broaden. "C’mon, it’ll be fun! Just close your eyes and imagine you’re in the middle of a forest, surrounded by trees. Feel the warm wind brush against your skin. Smell the pine all around you." I took in a deep, bracing breath. "Isn’t it wonderful?"

"It’s crazy."

I laughed. "Of course it is! That’s what makes it so much fun! C’mon, Ice, let your hair down a little. Just close your eyes and think about what I told you. Think about the warm sun on your face."

After rolling her eyes at me, she lowered her chin onto her knees and closed her eyes. Taking a chance, I closed the last of the distance between our bodies, then reached up a hand to lay gently against her broad back. The muscles I felt were pronounced and tense and I couldn’t resist rubbing them gently in a smooth, circular motion. She began to relax just the slightest bit. "That’s it. Can you hear the birds chirping? The water lapping gently against the wooden dock?"

There were several long moments of silence interrupted only by our breathing. "Well? Can you?"

Faintly amused eyes opened and met mine. "Nope."

This time I rolled my eyes. "That’s just ‘cause you’re not trying hard enough. Let me help you." Pursing my lips, I proceeded to deliver my rendition of "water gently lapping against a wooden dock", followed close behind by "chirping birds".

I felt her muscles clench under my hand a split second before a deep, rumbling laugh burst up from her chest. It was one of the most joyous sounds I’d ever heard and, within seconds, I was joining her, tears of mirth streaming down my cheeks as I realized just how horrible I must have sounded.

When my laughter finally tapered off, I wiped my arm over my watering eyes, brushing away my tears as I looked into Ice’s radiant face. "God, you’re beautiful." The words came out before I could edit them, but this time, I didn’t want to take them back. She was beautiful, and I wanted her to know that.

Both of our expressions turned serious and I felt more than saw her head incline toward mine. I could feel myself moving at the same time, my lips suddenly aching to meet hers.

I could feel her warm breath tickle the fine hairs of my face as the incredible heat of her body radiated against mine. We were a hairsbreadth apart, my eyes already closing in anticipation, when the sound of a softly cleared throat startled me out of my bliss.

Before I could even fully open my eyes, Ice’s arm shot up, grabbed a handful of jumpsuit and yanked a startled Critter’s upper body down so that her face was just inches from ours. "The prison better be burning down," she growled, "or you’re gonna find out how well you can walk with two broken legs."

"I . . . just thought you needed to know . . .that Psycho’s loose again," Critter wheezed, her face turning an interesting ashen color.

"Great," Ice muttered, letting go of Critter’s uniform and jumping to her feet. Reaching down, she grasped my hand and hauled me up as well. "Thanks for the dream, Angel," she said, laying a quick hand against my cheek before turning and running back into the prison.

Turning, I looked over at Critter, who was rubbing her throat and coughing. "Are you ok?"

She cleared her throat again, then nodded. "Yeah, I’m alright. I should know better than to interrupt her."

"What’s going on with Psycho this time?"

Critter shrugged as she straightened her uniform. We both broke out into a trot as we headed back into the building. "She’s got another knife to the throat of some newbie."

"Newbie? I didn’t think we had anyone come in in the last month."

"Neither did I. I heard she was brought in last night after everyone was asleep. Real hush-hush."

Coming to the top of the stairs, we were confronted with an almost exact duplicate of the scene a month before when Psycho had captured the prison guard. The guards were standing around in a tense knot, their batons out and clutched in tight, knuckle-whitening grips. The prisoners stood behind them, the shorter women up on their toes trying to get a glimpse of the unfolding drama.

As before, Critter led me around to a more open space off to the side where I could look into the circle of tense women. Psycho had what looked to be a butcher knife, though how she managed to get a hold of one of those I have no idea, to the neck of a striking woman. The woman looked to be in her late forties, with long, black hair shot through with strands of the finest silver. Her skin was olive-hued and her eyes dark and shining. She had a regal, old-world elegance that even her current circumstances did nothing to diminish.

At the front of the pack stood Sandra and Ice, who was gesturing wildly with her arms, more demonstrative than I’d yet seen her, even when fighting. My ears strained to pick out her low toned words among the excited chatter of the other inmates.

"Alright, Cassandra, you’ve made your point. Now drop the knife."

"No can do, my dear Ice. This little fishie has to die. I’m sorry if that upsets you, my love, but some things just can’t be helped."

The woman’s eyes widened as the sharp edge bit cruelly into her neck. "Morgan, please!"

Cassandra yanked the woman’s dark hair back, baring her neck even further. "I told you already, you miserable piece of dung, her name is ‘Ice’! Use it!"

"I’m sorry!" the woman cried out. "Please stop hurting me!"

Cassandra bared her teeth in a malicious grin. "Oh no, my pretty. I haven’t even begun to hurt you."

"Drop the knife, Cassandra!" Sandra shouted, raising her baton.

Turning toward the head guard, Psycho’s grin broadened. "I’m sorry, Sandra, did you say something? I’m afraid I couldn’t hear you with this poor dear fishie moaning in my ear. Would you care to repeat yourself?"

"I said drop the knife!"

"That’s what I thought you said." She shrugged. "Sorry." Closing her eyes, she slowly drew the knife across the captive woman’s throat, drawing a shallow cut from which thin trickles of blood streamed. "Ahhhh, nothing like the smell of fresh, hot blood, is there."

"Cassandra!!"

The blonde turned her gaze to Ice, mouing her lips in a coquettish pout. "Oh come now, Ice. You above all others should know just how good it feels to draw your blade against the tender flesh of an innocent victim." She giggled girlishly. "Just the thought of it gives me shivers. How about you?"

"Cassandra, please. I’m asking you to drop the knife."

"Oooooo. Begging! I like that in a woman! Try getting on your knees next time though, Ice. It enhances the effect."

From my vantage point, I was able to see Ice’s expression as her eyes darted intently between Cassandra, her knife, and the terrified woman in Cassandra’s deadly grasp. It was quite obvious that Ice knew the captive on some level. I turned to Critter, a question in my eyes. She shrugged and shook her head.

As I turned back to the action, Sandra took a small step forward, her empty hands upraised in a gesture of placation. "At least tell us why you’re doing this, Cassandra. I want to help you if I can."

"You can’t help me, you pitiful excuse for a cop wannabe. I’m crazy, remember? Nuts. Crackers. Off the deep end without a net. I’m Psycho!"

"Please, Cassandra," the head guard tried again. "Just tell us why."

After a moment, she nodded, relaxing her grip just the slightest bit on her captive. "Alright. That’s a fair question, I suppose. Why don’t you tell them . . .what was your name again?"

The woman choked.

"Her name is Josephina," Ice said, her voice firm and deadly serious.

Cassandra smiled brightly. "That’s right, Josephina! How stupid of me to forget such a beautiful name. Josephina, tell our admirers here just why you’re in such an uncomfortable position."

"I . . .I don’t know!"

"Of course you do, my darling. Speak up loudly so everyone can hear you, dear. Mustn’t let the people in the back miss your words of wisdom, you know."

Josephina remained silent and Cassandra shook her like a rag doll, her brows knit low over her eyes in a fierce scowl. "Mustn’t keep our public waiting, dear Josephina. Now spill it."

"We . . .we were talking," Josephina gasped out, "this . . .morning. In our cells. And . . .and I mentioned that I was a friend of Ice."

"You liar!" Screaming in rage, Cassandra tightened her grip around the older woman’s neck, bringing the knife up against her chin once again. "Ice has no friends except me!! I’m the one that she loves, do you understand me?!?!? I’m the one that she thinks about at night when she runs her hands down that exquisite body of hers! Me! Only me! Do you hear me, you sniveling piece of trash?!? Do you???"

Josephina screamed hoarsely as Sandra and Ice took identical, purposeful steps forward. Cassandra’s head jerked up and she dragged the terrified woman back a step, waving the knife in front of her. "Back! Get back before I cut her pretty little head off! And you know I’ll do it, too."

Both women halted their forward progress, still several feet from Cassandra and her knife. I wondered if Ice would try for a disarming blow, but for some reason, my friend seemed hesitant, as if unsure of herself. It was a strange thing to see and I had to fight down a sudden sense of dark foreboding, watching her.

Cassandra’s left foot slipped slightly in a spot of wetness on the prison floor. The knife bit deeply into the juncture of Josephina’s neck and shoulder, causing the older woman to scream as a gout of blood streamed forth. The blonde chuckled as the blood flowed. "That’s gonna leave a stain," she remarked conversationally, reaching up to run her fingers through the blood, then reaching still higher to wipe her wet fingertips across her captive’s cheek.

"Morgan, please," Josephina moaned.

The slap of Cassandra’s palm against Josephina’s cheek echoed through the prison like a rifle shot. Spinning the older woman around toward her, Psycho brought her face down so close their lips were almost toughing. Her eyes were wide with rage. "I told you, you bitch! Her name is Ice!"

Raising her free hand, Cassandra backhanded Josephina then raised her knife, its cruel edge glittering in the harsh fluorescents.

Things seemed to flow in slow motion from that point. Again, Ice and Sandra stepped forward simultaneously. With one hand, Ice pushed the guard away, while grabbing at the descending knife with the other. Sandra was thrown back into the crowd of guards while Ice, Cassandra and Josephina became locked in a deadly embrace.

Ice had at least five inches and fifty pounds on her skinny opponent, but Cassandra had the strength of an insane rage backing her up. The battle for control of the knife quickly became a stalemate, with Ice’s hand locked around Psycho’s wrist while Cassandra was trying desperately to plunge the knife into any bit of warm flesh she could.

The two women grinned fiercely at one another, obviously getting some sort of perverse enjoyment out of their dance of death. The thought chilled me inside as I attempted to reconcile this Ice with the one I’d shared my dreams with just moments ago. It wasn’t an easy match, I have to tell you.

I turned once again to Critter, who was watching the scene with fascination. "Why don’t they do something?" I asked, gesturing to the guards who were, like my friend, motionless as they watched the battle taking place just scant feet in front of them.

Critter looked down at me and shrugged again. "I dunno. Maybe they’re trying to figure out what to do?"

"This is ridiculous," I commented, turning my attention back to the action. Cassandra’s arm was shaking visibly with her attempt to plunge the knife downward against the implacable strength of Ice’s sure grasp. Her eyes fluttered closed for a moment and then a truly evil smile spread over her features. A slight nudge with her free arm was all it took to send Josephina stumbling over into Ice, who reflexively caught the sobbing woman, also with her free arm.

That minute distraction was all Cassandra needed as she twisted her wrist sharply, breaking free of Ice’s hold. The knife glittered again, then continued its aborted plunge downward. There was a loud scream, and when the weapon again appeared, it was coated with blood.

"NO!" I screamed, beyond sure that Ice had been the recipient of the deadly thrust. I started forward, only to be pulled back by Critter’s strong hold on me.

Cassandra threw back her head and laughed, a truly terrifying sound. As she stepped away, Josephina slumped into Ice’s arms, blood pouring from the wound in her chest. The look of shock on Ice’s face was intense as she looked from Cassandra’s cackling form down to the bloody woman in her arms. She bore Josephina gently to the ground, a small moan coming from deep in her chest, as the guards chose that moment to attack.

"Oh yes!" Cassandra purred. "I just love pig roasts, don’t you? C’mon, piggies. Who’s first to die today?" She swung her knife back and forth in viscous sweeps. The guards jumped back, uncertain, and Cassandra laughed again. "Come on, where’s that bravery you pat each other on the back for having, hmmmm? It only hurts a little! Just ask my little friend here!" Her screaming mirth filled the prison.

Another guard ran to assist Ice, who slammed an elbow into her gut, sending her back over to her fellows. With one large hand covering the blood-drenched wound, Ice used the other to tenderly brush back the sweat-soaked hair from Josephina’s brow. "Just hang on," she murmured. "Help’s on the way. Just hang on."

"That’s right, Josephina," Cassandra yelled, still swinging her knife to keep the guards at bay, "listen to our dear Ice. Hang on, won’t you? I wouldn’t want you to miss even one second of your glorious death."

I looked on in absolute horror as Ice brought down her other hand to join the first in its futile attempt to staunch the flow of blood draining from Josephina’s wound. Blood pumped from between her fingers in a red river, continuing unabated even after my friend had put almost all her strength into the pressure hold.

The wounded woman was still conscious, though barely, her face a doughy white. She and Ice were carrying on a murmured conversation that was too soft for me to hear. My heart clenched at the look of grief on Ice’s normally stoic features. Who was this woman that she could etch those deep lines across the tableau of my companion’s beautiful face?

Ice’s dark head slowly lowered. Her head turned as if to listen to barely whispered words. From where I was standing, I could see Josephina’s striking features go slack as her body relaxed beneath Ice’s large form.

"Noooooooooooooooooooo!"

The mournful howl echoed through the cavernous building, seeming to gather strength as it rebounded off cement walls and steel doors, filling the space around us all with a haunting melody of loss.

The wail cut off abruptly as Ice slowly rose, looking down at her blood covered hands as if they belonged to someone else entirely. I caught just the faintest glimpse of her expression as her head raised in the direction of Cassandra and I swear my heart stopped dead in my chest. She’s going to kill her. My God, she’s going to murder Psycho with her bare hands!

One step forward and Ice obliterated Cassandra’s wrist with a kick, sending the butcher knife spinning through the air to land against the far wall with such force that the blade snapped from the hilt with the ease of a twig being broken. Continuing her forward momentum, she reached her bloody hands out and wrapped them around Cassandra’s neck, bearing the still laughing woman off her feet and pinning her up against the barred door that protected the entrance to the segregation unit.

The back of Cassandra’s skull hit the metal bars with a resounding clang as her own arms came up, feebly attempting to loosen my friend’s strangle hold. The grin was still firmly in place on her face, though her skin had begun to turn a ruddy color.

Sandra jumped forward quickly. "No, Ice! Let her go! Let us take care of her!" The last of her plea was lost in a gust of breath as Ice’s foot connected with her chest, sending her flying back through the air to land against some of her fellow guards who were bowled back like tenpins trying to catch her hurtling body.

"Stay back!" Ice screamed. "I’m gonna give this bitch exactly what she deserves!"

"Ice, no!!" Sandra ran forward again, more cautiously this time. "Ice, please. Think about what you’re doing. Don’t do this. Please!"

"Get back! Don’t come any closer, Sandra. I don’t wanna hurt you too."

"Don’t do this, Ice!"

As I struggled against Critter’s tight hold, I could see Ice’s knuckles whiten as she squeezed her hands ever tighter around Cassandra’s thin neck. Her captive’s face was slowly turning from ruddy to ashen, her eyes wide and staring. Still she smiled as if death were a friend she was beckoning closer with each heaving try for breath.

A murmur started through the heretofore silent crowd and when I looked around, my eyes set upon the figure of the warden, making his first ever appearance within the prison proper. He wore a black suit over a blindingly white shirt, a large golden cross pinned garishly to his left lapel. Bulling his way to the front of the crowd, he took in the scene, hands on his hips. His face was red as old brick and a temple vein throbbed prominently. "What’s going on here? Guards! Separate those two women now!!"

Sandra turned to look at him, an expression of frustration plainly evident on her face. "We’re trying, sir. It’s not as easy as it looks."

"It doesn’t look like you’re trying at all, Ms. Pierce. Now do your job and separate these women or I’ll find someone who will!"

The head guard turned back to the scene, twirling her baton. "Please, Ice! I can’t give you any more chances here! Think about what you’re doing! Please, I’m begging you. Let her go! Please!"

"Separate them now, Ms. Pierce!"

"Ice! Let her go! I don’t want to hurt you!"

"Now, Ms. Pierce! Do it now!" The warden looked around at the other guards. "All of you! Now!!!"

"Ice! This is it! Last chance! Please!"

When Ice gave no signs of having heard, Sandra let out a huge sigh of defeat, turned slightly to the rest of the guards, and nodded. "Try not to hurt her."

As Sandra stepped forward, prepared to lead the charge, the warden grabbed her by her baton and pulled her up short. "Now see here, Ms. Pierce. I don’t care if you have to break every bone in that murderer’s body. Just do your job, do you hear me?"

When Sandra opened her mouth to begin a counter-argument, I saw my chance and took it. Lifting up my foot, I slammed it down hard on top of Critter’s instep, and when the pain made her loosen her hold on me, I bolted, using every ounce of defensive training the Amazons had taught me to rush through the restraining crowd and into the center of the action.

The warden and Sandra made a last ditch effort to catch me, but I used a whirling chop-block I had been perfecting and slipped through their defenses like oil through water, inordinately proud of myself. I skidded to a stop just feet from Ice. From this distance, I could easily see that we were just about out of time. Cassandra’s lips were blue and her eyes were wide and bulging from the pressure on her neck. That damn, smirking smile was still on her face and I wanted, at that moment, to do nothing more than to reach up and slap it off.

"Ice, it’s Angel," I began, using my voice like a hypnotist would use a pocket-watch, trying to calm the unfettered beast my friend had become. "Don’t do this. Please. Killing her won’t bring your friend back no matter how much you wish it would. You know that. Please don’t make things worse."

"Get out of here Angel." Ice’s voice was guttural, raw with rage and grief.

"Sorry, Ice, but I’m not going anywhere. You don’t want to do this. Please, just let her go."

"Oh, you’re wrong, Angel. I very much wanna do this." Her muscles tensing, Ice lifted Cassandra higher, slamming her body once again against the steel bars, which rattled, protesting. Her grip loosened for a brief instant, allowing Cassandra to gasp in a breath. The blonde woman tried to say something but it was lost as her air supply was once again choked off. I couldn’t believe how she’d managed to last this long against Ice’s rage-fueled strength.

I could hear the guards shifting behind me and knew I didn’t have much time. "Ice, remember what we just talked about. About dreams. About how no one can take them away from you. Don’t do this, Ice. Don’t let her take your dreams away from you."

I kept my voice smooth and steady, my cadence deliberate. I could see my words were having some effect by the minute lessening of tension in her broad shoulders. Taking a huge gamble, I reached up and put my hand on her back, rubbing gently as I’d done just a short time earlier in the yard. "That’s it, Ice. Let her go. It’s alright. It’ll be alright. Just let her go."

The warden’s screamed command to attack was drowned out by the huge gasp of breath from Cassandra as Ice’s hands loosened their deadly grip around her neck.

Hands slashing almost too quickly for the eye to follow, Ice caught Cassandra’s slumping body and tossed her the length of the corridor, where she landed in a heap against the far wall. Turning quickly, Ice shoved me behind her long frame as the guards began a concerted rush toward us, the warden, baton in hand, in the lead. Reaching out, Ice caught the baton and hauled the warden up to her, their bodies just inches apart.

The other guards came to abrupt halts as they watched the new scene unfold.

"Don’t touch me." Ice enunciated her words clearly from between clenched and bared teeth.

The warden’s eyes went wide as his face became distinctly pale. Curious, I watched from my safe vantage point behind Ice. "You’re going to the hole for a month for this infraction, Ms. Steele. Release me or I’ll make it two."

"Touch me, Warden Morrison, and I’ll send you to a hole of your very own. Permanently."

"Are you threatening me, Ms. Steele?"

"No, Warden Morrison. I’m just giving you the facts."

Setting himself, Morrison yanked his baton hard, the smirk on his face freezing when the weapon didn’t budge in the slightest. Though the situation was immanently explosive, I found myself having to hide my own smirk behind Ice’s back.

"Call off the dogs, Warden, and I’ll turn myself over to Sandra peacefully. Do we have a deal?"

"What makes you think I make deals with murderers, Ms. Steele? Despite what you and others might think, I control the prison here, not you. I could have you beaten senseless in the blink of an eye."

Though I couldn’t see it, I just knew that one of Ice’s elegant brows had just made a dramatic elevation. "Try it." Her voice was a sultry purr and my flesh pricked in unconscious reaction to the seductive tone.

I could literally feel the energy both of them were giving off as their wills battled. Though I knew Ice could easily follow through on her threat without blinking an eye, I could also sense the coiled tension in her body as she fought down her primal instincts to fully disarm the man and be done with it.

After several long, tense moments, I could see the warden’s shoulders sag as he took a slight step backwards, conceding the round. "Very well, Ms. Steele. No one will hurt you. But realize this. You have just made yourself one very large enemy. Your time won’t go quite so lightly from here on out. And that, my dear, is not a threat. I’m just stating a fact."

Ice nodded slowly, then released the baton back to the warden. I could feel her muscles tense as if expecting a blow. I tensed as well, ready to jump in if needed. Not that I ever would be, mind you, but it felt good to know that I had the skills, in any case.

Sandra and another guard rushed forward, each taking one of Ice’s arms and forestalling any retaliatory action the warden might have been wont to take. Two other guards grabbed Cassandra’s unconscious body and dragged her down toward the stairs.

"Sixty days in isolation for each of them," Morrison ordered. "And Ms. Pierce, when you return, please come to my office. We need to seriously discuss your lack of . . .preparedness in these situations."

Sandra’s shoulders slumped. "Yes, sir."

"Oh, and one more thing."

"Yes, sir?"

Morrison smirked, flinging a negligent hand toward Josephina’s body. "Get someone to take out the trash, will you?"

The crowd dispersed as Ice and Cassandra were led away surrounded by guards. Standing there, I watched Ice, head held high and proud, as if surrounded again by a retinue instead of guards intent on making sure she didn’t escape. The idea of two months in utter isolation and total darkness didn’t seem to faze her one bit, and I shook my head at the wonder of it all. I also knew that I would miss her, badly.

Our interaction in the yard had given me a very good feeling about the direction our relationship was heading in and I very much wanted to continue down that path with her if only to see where it would eventually lead.

With a dejected sigh, I turned to find myself faced with Josephina’s body lying, alone, on the floor, a pool of thickening blood surrounding her tattered jumpsuit. Her eyes were open; glassy and staring forever into eternity. Stepping around the pool of blood, I squatted down and closed her lids, sending out a silent prayer to whatever higher power might be listening.

Pushing her way through the final knot of prisoners, Critter limped her way over to where I knelt, waiting silently off to the side while I finished my prayer. When she sensed I was done, she reached down a hand to help me to my feet. I brushed off the knees of my jumpsuit, then flashed her a rueful smile. "Sorry about your foot."

She returned the grin, winking at me. "Not a problem. I’ll have to remember that move."

"You should. You’re the one who taught it to me."

"I was? I must be a better teacher than I thought." My friend looked quite pleased with herself. Then her face turned somber as she looked down at Josephina’s body. "What a mess."

I nodded in agreement. "I wonder who she was. It’s obvious she and Ice were friends at some point."

"Maybe Corinne would know?"

"Maybe. I just don’t think I’m ready to face her, or anyone else, right now. I think I’m just gonna go back to my cell and think about things."

Critter nodded, clasping my shoulder. "You did good up there, Angel. I don’t think anyone else would have been able to talk Ice down in the state she was in. You prevented a bloodbath. Great job."

The compliment should have pleased me, but it didn’t. I’d seen much too much of the dark side of humanity this day. I needed a long time alone to process things before I could even begin to believe that what I’d done had been for the best. Still, I nodded, reaching up to squeeze my friend’s hand as I did so. "Thanks, Critter."

"See you later, Angel."

I stood there for a long moment, watching Critter’s golden curls disappear back down the stairs. Taking one last long look at Josephina, I turned and made may back to my cell, just managing to get inside before I broke down.

It was a long time before sleep came to claim me.

*  *  *

My sleep, when it came, was bathed in sweat-soaked dreams of violence and death. They ran pell-mell through my mind, as dreams often will, making little or no sense to the conscious mind, but spelling out easily deciphered messages to the unconscious will. For the first time in months, Peter featured prominently in them, though his killer was as often Ice and/or Cassandra as it was me. I relived his death over and over again, running through tight knots of laughing people, always getting there just a split-second too late and finding him, slumped and bleeding, in my arms. Always that accusing stare haunted me.

The last was by far the worst. It started out peacefully enough. Ice and I were sitting, unclothed, in the middle of the yard. Though I should have been uncomfortable at the exposure, I wasn’t, for some reason. I felt completely safe. At peace, even, and I welcomed that feeling after the nightmares previous to it. She was facing away from me and I was stroking the velvet soft skin of her back, marveling at the texture of warm, pliant flesh over hard muscle and bone. The slight breeze brushed the scent of her into my nostrils and I breathed deep of it with a sigh of contentment.

I remember talking, though I don’t remember the subject. Something unimportant and nonsensical to be sure, thought it seemed profound at the time. She sat, unmoving, accepting my touches and words, her raven hair falling in soft waves to lay against her full breasts. Shifting slightly, I could see the breeze flutter the dark tendrils, giving me the briefest of glimpses of what I suddenly needed to see more of. Putting my hand on her shoulder, I turned her upper body toward mine, my other hand already moving of it’s own volition toward her chest to brush the hair away. It stopped, frozen, as I looked into her face to see death staring back at me. Her eyes had become Josephine’s, then Peter’s, then Cassandra’s, before switching back to her own vivid blue. Her stare empty and hollow and dead, but accusing just the same. Blood dripped slowly from the corner of her mouth and when she opened it to speak, her flashing white teeth stained red with blood, I screamed.

I was still screaming when I awoke. The sound rebounded around me as I pushed myself up on my elbows, trying desperately to free myself from the constricting web of my sheets. The walls closed in on me like a living thing and my lungs, already heaving from my nightmare, strained to draw in air. My heart thundered in my throat, making it even more difficult to breathe. My hair stuck to my face and neck in sticky tendrils.

Awareness came upon me with insidious slowness as my breathing gradually started to ease and my heart once again took up its rightful place in my chest. A soft, scuffing sound outside my cell made me turn my head in the direction of the barred door as I pulled the now freed sheet up to my chin.

One of the night-shift guards looked in, her large form backlit by the banks of fluorescent lights as they were turned on row by row overhead. "Are you alright, Angel?" she asked, her voice concerned.

"Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Just a nightmare." Pushing the sweat-sticky hair from my face, I managed a shaky laugh. "Haven’t had one of those in awhile. Guess I was due for one, huh?"

The woman’s expression became sad. "Someone like you shouldn’t have nightmares, Angel. You should be out living your life somewhere, doing good for people. You don’t belong locked behind bars." Sighing, she shook her head. "This is one of the worst parts of my job; guarding an innocent woman."

"I’m not innocent, Peg. I killed my husband."

"You might have killed him, Angel, but you sure as hell didn’t murder him. I read the reports. The man was raping you, for God’s sake!"

"Raping me or not, I still killed him. The law demands I pay the penalty for that, and I am. But thank you for your concern. I mean that. It means a lot to me to know that people care."

I could see the faint sign of color on her face as she fiddled with the keys on her belt. "Anyway, you wanna get sprung? Almost time to start a new day."

I felt myself grin, unaccountably glad that the night was finally over. "Sounds wonderful."

A rattling of a key and the turning of a lock and another day began in the Bog.

*  *  *

After forcing down some breakfast, I made my way to the library. Corinne greeted me with a smile and gestured me over to my customary seat, where a pile of newspapers, some yellowed with age, awaited my perusal. At my questioning glance, she came to my table, tea mug in hand, and nodded toward the stack. "Heard about what happened yesterday," she began, setting the fragrant tea down on the table. "I wondered a bit about this Josephina myself since Ice never mentioned her to me. I did a little digging and came up with some interesting items. Have a look."

Sitting down, I sipped my tea, which was a definite step up from the sewer sludge they called coffee in the Bog. As I blinked the steam from my eyes, I picked up the top paper, which, by the date, was only a few days old, and shook it out. Halfway down the front page was a picture of a very familiar woman surrounded by dark clad lawyers and holding her hand up in front of her face to avoid the snapping cameras. The caption read: "Wife of Mafia Don to be Transferred to Rainwater".

Scanning the columns of text, I learned that Josephina was also known as Mrs. Josephina Briacci, the wife of Salvatore Briacci, a noted underworld figure in Pittsburgh. It appeared that Mr. Briacci had gotten himself into a bit of trouble over some extortion, failure to pay back taxes, and conspiracy to commit murder charges and was indicted by the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania.

Reading further, I discovered that Josephina had refused to testify against her husband. While it’s illegal to force a wife to testify against her husband, refusing to do so gets the prosecutors upset. The newspaper speculated, in an editorial in the same edition, that Josephina’s charges, of accessory to conspiracy after the fact, were the State’s little payback for her refusal to play ball with them.

Usually people bound over for trial spent their time like I did, in the county jail. That she was sent, under cover of darkness, to the State Prison to await trial was a definite mystery and one which I was determined to solve.

The other papers contained more information on Salvatore Briacci and his crime syndicate, but very little else on his wife. My tea was cold by the time I put down the last paper, now knowing more about the so-called Mafioso than I’d ever wanted to learn. Stretching, I looked back over at Corinne, who had gone back to her desk and was leafing through some book or other, her half-glasses settled low on her nose. "Well, that tells me a little, anyway."

Looking up, she smiled at me, eyes warm over the tops of her glasses. "Not nearly enough though."

"Not even close. What is her connection with Ice? You didn’t see her out there, Corinne. She was absolutely devastated when Josephina died. It was almost like a member of her family had died or something." I couldn’t help shivering as I remembered the mournful howl and Ice’s murderous attack on Cassandra.

"Well, she certainly never talked to me about her, that’s for sure," Corinne replied, sounding just the smallest bit put-out. "I do have some ideas, though. For what they’re worth."

I folded my hands over the stack of papers in front of me. "And they are?"

"Well, one of the things that I do know, as I’ve told you before, is that Ice was tied up in Organized Crime when she was released from the Bog last time. I’ve never heard her name mentioned in connection with this Salvatore Briacci, but her whole trial was very hush-hush, so we can’t rule out that connection. Perhaps that’s how they met?"

"Possibly, but you said that the Mafia backed off when she was indicted for murder. It doesn’t make sense that they would treat each other so warmly if Ice was betrayed by her husband, does it?"

Corinne lifted her hand in an equivalent of a shrug. "Who knows with Ice? That woman’s more close-lipped than a virgin wearing a chastity belt."

I choked for the second time on my cold tea. That was one thing about Corinne; the woman had more off-the-wall sayings than anyone I ever knew. You never knew what was going to come out of that prim and proper mouth next. Swallowing back the dregs, I set the mug down on the table and worried the newsprint off the side of my hand with my thumb. "I wonder how she’s doing."

"Ice? I imagine just fine. She managed to find herself in a bit of hot water from time to time when starting up the Amazons. The hole is almost like a second home to her." Corinne sat back in her chair, took off her glasses and smiled. "She always did prefer her own company to that of other humans anyway. Don’t worry about her, little Angel. She’ll do alright."

Nodding, I turned my attention to my hand, managing to pretty much smear newsprint everywhere in the process of trying to wipe it off.

"What about you?" my friend asked.

"What about me?"

"Well, I heard about what happened yesterday, obviously. It must have been difficult for you to witness that."

"Which part?" I snapped. "Where Cassandra murdered Josephina in cold blood or where Ice almost strangled Cassandra to death with her bare hands?"

Obviously startled, Corinne stared at me, open-mouthed and blinking.

I let out a long sigh, dropping my hands back down onto the table from where they had been enunciating my point. "I’m sorry, Corinne. You didn’t deserve that."

My friend smiled once again. "That’s alright, child. I was just startled because I’ve never heard you speak out quite so emphatically before."

"Well, you’ve never seen me witness a murder and an attempted murder within the space of a half hour before either. It was . . .tough." I rubbed at my forehead, trying to ward off an impending headache. "I didn’t sleep well last night and I have a feeling those particular nightmares are gonna stick around for a long time to come."

"I imagine they might," she commiserated. "On a more pleasant subject, how are things going with Ice? Obviously they’re on hold for the moment, but I managed to get a peek at the two of you out in the yard yesterday." Her smile was a sly one as she looked penetratingly at me, obviously in search of an answer. To her credit, she never did ask me about the truth to the rumors of what I termed, in my mind, the ‘Shower Incident’. "The two of you looked rather . . .cozy."

Managing to keep the blush from showing on my face, I nodded, continuing to meet her direct gaze. "They’re going. She’s a tough nut to crack, but crack her I will. One way or another."

Corinne nodded, crossing her arms over her ample bosom. "If anyone on God’s green earth can, my sweet little Angel, you’ll be the one to do it."

I stared back at her, wishing I could be so confident and praying to that same God, as well as any others who would listen, to be given the chance to find out.

*  *  *

The next two months passed slowly and quickly at the same time. Winter had finally come, sinking its icy talons into us all, raising tempers and lowering spirits. During a time when the outside world was roasting chestnuts over an open fire, trimming trees and making snowmen, the residents of the Bog were trying to keep warm and stay alive. Since Ice’s detention in isolation, tensions had risen in the prison. Montana had finally been given parole two weeks after the incident, leaving the Amazons effectively leaderless.

Critter was a good administrator, but she didn’t have the overbearing sense of machismo that characterized both Montana and Ice. Pony and Sonny didn’t want the job, preferring instead to remain in their roles as enforcers and the other Amazons, quite frankly, had neither the tenure nor the drive to lead such a diverse group of women in a common purpose.

Derby’s gang, especially, began to test the waters, moving in like a shark among a school of weaker fish. So far my friends had been able to hold their own but it appeared that it would be a race to see if they could hold off Derby’s advance long enough for Ice to be released from isolation.

The other gangs, emboldened by Derby’s seeming successes, began to make their own voices heard, managing to set off several small riots which the guards and the Amazons were hard-pressed to quell. All in all, it was a difficult time for us all.

For my part, I continued to live my life as best I could, staying, for the most part, in the background of prison life. My side job as purveyor of things great and small picked up some during the holiday season, managing to keep me busy enough that my mind didn’t constantly dwell on a certain woman spending two months of her life in darkness and solitude. My only saving grace was Corinne’s repeated assurances that Ice felt quite at home in the hole and would be fine.

I, however, was not fine. I found that I missed her terribly. Even on days when we didn’t speak, just knowing she was there made me feel safe and content in a way I hadn’t at any time before, even when I was free. This seeming connection that we had was something that I’d come to rely on as a lifeline and while in a way that feeling of dependence was frightening in the extreme, when thought about in the right way it helped to keep me grounded and centered. It was like waking up to find something you never knew you’d lost and so was all the more precious for the having.

To keep myself busy when the days wanted to drag, I made it my duty to keep up Ice’s cell. Though I wasn’t an expert by any means, my reading up on Bonsai gave me the basic skills needed to at least keep the trees alive if nothing else.

The first few times I made the trek to her cell, I was careful to keep my hands and eyes to myself, tending only to the trees and nothing else. I was very loathe to intrude on her personal space, so fiercely protected and cherished by this very private woman.

One of the first things I noticed was that the bonsai rake, its acquisition starting things between the two of us, was looking ragged and worn. I hefted it, surprised at its small weight, rubbing my thumb along the smooth wood handle as I imagined Ice quietly tending her garden. The thought brought a smile to my face and I quietly began to hum as I worked with the trees, trying to keep them as healthy as I could. I promised myself I’d replace the worn rake with a new one as soon as I could.

My resolve to let sleeping dogs lie started to waver, however, the more I visited the cell. The temptation to look around was just too great and I found both my mind and eyes wandering as I tended to the Bonsai. My gaze strayed from the trees to the maps, which hadn’t changed since I’d last visited Ice there, to the neat stack of books by the short bunk. One day, finally giving up all pretense of remaining uninterested, I walked over to the books as if drawn on a lure.

Tilting my head to look at the spines, I saw the complete works of Solzhenitsyn, which didn’t surprise me. Beneath that was a book on Ancient Mythology which was laying atop hard cover texts for Chemical Engineering and Aeronautics, respectively. I shook my head in wonderment as my eyes continued to travel down the titles. "Egg-head books," I whispered, disbelieving. "She reads egg-head books."

Unlike the collections of other inmates’ I’d viewed, and knowing the library’s check-out pattern by heart, I was slightly surprised to note that there were no torrid romance novels in the stack. ‘Bodice-rippers’, my mother liked to call them, her passion for the genre well known. My father often joked that she alone managed to keep the Harlequin people in business with her avid reading.

The biggest surprise, by far, was a copy of the entire Tao Te Ching, written in its original language. To me it was a masterful feat of intellect that she could even manage to read the thing, let alone understand and ponder it. But by the faint crease in its spine, the Tao appeared to be a book she went to often.

Squatting down carefully so as not to disturb the meticulous stack, I pulled the book from its resting place, glancing at the cryptography on the covers and running my finger over the spine. After a long moment, I opened the book, surprised when a small white square of paper slipped from beneath the cover and fluttered to the floor to land face down. Placing the book on the bed, I reached down and picked the square up, flipping it over but determined not to pry if it appeared to be something important.

My resolve lasted all of about two seconds.

What I had in my hand was a black and white photograph of three people and a dog. The man, tall and well built, was incredibly handsome. His dark hair slicked back, his chiseled face sported a pencil-thin "Clark Gable" type moustache. He wore a conservative dark suit, a bright shirt and narrow tie. Standing next to him, arm clasped under his, was an absolutely gorgeous woman. Tall and exotic, she wore her hair in a "Jackie Kennedy" flip with a small pill-box had set carefully atop it. She wore a light colored skirt-suit, white gloves and a matching purse clutched in one hand. Her free hand rested atop the shoulder of a young girl I recognized instantly as Ice. Dressed in what looked to be a plaid jumper, knee socks and patent leather shoes, her long hair tumbling over her shoulders, I could easily see the first blush of what was to become a great beauty in her fine features.

But what struck me the most, and in fact caused my heart to squeeze up in my chest, was the radiant smile on her face and the look of innocent, trusting happiness in those light-colored eyes. At that moment, I wished for nothing more in the world than for the ability to just step through that photograph, kneel down, and stare into the open and honest face of the young girl Ice had once been.

I didn’t realize I was crying until a tear landed on the picture, causing the features of a huge, black shepherd to become magnified under the salty liquid. Ice had the dog’s thick ruff caught in a fierce embrace and the camera had frozen the large pink tongue forever just inches from the young girl’s face.

Sniffing back my tears and carefully wiping the precious photo on the sleeve of my jumpsuit, I stared it once again for a long, intense moment. Reaching out a trembling finger, I gently brushed the frozen bangs on Ice’s head, smiling a little in reflex at the broad grin directed my way. "This part of you is in there, Ice. Somewhere. And I’ll help you find it again. I promise."

*  *  *

That evening, as I lay on my bunk, my mind was continually drawn back to the photograph and the sense of wistful happiness it invoked within me. Not only was the expression on Ice’s young face something to ponder, so too was the obvious love her family had for her. It got me to thinking about my own family and my place in it.

As I read these latest lines, I realize that I haven’t told you, the reader, very much about my own family, aside from some random sayings of my mother and the like. I suppose now is as good a time as any to rectify that situation.

I was what is known as a ‘change-of-life’ baby. My parents were very spiritual and so had been trying very hard to have and raise a large family in keeping with the tenets of their church teachings. Every month they plotted and planned, keeping strictly to the laughable ‘rhythm method’, and every month they failed.

When my mother’s reproductive system finally decided to start giving up the ghost, what she thought to be menopause turned out, nine months later, to be me.

My father, who had always wanted a boy to carry on both his name and his legacy, was sorely disappointed when a howling daughter was presented to him instead. I’ve heard it said that in other families, fathers of this sort just pushed the tiny matter of gender aside and raised their daughter like a son.

Such was not the case with me.

Born to a family replete with old-world traditions, I was raised as primly as a proper girl could be. Frilly dresses cut carefully below the knee so as not to tempt the other toddlers milling about, white hose and patent leather shoes, ribbons and bows in my hair were my daily uniforms. Sewing and cooking and learning to be a proper woman were my lessons; my mother and her cronies, my teachers.

I hated every moment of it.

While the other children of the neighborhood were riding bikes, building tree-forts, having mock wars and playing kick-the-can, I was inside learning the finer points of baking muffins that would turn out airy and light every time. After time. After time.

Books were my only refuge from the world of boredom. I read voraciously, getting swept up in the fantasy worlds of Nancy Drew and the Bobbsey Twins, solving the mysteries of Encyclopedia Brown before he did, the list went on and on. Books were my island; my safe harbor in a world of confusion.

My father and I never bonded. When I wanted love and approval, I received remote coldness. I loved him desperately, and I know he loved me in his own way in return, but we were never close.

I know I broke their hearts when I eloped, and shattered them beyond repair when I took Peter’s life. Since his death, I’ve only seen my parents twice. Once was on the day of my conviction. I remember being shocked speechless over how old they’d gotten in such a short time. Or maybe they’d always been old and I was seeing them for the first time through the eyes of an adult. The last time was two years ago as of this writing, and it was just my mother I saw. She came to tell me that my father had passed away the previous month and that she was moving to Phoenix to live with her younger sister.

Though we met in the visitor’s room with nothing between us but time and cool reserve, she never once touched me, nor truly looked me in the eye. When I told her I loved her, she didn’t respond. I knew then that I was as dead to her as her husband was.

It should have broken my heart, but it didn’t. I’d finally grown up enough to realize that sometimes the families you made were as important as the families you were born into. And that was enough for me.

PART 6

THREE WEEKS LATER, I once again found myself in the library, though this time I was surrounded by Amazons. Bruised and battered Amazons, to be precise. The prison had exploded in a flurry of violent outbursts, each one larger and more destructive than the last. Pony had one arm in a sling, her fingers massively swollen and Sonny was sporting a truly spectacular shiner to go with her broken nose. Only Critter seemed to have gotten off relatively unscathed.

"Someone needs to talk to her," Pony said, wincing as she stretched. "We can’t hold the line anymore and the guards can’t either. The warden seems to be getting off on it, the idiot."

Several sets of eyes turned to Corinne, who held her hands up. "Don’t look at me, ladies."

The eyes then turned to me, pleading. I shook my head slowly. "I don’t think so, guys. She hasn’t been out of her cell once since she got released. You all saw what she looked like, half dead and three-quarters insane. I’ve tried twice already and almost gotten my head bitten off both times. Maybe someone else should try."

"C’mon, Angel. You talked her down after that fight with Cassandra. You’re our only hope here. If Ice doesn’t snap out of it soon, we’re all gonna be in a world of hurt." Critter’s dark eyes drilled into mine. "You know it’s true, don’t you? We need her. And we need you to get to her."

Breaking down under the weight of their gazes, I sighed, then nodded my assent. "Alright, but if I don’t come back down in a few hours, remember that I don’t want a viewing, will you?"

The sense of relief in the room was palpable and Critter gripped my hand as I rose to my feet. "You can do it, Angel. You’re the best."

"Keep on saying that, Critter. Maybe one day I’ll actually start believing it."

Turning on my heel, the weight of their hopes resting heavily on my shoulders, I left the safety of the library, once again a woman on a mission.

I eased my way up the stairs and down the catwalk, dreading what I would find. The day of Ice’s release from isolation had been a horrendous one for me. Like a teenager awaiting her first date, I spent the day in nervous anticipation, fixing my hair and pressing the wrinkles out of my jumpsuit so many times that I earned regular teasing cracks about my habits from Corinne and some of the others.

When I finally saw her, late that afternoon, she was practically being held up in the steady grips of Sandra and another guard I didn’t recognize. She was bone thin. Her uniform hung off her like a sack. Her skin was almost snow-white and her hair, once a luxurious mane, was brittle, snarled and lifeless. Her beautiful face sported a multitude of draining sores around her mouth and her eyes were totally bereft of any spark, any sign of the life within. They sat in deep hollows surrounded by circles of the darkest brown.

Almost moaning, I walked up to the trio, reaching out to touch this apparition that appeared in the guise of my friend. She actually flinched away and I cried out. Sandra sadly shook her head, gently pushing me away as they passed, heading for the stairs.

Horror-filled, I turned and rushed back to the library, laying into Corinne as soon as I saw her.

I’d been to Ice’s cell twice since then, both times to be chased out by the snarling, half crazed animal my friend had become.

Since then, I’d made regular trips to both the guards’ station and the infirmary demanding answers. None were provided me except the fact that Ice’s time in isolation had not gone as expected. When I asked why she wasn’t in the hospital where she surely belonged, I was ignored.

And here I was, trying yet again.

As I moved further down the catwalk, I was drawn on by the sound of soft humming. The tune was mournful but melodic and brought the sting of tears to my eyes. As I stepped up to the open cell door, I noticed Sandra sitting on the bed next to Ice, holding her hand and stroking her hair. On the floor beside the bed was a tray of half-eaten food and by the quality of the meal, I guessed that it hadn’t come from the prison’s kitchen.

Ice sat on the bed, her back against the wall, her head bowed and her free hand in her lap, repeatedly clenching it into a fist, then relaxing, only to clench again. Sandra’s soft melody filled the air. Warm tears spilled out of my eyes and I brought my hand up to my mouth to mask the sounds of my crying.

The humming trailed off as Sandra’s head lifted. When she saw me standing there, she smiled. "Angel! C’mon in! Ice, look. Angel’s here." When Ice didn’t respond, Sandra beckoned me closer. "Come, sit on the bed next to her. Take her other hand. Her nails are chewing the hell out of her palm."

Doing what she requested, I gingerly entered the rest of the way into the cell, then lowered myself onto the bunk. Reaching out, I grasped Ice’s free hand and, as gently as I possibly could, uncurled the tight fist, threading my fingers through her much longer ones.

God, her hand was cold as the grave! Where the heat of her had always burned a path right through to my soul, this coldness was frightening. I could feel small dots of blood where our hands met, the only points of warmth on our joined flesh. I looked as well as I could into her eyes, but there was no one looking back at me. Shuddering, I looked past my friend and into the compassionate eyes of the head guard. "How’s she doing?"

"A little better. At least I got her to eat something this time. I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not the world’s greatest cook, but anything’s better than the slop they feed us here."

Looking down at the tray, I could only nod in agreement. At least the items on the plate were readily identifiable, which was more than I could say about the prison’s version of food.

"Anyway, I was just telling her about Diane when you came in."

"Diane?"

Sandra smiled. "My daughter. Ice saved her life. Didn’t ya." When Ice didn’t respond, the guard looked back over to me. "My husband was a police officer who was killed in the line of duty when Diane was six. Since I needed to keep working to keep a roof over our heads and meals on the table, I’d drop her off at my mother’s before school and pick her up after I got off of work. It worked out ok for a little while, but my mother’s old and a bit frail."

Sighing, she adjusted herself on the bed and gripped Ice’s hand tighter. "As Diane got older, she fell in with a rougher crowd. Petty vandalism at first, then shoplifting, then drugs. My mother didn’t say anything until it was almost too late. I’d come home so tired every evening that I didn’t see the signs, though I should have." She sighed again. "Then she got involved with a gang and I got a call from the police station one day while I was at work. It seemed she’d been the lookout for a home burglary and she’d gotten caught with the rest of her cronies. It was the last straw. The police agreed to drop the charges, but I knew she needed some help. So I brought her here. It was the first time she’d ever seen the inside of a real prison. Ice volunteered to help. She took Diane into a small room off the visitors’ room for about an hour. When my daughter came out, she looked a lot like Ice does now."

Sandra gently brushed the bangs away from Ice’s head again, smiling tenderly at my friend. "Though neither one have ever talked about what happened in that room, Diane never went back to her old ways again." Her smile turned proud. "She’s a sophomore at Stanford now, making straight A’s."

"Sandra, that’s wonderful!"

"Yeah, it is. And I owe it all to this woman here. When Diane heard that Ice’d been sent back to prison she was devastated. Kept saying that there should have been something she could have done to prevent it; to help Ice like Ice helped her."

"Not . . .her fault."

Both of our heads shot up at the hoarse, almost unrecognizable voice. "Ice?" Sandra asked, astounded. "Did you say something?"

"Not . . . her fault," Ice repeated, her eyes still hollow, her mouth working to form words. "My fault. Not her fault."

My tears, which had stopped falling during Sandra’s story, resumed their course down my face. Overwhelmed, it was all I could do to pick up the chilled hand laying in mine and raise it to my lips, brushing the softest of kisses against Ice’s knuckles. "Thank God you’re back," I whispered through the veil of my tears.

Just then, the sound of a muffled explosion filtered through to us, followed by an inmate’s piercing scream. Alarm bells sounded next, their klaxon call to arms echoing stridently through the entire building. Then, like a tsunami, came the ever increasing sound of triumphant inmates cheering.

With a muttered curse, Sandra, though hours off duty by this time, jumped from the bed and grabbed her baton. She ran out to the catwalk and looked down, then turned to us, the smallest touch of fear in her eyes. "It’s a riot!" she yelled to be heard over the sounds of screaming and the alarm. Running back into the cell, she laid a quick hand on my shoulder. "Watch her. I’ll bet my paycheck Derby’s behind this and this is the first place she’ll come."

"Well, well, well," came a harsh voice from behind us. "Looks like the butch little head guard has a brain after all, eh girls? Better pay up, butchie. It’s a sure bet you won’t be needin’ the money after we’re through with ya."

Sandra and I turned our heads to see Derby and five of her cronies standing outside Ice’s cell door, all armed to the teeth. Derby had appropriated a guard’s baton and was rhythmically slapping one end into her palm as she grinned nastily at us. "I always knew there was somethin’ goin’ on between you and the Ice Maiden, Sandra. I just didn’t know you pulled sweet little Angel into it too." Her sparkling gaze turned to me. "Tell me, Angel, do ya like the taste of guard-snatch? Does she make you scream the way Ice does?" Throwing back her head, Derby howled to the ceiling while her friends grinned and slapped each other like adolescent boys.

That did it. I rocketed up out of bed like my pants were in flames, only to be held back by Sandra. "No. Let me handle this. You just keep an eye on Ice, alright?"

Though I considered slipping out of her hold, I calmed my temper and nodded, finally. Grinning slightly, she squeezed my arm in a gesture very reminiscent of Ice. "Good girl."

"Yeah, you go ahead and listen to your Mistress there, little girl. Keep an eye on poor ol’ Ice, will ya? I want her all nice and het up when I come to break her fuckin’ neck."

With that, Derby hefted the baton above her head and stepped into the cell. Sandra spun quickly to meet the downward strike. The sound of wood hitting wood filled the room and the guard grunted from the stinging contact, but refused to yield.

Mustering her strength, Sandra pushed Derby back outside the cell, then moved forward to block the entrance with her large, wide body. I sat back down on the bed, grasped Ice’s still cold hand, and watched intently.

It felt very strange to be in the position of protecting the woman I’d grown to view as my own protector. At the same time, however, it felt very right, as if in some other time and in some other place, I had done exactly that. I wondered, briefly, why Sandra didn’t just lock the door with us inside, but the next thrust from Derby’s weapon drove that thought from my mind as Sandra was driven back a step. I looked quickly at Ice, trying to gauge her reaction to the fight, but found myself looking into the eyes of a woman lost once again.

Sandra managed to bull-rush Derby back outside of the cell again, holding her nightstick parallel against her body and taking on comers one and all. Reaching behind her like a relay-race runner, Derby received a shiv from one of her underlings and thrust it forward, trying to get past Sandra’s defenses. Breathing heavily, Sandra managed to block every thrust but I could tell she was tiring, especially when the other gang members started poking the ends of their batons through the bars, jabbing at her.

Still, she held her position valiantly, using her baton strictly for defense while trying to evade as many of the blows as she could. Her hair became wet with sweat and I could see the blood from several tiny cuts begin to well up on her flailing hands and arms.

When Derby began to tire, one of her cronies stepped in, shiv in hand, and began a vicious attack on the larger guard, scoring several hits in rapid succession. I could easily see that Sandra’s blocks were getting sloppier as the relentless pressure just kept coming in the form of armed, jeering inmates.

Coming together finally, the group gathered behind the lead inmate and pushed, en masse, forcing Sandra from her post at the door and following her into the cell, still swinging their clubs and knives with wanton fury. Sandra’s legs weakened and she fell against me, her own club dropping from a suddenly nerveless hand.

I saw my chance and took it, scooping up the falling baton before it could touch the ground and powering up from the bed. Finding myself face to face with a leering Derby, I twirled the baton then brought it down hard on the hand that held the shiv. The solid, polished wood cracked down hard on her unprotected wrist and she dropped the knife as she howled and cradled her arm. Following through on the blow, I caught another inmate in the chest. Her wheezingly expelled breath blew back my hair and I kicked her out and away from me, managing to catch two other women with the one move.

As the remaining gang members formed a wary half-circle around me, I chanced a quick look down at Sandra, who’d managed to make it to her knees and was shaking her head to clear it. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I’m ok." She sounded woozy and her face was pale.

"Just stay close to Ice. I’ll handle these idiots."

"Like hell you will, little girl," Derby snarled, grabbing another baton from one of her cohorts and coming at me with awkward left-handed blows. I deflected each crude thrust quite easily, turning her momentum back onto her and dancing out of the way when I could. I was quite conscious of the fact that I needed to keep Ice and Sandra at my back at all times and it was limiting what I could do.

Another woman swung a baton at me but I blocked it easily, the movement feeling more natural than it should have. Twirling quickly, I managed to catch another woman under the chin, snapping her head back and sending her into dreamland.

I heard the whistling of a club a split second before I felt the blow. Derby’s baton came down hard at the juncture of my neck and shoulder, instantly rendering my arm useless and numb. My own weapon dropped and a kick to my side sent me into Sandra, who collapsed back against the bed with me in her arms.

Derby was on us both in an instant, pushing away the other assailants in her lust to be the one to finish us off. Her good hand curled into a fist and she drew it back like a catapult, grinning fiercely at me as she did so. "This is gonna feel soooo good, fishie."

Trying to sit up behind me, Sandra inadvertently pinned my arms to my side. All I could do to avoid being punched in the face was to duck my head and hope Sandra had the same idea.

She didn’t.

As Derby’s fist pistoned forward, I ducked left and immediately heard the crunching impact of knuckles breaking a nose. It had become a sound I was well acquainted with during my time in the Bog. As Sandra moaned out her pain, I drew my knees up to my chest then launched them toward Derby’s ponderous gut.

Unfortunately for me, it was just then that Derby’s rarely used ‘quick-gene’ decided to kick in. She grabbed my ankles inches from her belly and, grinning evilly, yanked hard. I winced as my tailbone smacked down on the floor. Looking up, I stared at the sea of faces that surrounded me. They were all peering down at me with avid, malicious stares.

"Would ya look at this. Little Miss High-and-Mighty doesn’t look all that special anymore, does she girls."

The other women snickered and elbowed one another.

"Hey Derby," one spoke up, "how’s about givin’ us a piece before ya do her?"

"Yeah, Derby!" others chimed in, "save some for us!"

There was no way I was going to take that lying down, as it were. Levering my upper body up on my arms, I used a sweet little twisting move that Montana had taught me before she was paroled, then used the momentum to jump to my feet. My own fists clenched solidly, I delivered a rapid one-two punch to Derby’s belly, causing her to double over and gasp for breath. As she did so, I lifted my knee, wincing as it collided with her forehead, snapping her neck back.

Her cronies were on me in an instant and though I fought like a woman possessed, their sheer numbers overwhelmed me in a very few moments.

Standing straight again, Derby brought her large body within inches of mine, tilting my chin up with one meaty hand. "Ya know, I was gonna keep you around for a few laughs, blondie. But that little move just earned you a ticket to hell. Don’t worry about not saying goodbye to your lover-girl though. She’ll be meeting you down there shortly."

I should have been terrified. Any sane person would have. Instead, all I could feel was a bottomless well of icy cold rage that numbed the place where my heart should have been. Inhaling deeply through my nose, I gathered whatever moisture was left in my mouth and spat it at my tormentor, baring my teeth in a grin when it hit her right below one bulging eye. "Bite me."

Roaring incoherently, Derby squeezed my jaw so tightly I was sure I was going to crack under the pressure. With her free hand, she wiped the spittle from her cheek, then used her momentum from the gesture to backhand me across the face. Letting my head roll with the blow, I turned back to her, allowing a dark grin to spread my lips. "Is that the best you got, Derby? And here I thought you were tough."

Don’t ask me why I was waving a red cape before a raging bull, because, in all honesty, I have no idea myself. It was as if I knew I was going to die; right then, right there. And I didn’t want to go out like a coward. Something primal and dark licked at my guts, and the feeling terrified me. But in a way, it felt very right, as some things do from time to time. It was also exhilarating in a way that a very scary carnival ride is exhilarating.

I’d be lying, however, if I didn’t admit to some deep, dark part of myself who was absolutely begging, groveling on her knees, for Ice or even Sandra to snap out of their respective stupors and get me out of the hole I’d just dug deeper for myself.

Derby’s hand returned to my jaw, then trailed almost sensuously down the line of my neck. Her smile, though predatory, was almost sad. "I always did enjoy a good choking, fishie. That’s how I killed three of my ‘friends’, ya know. It . . .does . . .something for me, if ya get what I’m sayin. It pissed me off when ya stopped ol’ Ice over there from doin’ Psycho that way. Really pissed me off. And I hate bein’ pissed off, right girls?"

I didn’t have to move my eyes to see the confirming, anticipatory nods of the women surrounding me.

"Right. So, I figure, since you took that away from me, I’ll just have ta take it away from you." Her fingers clenched spasmodically around my neck, cutting off my air and blood supply in a heartbeat. A heartbeat that I could feel struggling to push blood through to my brain. Dark spots circled enticingly before my eyes, asking me to join their macabre dance.

"Ya know, it’s amazing how good a neck feels under your fingers, fishie. All nice ‘n warm. The life beatin’ away, getting weaker and weaker the longer ya hold on. Your face gets this really cool red color, then purple and your lips turn blue. Your eyes kinda bug out and look all scared. Really gets me off."

The black roses of oxygen starvation bloomed in my vision and I found myself beginning to welcome their presence. I tried to lift my arms but found them pinned against my body by a strength I couldn’t seem to break. Moving didn’t seem to be all that important anymore.

As if from far away, I could feel Derby’s free hand slowly trail down over the front of my body, stopping to cup, then squeeze, one of my breasts. The pain registered as a very faint, unimportant thing. Her lips were moving as she leered at me but the sound of her words was lost in the buzzing in my brain.

I remember trying to think of something, something that seemed very important. But my resolve was lost; fogged within the clarion call of sleep, of peace.

My eyes began to slip closed as I gave into the urgent summons. I felt myself falling and can remember thinking that death wasn’t really all that bad after all. It was kind of peaceful, actually.

Until the air that rushed back into my heaving lungs was forced back out again by the weight of an impossibly heavy body that collapsed across my own.

I blinked quickly against a headache that screamed through me with the speed of blood rushing into my deprived brain. Then looked up into the eyes of my savior who at that moment looked like a demon spawned from the deepest pits of hell, her hair and eyes wild and rolling, her teeth bared in a primordial snarl.

Realizing I was still among the living, I began to struggle against the weight pinning me to the floor; a weight which was gone abruptly as my dark avenger reached down and pulled Derby from me, tossing her aside with no more effort than a blade of grass into the wind. She reached down once again and hauled me to my feet. Then, after looking at me with that penetrating gaze, turned and handed me off to Sandra, who had managed to regain consciousness during my little trip to asphyxiation alley.

"Watch her," Ice croaked out before turning to deal with the massing inmates. She became a being of fists and fury, punching inmate after inmate into painful unconsciousness and tossing them out of her cell to land slumped against the peeling green of the barred catwalk.

I looked on, safe within the nest of Sandra’s strong arms as I struggled to recapture the breath I’d lost. Every time one of Ice’s opponents would get near the long table holding her precious trees, I’d wince, but she always managed to brush them away before any damage could be done.

Bone thin and wan, she still possessed a strength that I’d never seen in anyone before. Inmates flew like dolls from the force of her blows, piling up outside the cell door in jumbled heaps. She moved with the speed of a shooting star, always deflecting a blow a split second before it was set to connect.

She was silent, this specter of death-made-woman; fulfilling her duties with calm, even breaths yet full of passion’s fury that blazed from her eyes like the god of retribution come down to earth.

Grabbing the last of the upstarts by the back of the collar and seat of her pants, Ice tossed the woman into the living pile she’d made, then followed, wiping her hands casually on her jumpsuit. Pulling away from Sandra, I rushed up behind Ice, still panting from my close brush with the beyond. From my place by her side, I could see Derby struggling to get out from under the pile of beaten women, her face flushed red from her frantic efforts.

Unthinking, I put my hand on Ice’s back. She whirled, her eyes still mad with rage, and lifted her hand, ready to swing. We stood frozen through the lock of our gazes for several seconds. I watched, helplessly, waiting for some spark of sanity or humanity to darken those arctic eyes.

A noise off to our left and she blinked, then turned, pushing me carefully behind her. Her thin body was thrumming with energy and I felt as if I were standing next to a high-tension wire, the hair lifting on my arms and at the nape of my neck.

From behind her still-broad back I could see what looked to be an army of inmates running toward us. There was another sound to the right and, looking back, I saw the same army coming from the other side. "Ohhhh shit."

The dark head turned fractionally, and I swore I could see the beginnings of a smile on her pale visage. "Just stay behind me at all times." Her voice was still hoarse and whispery from disuse, but to me, it was the most beautiful melody in the world.

"I’m there." After what had just happened between us, I’ll never know what possessed me to put one hand on her hip, but I was glad I did, because she reached over and gave it a quick squeeze before releasing me.

Her arm shot out quickly and pushed the cell door closed, trapping Sandra safely inside, then backed us both against it. Though her head never moved, I could just guess that those eyes were tracking each group easily, determining strengths and weaknesses in the time it took me to silently admit how scared I was.

It was amazing how different my attitude toward death was since Ice had rejoined the land of the sane. It wasn’t alright to die anymore and so the fear came back, clutching at me with its slimy fingers. Biting my lip, I forced it down, deep and far.

Sandwiched between steel bars and Ice’s long body, I looked left and right in rapid succession. The inmates had slowed to a stop and seemed to be waiting for something. They’d strung out along the catwalk, ten to a side, all bearing weapons and looking like they knew how to use them. I counted several more batons, obviously stolen from the guards, some lengths of wood, a few thick chains from the auto shop, no doubt, and several crude shivs. The women in front of Ice, still jumbled in a pile of battered bodies, made no attempt to move. Even Derby seemed content to let things play out.

It was a very tense situation. Below us, I could hear the sounds of the riot continuing. Yells and screams filled the air, though sometime along the line, the alarms had stopped ringing. Ice turned her head again, her raspy voice pitched low. "Whatever happens, remember to guard the door. Sandra needs to be kept safe, alright?"

"Got it."

"Good."

The stand-off continued on for so long that finally Derby, from her place at the bottom of the pile, lifted her head. "Well? What the fuck are you guys waiting for? Parole?!?! Get her!!"

Hefting their weapons, the inmates started forward on either side of us, filling the catwalk with their threatening yells. Ice stood absolutely still, waiting for them to come at her. When they got in range, she grabbed each of the front-runners by the front of their jumpsuits and threw them together. The sound of bodies colliding was loud in the small space we shared. Then she separated them, tossing each back the way they’d come and succeeded in bowling down the women who were second and third in line.

The others scrambled over their fallen comrades and came at us hard. Ice turned left while I turned right. We moved at the same time as if connected through some sort of strange martial ballet where we two were the only ones who knew the moves and heard the music as we warded off our assailants. Weapons flew; bodies behind them by just a breath.

I ducked as the end of a thick chain came at my face, wincing as it clanged against the steel bars of Ice’s cell. Jumping up quickly, I managed to grab the end as it was being drawn back and tugged hard, pleased with how easily it became mine. Wrapping both ends around my hands as Montana had taught me, I used it to block the thrusts of batons and shivs as they headed my way. As I raised my hands to block an overhead blow, a kick to my belly doubled me over briefly. A punch to the back of my neck drove me to my knees and left me seeing stars.

A hand to the back of my jumpsuit and I was back on my feet again, though one of my attackers had managed to grab the chain. She was a big woman, thick with muscle and sporting a white-blonde crewcut and several facial scars. Grinning at me through a mouthful of half-rotted teeth, she jerked her massive arms back, pulling the chain, and myself, along with her. Using the chain, she managed to turn me, then slammed back against the steel bars. I remember crying out as they cracked along my spine and the back of my skull, leaving me dizzy.

Her hands between mine, she pushed the chain up toward my neck, but I wasn’t about to be choked half to death for a second time that day. Quickly twisting my hands to unwrap the ends, I let go of the chain and, during my attacker’s start of surprise, grabbed in between her hands, my leverage preventing the weapon from being raised any higher against me. Then I kicked up in between her splayed legs, and let me assure anyone who thinks women aren’t vulnerable to that particular move that they most definitely are.

Dropping the chain into my hands once again, she howled, her own hands going down to cup against her groin. I pushed her backward, toppling her into the woman coming up behind. Then I spun just in time to see Derby reach for one of Ice’s legs as it came down from a beautifully delivered high kick.

I yelled out a warning, but it was too late. Ice lost her balance, dropping to one knee. The crowd of women erupted en masse, jumping on top of my fallen friend. Derby made her way up finally from the bottom of the pile and added her bulk to the pile of flying fists and feet.

Dropping my chain, I bolted to the pile, trying my best to drag the women out of the way but having little success at it, ducking blows as I was.

The mound of inmates seemed to freeze for a moment, then explode outward, bodies flying pell-mell against the catwalk railing, against the bars of the cells, and down each side of the catwalk. Ice stood tall from within the center of the pack, a dark Venus rising from the waves. Derby lunged again, her hands wrapping around Ice’s neck. My friend’s head drew back as a dark grin bloomed over her face. Lightening quick, she shot her head forward, cracking it against Derby’s skull.

Derby’s hands dropped away as her arm pinwheeled, trying to keep her balance as she landed high against the catwalk rail. Her backward momentum carried her over the low rail and she screamed. Ice’s arm shot out and managed to grab Derby by the arm of her jumpsuit as she plummeted over the edge. Somehow, against all odds, the fabric held and the large inmate swayed, screaming and kicking her legs frantically, eight stories above the hard prison floor.

"Hang on and stop kicking, Derby, and I’ll pull you up!" Ice shouted to be heard over the other woman’s screaming.

Derby’s free hand moved slowly up, fingers splaying before clamping convulsively on Ice’s arm. Around and below us, all sounds of activity stopped as every woman in the Bog focused on the drama unfolding high above their heads.

Bracing herself with her free hand, Ice began to slowly pull Derby’s large body up toward the railing. A foot or so from the top, she stopped suddenly as the sound of fabric tearing reached our ears. Derby kicked frantically again as the seam at her shoulder suddenly started to tear loose from its moorings.

"Stop struggling or I’ll drop you, Derby!"

"Fuck that!" the terrified woman screamed. "If I’m goin’, you’re comin’ with me, bitch!"

So saying, Derby began to jig her body left and right like a bass on a hook. Ice’s back bowed completely as she was smashed against the short rail. Shouting out, I ran over and grabbed her tightly around the waist to keep her from going over.

"God damn it, Derby, stop fighting it!"

"Fuck you, Ice!" She jerked her body harder, twisting this way and that, trying to unseat Ice from her perch against the rail, her hatred for my friend more important to her than her own life.

Setting her legs, Ice tried pulling upward again. I helped to steady her as much as I could, tightening my grasp around her narrow waist and interlacing my fingers together. The others watched us, open-mouthed and wide-eyed. Her progress was slow and steady but effective as she managed, by slow inches, to pull Derby’s twisting body upward once again toward the safety of the rail.

With a final ripping tear, the resilient fabric of Derby’s jumpsuit gave up the ghost, leaving Ice with just a handful of sleeve. Luckily, however, the gang leader was close enough that her now freed arm was able to grasp onto the lowest rung of the barred railing.

Ice tugged upward again, still attached by Derby’s grip on her arm. Her motion was halted abruptly as the other woman refused to let go of the railing. "I told you, bitch, you’re goin’ down."

Anchoring herself with her grip on the rung, Derby began to tug at Ice’s arm once again, pulling it with all of her considerable strength. I could feel my friend’s body go taut with the effort of remaining where she was.

"Oh no ya don’t," Ice countered, using her knee to mash Derby’s fingers against the railing. With a howling wail, the other woman released her grip on the rung. Ice tugged upward, hard and fast, and Derby, flailing out again, missed her grip and she twisted again, much harder this time.

I knew what was going to happen a split second before it did. I could see Derby’s fingers loosen their grip on Ice’s arm with the momentum of her motion, and start to slide away. I know Ice saw it too because she made a desperate grab for the gang leader, missing by just the barest of margins.

With a scream of revenge denied, Derby plummeted to her death eight floors below. I turned my head and hid behind Ice’s back as Derby fell the final few feet, not wanting to see her body splatter as it hit the ground. The sound of her hitting the flagstone floor echoed resoundingly through the newly silent prison.

Ice slowly straightened, pushing herself away from the railing. Turning her head slowly, she pinned each one of us with a steely glare. "This riot is finished, understand? Put down your weapons and return to your cells or you’ll have me to answer to."

Hoarse and broken though her voice was, it permeated every corner of the Bog and the inmates responded, dropping their weapons to the floor and turning away from one another to head back to their cells. The women on the catwalk with us did the same, their shoulders slumped and their heads hanging low like whipped dogs, which, in a way, was exactly what they were.

Ice’s cell door creaked open and Sandra stepped out, walking over to the railing and looking down at the bloody scene below as her hand came up to lay against Ice’s back. "Good try. I wanted to get out here and help, but those idiots had the door blocked."

"What happens now?" I asked.

Sandra turned her head to me, smiling in understanding. "Don’t worry, Angel. Reports have a way of getting edited and misfiled around here. I’ll figure out some tale that the warden’ll believe." Turning back to Ice and giving her shoulder one last squeeze, she sighed and threaded her baton through the loop in her uniform belt. "Well, I guess I’d better get at it. This place is gonna be a bitch to clean up."

Ice turned with the guard. "Sandra . . . thanks. For everything."

Sandra smiled, her eyes warm and compassionate. "Think nothing of it, my friend. I can’t even begin to pay you back for what you did for Diane. I was just glad I could help."

"When you speak to Diane again, tell her . . . tell her it wasn’t her fault. Tell her . . .we all make mistakes."

"I will. Be well. Both of you." With a final smile and a wave, she turned from us to walk down the catwalk toward the stairs.

When Sandra’s head disappeared beneath the level of the stairs, Ice turned her gaze to me. "Angel, I’m sorry about the way I treated you before. I wasn’t myself."

I couldn’t help but grin, guessing how hard apologies must be for her, warranted or not. "I’m just glad you’re back, Ice." I threaded my arm around her waist once again and squeezed her to me. "I missed you, you know."

The very corner of her mouth twitched upward. "I know. I missed you too." Turning her head in the direction of her cell, she gestured with one hand. "Did you have anything to do with my trees still being alive?"

"Guilty as charged, so to speak. I couldn’t stand the thought of such beauty wasting away." As I spoke, it hit me how much more meaning those casually used words held for me. Squeezing her once again for the sheer pleasure of it, I released her and backed away. "So . . .need any help cleaning up your cell?"

"Nah. I can take care of it later. I wanna go down and check out the library first."

An icy fist of dread clenched in my belly, drying my mouth from within. The library! Corinne! "Um . . .mind if I come down with you?"

"C’mon."

I barely kept myself from running as we started toward the stairs. I was suddenly sure that the library had been destroyed and my friends injured or even killed.

I cried out in horror as my fears seemed to be confirmed. As we ran down the final hallway, in the feeble light cast from the library’s open door lay Sonny on her back, the crude handle of a shiv sticking obscenely from her upper abdomen. "Sonny!" I cried, running over to her and kneeling down. "What happened? Who did this to you?"

Barely conscious, my friend turned her head painfully toward the sound of her voice. Licking her lips, she tried to speak. "The library . . .attacked . . . . Corinne . . . .hurry . . . ."

"Stay with her. I’ll check it out." Ice ran past me and into the library. "Son of a bitch."

The quietly uttered expletive jerked my head up in alarm. I was torn between wanting to stay with Sonny and wanting to go into the library to see what had caused Ice’s reaction. Sonny solved the problem for me, putting a hand on my shoulder and pushing me away weakly. "Go . . .help her. I’ll . . .be alright."

"I should stay."

"No! Go . . .please. Help them. I’ve . . .managed to make it this long. Please." Helpless to resist the pleading in Sonny’s dark eyes, I rose to my feet and turned toward the library. As I stepped inside, I couldn’t contain my gasp of horror.

The room itself looked as if a tornado had hit it. Books and pieces of books lay scattered on the floor. Most of the tables and chairs, rickety to begin with, were now kindling. The bookcases we’d painstakingly crafted were overturned and shattered. Even Corinne’s heavy desk was upended, her precious papers and texts littering the floor around it.

Next to the desk, Critter and Pony lay in a tangled heap, Critter bleeding heavily from a cut to her scalp. Ice stepped past me and squatted down next to the two, laying a gentle hand on Critter’s shoulder and pulling her over to her back. "Critter. Critter, c’mon, wake up now."

Critter started and her eyelids fluttered open. I stepped over to the pair, squatting down next to my blonde friend. "Ice? You’re . . .oh my God!" Critter tried to sit up but was restrained by Ice’s grip on her shoulder.

"Relax. It’s over. Who did this?"

Sinking her hand into her golden curls, Critter moaned in pain. "It was Derby’s gang. We tried to fight ‘em off but there were to many of them. They just kept coming. We couldn’t stop them." Her eyes widened and she struggled against Ice again. "Pony! Where is she?"

"It’s alright," Ice consoled her. "She’s right here. Looks like she took a pretty big knock to the head too. I think she’ll be alright, though."

Critter relaxed. "Thank God. My leg got trapped when they turned the desk over and she went at them. I saw her go down, then . . . .nothing. I must have gotten clonked from behind."

I had to ask. "Critter, where’s Corinne?" Looking around the destroyed room, I couldn’t find my friend anywhere and it terrified me.

My friend turned her head, her dark eyes darting around the room. "She’s . . .God, I don’t know. Last time I saw her, she was holding off some of Derby’s gang with her damned tea pot and then . . . .I don’t know."

Standing quickly, I walked past the overturned desk and over to the hidden little alcove that housed Corinne’s hotplate and tea cozy. There, lying on a heap on the ground, her brass-coated teakettle battered to almost non-recognizability in one clenched fist, was Corinne. Her half-glasses had one lens shattered and lay askew on her nose and a magnificent shiner decorated one puffy eye. A small line of dried blood traced a path from one corner of her mouth.

Dropping to my knees, I reached out a trembling hand toward her neck, beyond gratified to find her skin warm and dry, her pulse beating strong and sure in her throat. "Oh, thank God," I whispered. "Corinne. Corinne, it’s Angel. Time to wake up now, my friend. Corinne, come on, wake up!"

In response to my urgent summons, Corinne moaned, then fluttered her eyelids. Then, in a burst of quickness and strength that belied her advanced years, she brought up the battered teakettle and almost succeeded in knocking me senseless with it.

Ducking out of the way, I grasped her swinging arm gently but firmly. "Corinne, it’s Angel. You’re safe now. Just relax, alright?"

After a long moment, she slowly opened her eyes, blinking them rapidly as they watered in protest. A slow smile blossomed on her face. "I must be in heaven."

I couldn’t help the laugh of relief that spilled from my lungs. "No, you’re still in the Bog."

"Same difference, sweet Angel." She lifted her free hand to cup my cheek as awareness slowly came back to her eyes. The grin disappeared, setting her mouth in a hard line as she began to struggle against my restraining hand. "Oh, God, my poor library. That Derby is going to pay for this."

"It’s alright, Corinne. Derby’s dead. The riot’s over."

She looked up at me, eyes wide with shock. "Dead?"

I nodded and she followed my gaze over to where Ice knelt tending our wounded friends.

"Ice?" She looked back to me. "You did it. Bless you, Angel."

"I had a little help," I replied, gently aiding her to a sitting position. "Derby and some of her friends decided to finish Ice off while Sandra and I were up there. She wound up taking a high dive off the eighth floor catwalk." I winced. "It wasn’t pretty. Ice tried to save her but Derby was an idiot."

"I hope she felt every second of it."

I bit back words of reproof as Corinne released her teapot and eased the glasses from her bruised and battered face. We both startled as the sounds of sirens filtered through the thick library walls. "Are you alright for a moment?" I asked her. "I need to get back to Sonny. She was stabbed."

"Will she be alright?"

"I’m not sure. She told me to go on ahead and check in on you guys. You’ll know more as soon as I do."

"Go to her, Angel. And thank you."

"No problem." Jumping back to my feet, I brushed past Ice, Critter and a still unconscious Pony, then stepped out of the library. Sonny was still awake and aware by the time I made my way back out to her. "It sounds like help’s on the way," I told her. "You just hang on, alright? I’ll get someone back here."

"Everyone else . . .okay?"

"Yes, just a few bumps and bruises. Corinne’s a mean one with that teakettle. She could teach us a few tricks, I think."

The choked sound of Sonny’s breathless laughter followed me down the hall as I went off in search of help. As I stepped into the prison proper, I could see the floor and walls bathed in the red and blue lights of emergency vehicles. At least a dozen blue-clothed police officers were milling around the guard room where Sandra and some of the others were talking with them. Every so often the air would erupt in static as one officer or another would speak into his walkie-talkie.

After another moment, one of the officers raised a hand to the open door and paramedics and ambulance crews rushed inside bearing stretchers and emergency medical equipment nestled in bright orange boxes.

I hustled up to the nearest team, a group of three long-haired and bearded men in pale blue jumpsuits, and stopped in front of them. "Please, my friend’s been stabbed. We need your help."

The men looked at me, then over at the knot of police officers still clustered around the guard room. Seeing what was happening, a harried looking Sandra stepped away from the group and waved the men on. "Go ahead and do as she asks. Hurry."

Nodding, the men followed me back into the narrow hallway, stopping just in front of Sonny’s splayed body. Despite their rough appearances, the men were gentle with my friend, checking her over carefully and stabilizing her for the trip to the hospital nearby. I held her hand on the trip from the ground to the stretcher, then placed a kiss to her sweat-soaked bangs before they wheeled her off back down the hallway and out of my sight.

One tech was left behind and he looked at me questioningly.

"There are more injured in the library. Could you follow me?"

"Sure lady." Lifting his medical kit, the young man followed me into the destruction of the library. "Holy shit," he breathed, taking in the scene. "What the hell happened here?"

Ice rose up from her place next to Pony and Critter, pinning him with her steely gaze. "We have two more injured down here."

"Uh . . .yeah . . .right. Ok." Hustling over quickly, he knelt down beside the two women and set his kit down. He turned his attentions first to Critter, checking her scalp wound and shining his small penlight into her eyes. "This cut’ll need a couple stitches, but you seem ok otherwise. Any nausea or anything?"

"Nothing except for a headache."

"Alright. If you wanna go back to the main room, one of my partners’ll get you into the ambulance."

"That’s alright. I’d rather not, if it’s all the same to you."

"But lady, you need stitches!"

"I know, but I can get them at the infirmary. The doc’ll be here in the morning."

"You could bleed to death before then!"

Critter grinned, but her eyes were hard. "I’ll be fine. Trust me. Just look after Pony here."

A brief moment later, the tech looked away from the determination in Critter’s eyes and turned his attention to Pony. He looked her over quickly and professionally, humming quietly to himself as he did so. When he looked back up, his expression was grim. "She’s gonna need to get to the hospital as quickly as possible. I’m not sure, but there’s a chance she’s bleeding into her brain. Does anyone know how long she’s been unconscious?"

"Ten minutes, maybe more," Corinne said, coming over to join us. "It’s difficult to tell. We were all knocked out."

"I’ll go commandeer a stretcher," Ice said quietly, then left the room.

"Wow. She always that intense?"

"Yes," the three of us answered in unison.

Grinning wryly and shaking his head, the young man turned back to his patient, preparing her for her journey to the hospital. The sound of rattling steel was heard shortly, coming steadily closer. Two men in hospital whites blew through the doorway pushing a stretcher. Ice followed behind at a more leisurely pace, a self-satisfied smirk painting her lips.

I rose to join her as the two men crowded around Pony. "You sure lit a fire under them."

"Mmm."

"I don’t want to know how, do I."

"Probably not."

"Didn’t think so."

A moment later, they bustled past us with Pony’s unconscious form strapped securely to the stretcher and covered with a sheet to her chin. I sent out a swift, silent prayer for her recovery as she became lost to my sight.

Turning back to view the library, I let out a sad sigh. All the work we’d put into it gone in a flurry of violence without cause. A part of me wondered why I’d ever thought something like this couldn’t happen. This was a prison, after all.

Then I had a laugh startled out of me when Corinne retrieved her mashed kettle and shook it, glaring into its now tarnished finish. The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. "Corinne, in the library, with a teakettle. Who’d have thought it?"

I ducked as said kettle winged its way past my head and suffered the outraged groans of my companions. My mood lightened. Trashed though it was, the library was still there. My companions, though injured, were alive. And Ice was back.

In a place where hope and happiness were supposed to be foreign concepts, I felt filled with them both in the aftermath of one of the worst days I’d ever been through.

PART 7

THE NEW YEAR came and went with a marked absence of fanfare. The prison was slowly getting over the effects of the riot. Three inmates, including Derby, and one guard had been killed. Forty-seven had been injured, seven severely enough to require prolonged hospital stays.

Sonny and Pony were two of those seven, but lucky for us all, they came through their brushes with death with flying colors. Their scars became badges of courage; their bravery garnered new respect among the other inmates. They were seen as heroes in a world which had none.

In a move that surprised no one, it seemed, but me, Ice formally inducted me into the ranks of her Amazons. It wasn’t much, as inductions went; more along the lines of her saying, "You’re a good fighter. You wanna be an Amazon?" And me replying, "Sure, I’d love to." And her saying, "Alright, you’re an Amazon."

My friends welcomed me warmly into their ranks and I acquired a new job; one of protection of the weak. It felt good.

In the next couple months, we also were able to rebuild the library into something even bigger and better than before. The fact that Ice pressed into service those women who’d wrecked it in the first place was a huge help. Not surprisingly, these women were excellent workers who bore up well, if shakily, under Corinne’s constant criticism and did their best to right the wrongs they’d perpetrated upon her precious home. The new teakettle I’d gotten for her was always nearby if any of them needed a reminder. Which, of course, they didn’t. Their still-healing bruises were reminder enough.

Like the sea at low tide, the gangs themselves settled back into a state of quietude. Under Ice’s expert guidance, another, more prudent leader was installed to head the white gang. The leaders of the four gangs met together, with Ice as mediator, and hammered out some hard and fast boundaries and rules to go along with them. After many days of debate, a peace treaty of sorts was brought into being, with the Amazons, as always, appointed overseers.

The passage of time also allowed Ice and myself to begin coming closer together once again; a closeness that was interrupted by Cassandra’s bloody assault and Ice’s subsequent hellish isolation. Though at the time she never said a word about her time in the hole, Ice did gradually open up to me enough to tell me who Josephine was and what the older woman had meant to her.

Salvatore Briacci had followed Ice’s case from the moment the police shot her down in the old abandoned warehouse. A big reason for this was because, except for her blue eyes, Ice was said to resemble Briacci’s only child, a daughter name Lucia, remarkably. Lucia was killed in an airplane crash when she was just twelve years old and both Briaccis had mourned her death every day since the accident. Ice told me that even at ten or more years later, her room was still set up as if just waiting for the young girl to walk back in and resume her life once again. The same magazines, getting further out of date with each passing year, sat upon the same vanity. The same hairbrush, replete with fine raven hairs caught in the thick bristles, waited patiently beside them.

Ice said that Briacci listened aghast to the news that she was to be incarcerated, at fifteen, in an adult prison for the rest of her life. On the day of sentencing, he sent his own lawyers out to investigate and challenge the case; a challenge that made its way up to the State Supreme Court, where the ruling was finally reversed. Because of Briacci’s persistence and money, Ice was released on her twenty-first birthday.

While in prison, she knew nothing about her hidden benefactor, nor did anyone else in the jail. On the day of Ice’s release, Briacci himself showed up in the back of a stretch limousine, bearing flowers, good wishes, and an offer she couldn’t refuse. Being penniless, homeless, and without significant educational skills to make it easily in the outside world, she accepted.

At first, she said, Briacci and his wife treated her like a long lost daughter, lavishing her with expensive gifts and bountiful attention. At twenty-one, however, after six years in prison, she was streetwise and cock-sure and spent every day waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Despite her cool reserve, however, she felt drawn to Josephina, Salvatore’s quiet, elegant wife. She was the first person who ever took the time to reach beyond the brash, armored exterior and into the sensitive soul of the young woman beneath the mask. Josephina encouraged Ice, whom of course she called Morgan, to study for her GED, correctly spying a fine mind behind the icy eyes. When Ice passed the tests with ease, the older woman encouraged her to take college courses, which she did, even receiving an academic scholarship for her efforts.

From what Ice told me, Josephina was typical of the wives of the Mafia members she’d come to know. Purposefully naïve to her husband’s other life, she turned a blind eye to everything that wasn’t above board. Briacci himself also took great pains to keep his two lives separate and treated his wife as one might a precious object beyond price. The two were very obviously in love with one another, she said.

With Josephina’s further and loving encouragement, Ice tried to make a life for herself in a legal trade. But her past preceded her, stonewalling most every attempt she made to better herself and her circumstances. She readily admitted to me that she could, and should, have simply moved to another part of the country where no one had ever heard the name Morgan Steele. The Briacci’s weren’t holding her against her will.

But the love and support she received from Josephina filled a huge hole in her life; a hole that was dug on the day her parents died, leaving her an orphan. The hole was widened and deepened upon the death of her best friend, whom she’d known since childhood and who was the last link to a past she could never relive. Though a full grown and powerful adult, Ice was in many ways still that young girl craving love and acceptance of a family.

The choice was an easy one, she said. After a year of trying and failing to obtain gainful employment in a town that spurned her name, she simply walked into Salvatore’s offices and offered her services.

And that was an offer he couldn’t refuse.

I remember her telling me the story of the first time she handled a gun with full and knowledgeable intent to use it. She didn’t count the slaughter in the warehouse. She’d been going on rage, hatred and blind instinct on that one.

Shortly after she had had her ‘talk’ with Salvatore, he’d taken her to his exclusive Hunt-and-Gun club where he showed her off like a proud father. Then he’d taken her back to the outdoor shooting range where several of his cronies were standing in the stalls, shooting at man-sized targets with rifles, shotguns, pistols and all other manner of projectile weaponry.

The sound of shooting was loud in her ears but she disdained the use of thick ear protectors. Upon seeing their leader with this young, beautiful stranger, the men had gathered quickly around, distributing pats to Ice’s head, though she was taller than the lot of them.

She told me that they hid their laughs quite well when Salvatore told them he was teaching her to use a gun. Apparently, the Mafia is very much an ‘old boys’ network where women, for the most part, are seen as fragile and peaceful doe-eyed creatures needing the protection of strong men. She was given a pistol along with explicit instructions in its use.

When she indicated she was ready, she was led to a stall of her own, with a bevy of middle-aged Mafia cronies watching her every move. When her first shot went errant, the wave of tittering, ‘I told you so’ laughter was cut off quickly by a look from Salvatore. After the next five shots were fired in rapid succession, the entire range was so silent Ice said you could have heard an ant crawl across the finely cut grass. Each shot had hit the target dead center.

After that, Ice told me, Salvatore Briacci knew he had the makings of a first-class assassin on his hands. And that’s exactly what he molded her into.

At first he sent her out with partners. The hits were simple and direct and caused her conscience, a tenuous beast even at the best of times, no remorse. Then she started going out on her own and the jobs became more demanding and difficult. And high profile, as well.

To this day, she’s never gone further than that on this subject, but I’d venture to guess that some of the more popular unsolved murders in this town may have their source in her; especially if the victim was a well-known Mafia member.

Like Salvatore, Ice went to great lengths to keep her ‘other’ life hidden from Josephina’s warm gaze. Briacci set out to find her gainful employment in one of his many legal business ventures. As a private citizen, he was best known for his string of new and used car lots and that’s where he sought to fit her in.

Direct and penetrating by nature, she would have made an abysmal car salesman, but when Briacci showed her to the auto-body shop, they both knew she’d found her calling. I’ve heard it said, and with no small amount of envy, that Ice can make a car walk and talk. Extremely talented with her hands, she is a mechanical genius. It wasn’t long before she was developing a client base of her own beyond the Mafia cronies and hangers-on that her benefactor so graciously supplied the up and coming young mechanic.

Again, I asked her what seemed to me to be the obvious question: why, if she had found legal employment, did she continue to work in another capacity for Briacci? She closed up some and told me the answer was complicated and to leave it at that. I suspect one of the reasons might have been some sort of debt she felt she owed him for getting her out of prison and taking her into his home and family. Though it pains me to say so, I think another reason was that she enjoyed the feeling of power being a hired gun brought to her. The same kind of power, over life and death, that Corinne so often talked about.

That insidious craving for the power of life over another remains, even after five years of living among women who feed on it like caviar, a thing as foreign to me as any other. And I pray every day to whatever higher power is out there to grant that it will always remain that way.

As if realizing, for the first time during our conversations on the subject, exactly how much she’d opened up to me, Ice shut down completely for a time, refusing to discuss anything more of a personal nature. Though I ached to push further inside her slowly opening shell, I knew to respect her boundaries and so resolved to wait for her to make the next move, if, indeed, one should ever come.

*  *  *

At long last, the deep bone chill of winter gave way to spring’s gentle warmth. The bright sun, birdsong, and return of green life to the land was a welcome change after winter’s brown, desolate and empty harshness. Inmates streamed out into the yard by the dozens, their skin winter-pale, pleased at last to have no roof over their heads save the sky, if even only for a short while.

One the first warm day, at the very toll of eleven o’clock, I strode out with the rest of them, blissful with the happiness only spring can bring. New life was everywhere I looked and it settled something deep in me that had been missing since the first hard frost had blanketed the earth several months before.

I walked into the fresh, tender grass, feeling the dew soak through the hem of my jumpsuit and grinning at nothing. My new status as an Amazon gave me the freedom to go where I pleased in the yard, and, believe me, I used that privilege for all it was worth. Skirting around the basketball court, which was definitely worse for wear after the brutal winter we’d suffered, I walked the newly limed foul line of the softball field, watching the women warm up.

Some of the inmates were taking batting practice while infielders and outfielders peppered one another with scorching tosses of the shiny white softballs. A pop fly headed out my way and, without thinking about it, I reached out and snagged it from the air, enjoying the looks of surprise when I threw it back to the catcher on the fly.

Softball was a sport that I both dearly loved and was very good at. It was also the only thing in my life, prior to my elopement, that I was able to gather enough courage to stand my ground on. Despite my mother’s thinly veiled disappointment and my father’s snide comments, I tried out for and won a starting position on the Varsity team in my sophomore year of High School. I played shortstop, and don’t think I haven’t heard every single joke there is about being the perfect height for the position, because, believe me, I have. A dozen times over, at the very least.

In answer to the congenial summonses, I was drawn into the inmates’ game and took up my accustomed position, pounding the webbing of the grubby mitt I’d been given. Crouching low, my muscles feeling limber and loose despite the winter’s confinement, I swept the hair from my eyes and began to heckle the batter, giddy with the feeling of being five years younger and a lifetime more free.

The coordination and skills came back quickly and I lost myself in the game, scooping up grounders, tagging out runners and batting the living hell out of the ball like a woman possessed. I was dirty from sliding and sweaty from running and generally feeling just fine.

It was the top of the sixth and my team was leading by a comfortable margin. The batter was arguing with the umpire over some disputed call and I found my attention wandering. Looking over toward the prison, I watched as the door opened and several of my friends filed out, followed by Ice. There was a rare smile on her face and though it wasn’t directed at me, I felt myself smile in response. She’d gained back all the weight she’d lost while in isolation and while still pale, her normal olive skin tone had returned to her face, making her look vibrant and healthy. An errant gust of wind lifted her hair from her shoulders and blew it back from her face, exposing its angled planes in all their glory.

No doubt about it. I was smitten.

So much so that I almost had free orthodontia courtesy of a blistering line-drive headed right for my face. In total reflex, I brought my glove up and neatly snared the screaming missile, thereby ending the game.

I soon found myself buried under a mound of cheering teammates, suffering congratulatory pats on every exposed part of my body and grinning like a fool, I’m sure. I was finally rescued from the pile, pulled to my feet and brushed off by a solicitous first-baseman who smiled shyly at me as she brushed the last bit of dust from my shoulder.

Warning bells went off in my head and I toned down my smile, flattered at her shy interest, but wanting only one person to look at me that way. I increased the distance between us smoothly on the pretext of straightening my sleeves. "Thanks."

The young woman’s smile broadened. "Oh, hey! No problem! You did great, by the way. What an arm."

"Thanks. You did pretty well yourself."

She shrugged self-depreciatingly. "Eh, I was kinda rusty, but I’ll get better once I have the time to work the kinks out and get back into the groove. Say, you wanna practice together sometimes?"

Uh oh. I could feel my smile become a little forced but hoped she couldn’t detect it. "Um . . .yeah. Sure. Why not?"

"Cool! That’d be great! My name’s Digger, by the way."

I grasped her extended hand, pumped once, then released it again. "Nice to meet you, Digger. I’m Angel."

Her smile went goofy. "Yeah," she said, drawing the word out. "I know. I’ve seen you in the library and with the Amazons and stuff. You guys are so cool."

Oh boy. I mentally rolled my eyes but managed to keep a straight face. "Thanks."

"No, thank you. So . . .can I walk you back inside?"

I reached up to scratch the back of my neck, neurons firing at a rapid rate trying to come up with some graceful way to decline the advances of my newfound admirer. The rest of me was just laughing its fool head off. "I . . .um . . .appreciate the offer, Digger. Really. It’s just that . . .um . . .I . . . ." My eyes lit upon the answer. " . . .promised my friends over there that I’d meet up with them as soon as I was done here."

Her whole face lit up like a kid’s on Christmas morning. "You’re going to hang out with the Amazons? Wow! Maybe you could, like, introduce me to some of ‘em?"

Wrong excuse, Angel. Declining was on the very tip of my tongue when I remembered a slightly younger version of myself being warmly welcomed among those women for the first time. Unlike me, though, Digger obviously already had friends in her gang. However . . . .

I turned to her, smiling again. "Sure. C’mon."

"Alright!"

She followed along behind me like a newly trained puppy and I winced at the smug grins I was getting from my friends who, as always, had gathered in the free-weight area. As I entered the area, Pony sat up from her place on one of the benches and gave me a pat on the side. "Way to save the ol’ puss, Angel."

I wrinkled my nose at her, my own version of a smirk. "Better than you, at any rate."

My friends all laughed as Digger stood open-mouthed, doubtless shocked at my seeming audacity to kid Pony about the skull fracture she’d received during the riot. Pony laughed with the rest of them, then mock-punched me in the gut before laying back down to push out another twenty reps on the chest press.

Stepping back, I pushed my new friend forward a little. "Everybody, this is Digger. Digger, these are the Amazons."

As Digger began her effusive greetings, I looked around, searching for and failing to find Ice anywhere within the group. Raising questioning eyebrows toward Critter, she nodded at me, gesturing with one arm toward some spot behind my left shoulder. Doing a slow turn, I saw Ice standing up against the nearest part of the fence, her body taut with tension and her hands gripping the chain link so tightly I could easily see her whitened knuckles even from this distance. I looked back at Critter again, who shrugged.

Squaring my shoulders, I completed my turn and began to walk toward the fence, eyeing the nonchalant tower guards as I went. Normally, of course, the guards get itchy when you walk too close to their precious fence but, at least so far, they seemed singularly uninterested and so I quickened my pace.

As my steps brought me closer to Ice and the fence, the corner of the prison slid out of my vision, giving me a clear view of the parking lot beyond. It was painfully obvious to me that Ice was watching with grim determination something happening in that parking lot and I very much wanted to know what was going on.

Standing slightly apart from my friend, I peered into the lot, spying the warden talking to a short, well built man wearing a dark suit and sunglasses. One of the stranger’s hands rested possessively on the hood of a shiny black Cadillac while his other gestured wildly in time with the movement of his lips. His dark hair gleamed in the bright sunlight whose rays bounced and twinkled off the layers of gold jewelry he was also sporting. He threw back his head in laughter after some comment of the warden’s, and then stuck out his hand to be shaken, which it was. After another moment, he got into his expensive car and drove off. The warden returned to his office.

I could easily feel the tension radiating from the body of my friend as her head turned to follow the path of the Cadillac. A moment passed, and then another. Then she grasped the fence so hard I was sure the metal links were going to simply shatter under the force of her hands. She shook it once, violently, then turned and, without a word or a look in any direction save straight ahead, stalked back into the prison.

I barely restrained myself from running after her, remembering my promise to myself in the nick of time. With a sigh of dejection, I turned and walked back to the weight area, where my friends looked at me with expressions of concern on their faces. I shrugged my shoulders and shook my head just as the change of shift bell sounded, signaling us all back into the building.

*  *  *

As I sat in my cell that evening, I thought about what had transpired during the day. Ice had disappeared, as was usual with her when she was upset, into her cell and was not seen for the rest of the day. Corinne and the others badgered me, asking me what I’d seen and why I thought Ice had reacted the way she did. I could tell that they didn’t trust her seemingly tenuous hold on her sanity. But I did, and I refused to give them fodder for their grist mill. That she’d known the man speaking to the warden was obvious. Who he was and what his presence meant to her remained, however, no one’s business but her own.

I’m afraid I got a bit cross with them all and, rather than subject them further to my fit of temper, retreated to my own cell, well realizing the irony of my actions. I’d gone through several roommates in slightly over a year and presently my cell was empty of any other human habitation, so I was free to mope in peace.

Though it was still relatively early in the evening, I decided to call it a night, thinking that perhaps sleep would provide me with the answers to my questions. I was in the process of turning my bed down when a soft sound just outside my cell caused me to stop and look over my shoulder curiously. Ice stood in the hallway, arms loose at her sides and a slightly chagrined look on her face. I smiled hesitantly.

"You busy?"

"No! No, I was just . . . ." I gestured toward my half unmade bed.

"Wanna go for a walk?"

As I turned, my grin became full-out. "Sure. That’d be great."

Smiling, she bowed me out of the cell, then led the way back through the main part of the prison before going down one of the many hallways that branched off the main square. A left and then another left and we were heading into a section of the prison I’d never been in before.

One of the first things you learn when you’re incarcerated is to not stick your nose into too many places because you can bet you won’t like what you find. Or, often, what finds you. Following that particular philosophy like a bible, there were many places in the Bog still unknown to me.

Still, I felt little unease with the developing situation. I trusted Ice with my life, and I also had a pretty good idea where we were going.

Before I continue forward, it might be best to step back a moment and explain the employment system at the Bog. While in many prisons, inmates are expected to work for their room and board, it’s different in the Bog. Those inmates who have a desire to work, for either the money or to make the time pass more quickly, do so. They are paid a flat wage of twenty-five cents an hour, which goes into their personal prison account. Those prisoners who don’t feel like working aren’t required to.

The work I do for Corinne in the library is done out of love and I won’t accept any payment for it. My ‘side’ job, that of article-obtainer more than pays for whatever frivolous items I might want. There are plenty of opportunities for work in our happy little home, ranging from laundry and cleanup to cooking and groundskeeping. In the nineteen fifties, a large new wing was added to the main prison and housed the new workshops which were added to increase prison income. An auto shop, a sheet metal shop and a woodworking shop share space in the new wing and I’m told the profits from these slave-labor ventures are quite high.

Given her background, or at least that part which constituted legal income, it shouldn’t be hard to guess where Ice went to pass the time by working. Sure enough, after we walked down the last hallway, the area opened up into a larger space with several doors all on the far side of the wall. Three guards patrolled the area and looked up inquiringly as we entered. They all waved and one walked over, smiling. "Puttin’ in some overtime, Ice?" The others chuckled at her witticism.

"Something like that," Ice allowed, lifting her arms so the guard could pat her down.

"How ‘bout you, Angel?" the guard asked me, reaching out her arms to pat me down as well. "Gonna build some new bookcases for your library?"

"Nah," I replied, trying not to giggle as the guard’s professional hands patted over some very ticklish spots. "Just having a look around. I’ve never been to this part of the prison before."

The guard grinned and stepped back. "That’s fine. Don’t stay down there too long, though. Lock down is in a couple hours."

Ice nodded and the guard led us to one of the center doors along the wall, reaching down to unlock it with of the keys hanging from a huge ring on her belt. The door unlocked with a quiet click and she pushed it open, gesturing us inside.

As we stepped through the door, Ice reached off to the left, snapping on the large banks of fluorescent lights that were set into the high ceiling. As the door closed softly behind us, I took the chance to look around, blinking in the suddenly bright lighting. The room was huge, with six bays, complete with lifts and huge orange boxes of mechanics’ tools. It smelled of grease and rubber and reminded me of the days when my father would take me along as he got the oil changed or the tires rotated.

She led us down a short set of concrete steps and onto the main floor of the room. Two state police cruisers in various states of disrepair sat quiescently in the bays. The other spaces were empty. We walked along the oil-stained concrete floor, our footfalls echoing through the cavernous room. There was another door, made of plain wood, which sat off to one side along the wall, and it was to this door that Ice took us. I assumed it was an office of some sort and so didn’t give it much thought when she took the key from its hiding place on top of the jam and thrust it into the lock.

The door opened on silent hinges and Ice stepped through, leaving me to follow as she flipped on the lights of the new room. I could see immediately that my assumption about it being an office was way off the beam. This second room was a smaller version of the first, with two bays instead of six, but with all the rest of the equipment in place. Two cars sat in the bays, almost filling the room to capacity. One was an almost thoroughly dismantled Volkswagen Beetle and the other looked to be a Corvette which was obviously undergoing a new paint-job.

I looked over to Ice, a question in my eyes.

"Chop shop."

"Excuse me?"

"That’s what this is called. A chop shop."

"And a chop shop is . . . ."

"It’s a place where stolen cars are either dismantled for parts or given new, untraceable, identities and resold."

I know the shock and disbelief showed on my face because she narrowed her eyes at me, smiling slightly. "Didn’t think our dear friend the warden had it in him, huh?"

"I . . .I don’t know what to think. This is unbelievable. You’re sure he knows this is going on down here."

Her smile turned to a full blown smirk. "Who do you think set it up?"

"You’re kidding!"

"’Fraid not."

I looked around again, hands on my hips. "How did you know it was here?"

"Ahhh. Now there’s the story. C’mon."

Throwing my hands up in frustration, I turned and followed Ice out of the room, through the regular bays, up the stairs and out of the auto shop. I endured another quick pat-down from my grinning guard friend, then almost had to run to keep up with Ice’s long strides as she made her way back down the myriad of twisting hallways and into the prison proper.

She hit the stairs and kept on going. I followed right behind, slightly out of breath as we finally reached the top. Looking at Ice’s retreating back I tried to guess whether she was running toward something, or away. Shrugging, I broke into a jog, entering the cell a moment after she did, putting my hands on my hips and staring down at her as she sprawled on her bunk, one arm behind her head and her eyes far away.

I tried. I really did. But as silent seconds turned into silent moments, I could feel my frustration level rising. "Well?" I asked finally, unable to bear the silence any longer.

At the sound of my voice, she blinked, as if startled that I was even in the room with her. She turned her head slowly to meet my gaze, her own expression thoughtful and sad. "Cassandra didn’t kill Josephina."

Whatever I might have been expecting, that softly uttered statement certainly wasn’t it. "Wha-at?"

Rolling up to a seated position, Ice tucked her long legs up, winding her arms around them and resting her chin on her upraised knees. "What I mean is . . .well . . .she killed her, obviously. But not for the reason she said."

"I don’t think I’m following you here, Ice." My mind was desperately trying to forge some sort of logical connection between the illegal operation in the auto shop and the information Ice had just given me. I was failing miserably.

"Cassandra said that she killed Josephina because Josephina called me a friend. That’s not true."

"How do you know that?"

"Because she told me."

"Who told you? Josephina?" I had the strangest feeling of sinking in quicksand and was casting about for a way to drag myself up from the mire.

"No. Cassandra. When we were in the hole."

"Ice, Cassandra’s nuts. She’s so obsessed with you she’d probably say anything to get you over wanting to kill her."

"I believe her."

"Can you tell me why?"

She smiled slightly. "Lots of reasons. One of which was confirmed for me this afternoon."

Ahhh. Now we’re getting somewhere. "I was wondering about that."

The smile broadened. "I know." Shifting a little, she patted the area beside her and I took her up on the offer, lowering myself down onto the lumpy mattress and scooting back until I was against the cool concrete of the wall. A more comfortable silence stretched out between us and I forced myself to be content with just the sound of our breathing. When she finally turned to me, her gaze was direct, but shuttered. "Angel, why haven’t you ever asked me if I did what I got put in here for?"

The quicksand was back and I suddenly found myself sunk up to my neck in the stuff. I could feel Ice’s body tense up beside my own as she waited for an answer. "I . . .um . . .I guess because I figured that if you wanted me to know, you’d tell me. It’s really none of my business."

She nodded at my answer, then turned her gaze back to the opposite wall where the Bonsai were flourishing in all their artistic glory. The silence stretched out once again, though not quite as comfortable as before. I could feel my own body begin to tense up. I think I may have held my breath, though I’m not positive.

Her voice, when it sounded, was barely above a whisper. "I’m guilty of killing a lot of people, Angel. But that man wasn’t one of them."

I nodded, feeling indescribable relief wash through my body. "What happened?" I asked, praying that the door she was so tenuously holding open for me wouldn’t suddenly slam shut in my face.

"It’s a pretty long story," she replied, giving us both an easy out.

I didn’t take her up on it. "Well, considering that I’m in here for at least a few more years, I’m sure you can squeeze it in if you try."

That got a genuine smile out of her and I patted myself on the back. "Alright. I told you I was a hired gun for Briacci, but I didn’t always take my orders directly from him. He has a bunch of underbosses and other lackeys that relay his orders for him. One of them is a guy named Nunzio Callestrano." She made a face. "Ugly guy with more hair on his knuckles than most guys have on their heads."

I couldn’t help but laugh at the image and she lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "It’s true. Anyway, Briacci and his wife were in Sicily for the funeral of one of his great Aunts when the word came down. Nunzio sent one of his lackeys over to tell me that they needed someone taken care of. This guy was supposedly really bad news; into things that even the Mafia didn’t mess with, like kiddy porn. This guy told me that Callestrano told him that this man, whose name was Tony Selleti, was making a play for some of the dope houses that Briacci controlled. Like any other gang, the Family doesn’t give up its territories without a fight and I was obviously being brought in to take care of the ‘little problem’ once and for all."

"So then what happened?"

"I always do my homework before making a hit," she continued matter-of-factly. "And this time was no exception. I cased the guy’s home and his work to generally get a feel for him and, perhaps, get a feel for the place that I could take him out with a minimum amount of hassle."

Her words and the flat, emotionless tone of her voice sent chills through my body. I crossed my arms to try and hide the goosebumps that spread their way over my bare flesh. Her eyes told me that she’d seen through my little deception and I again held my breath, wondering if she’d continue.

Letting go a long breath, she settled her chin on her knees once again. "Let’s just say that what I learned was at odds with what I was told."

"What do you mean?"

"Instead of being this wild-eyed kiddy porn dealer who raped babies for a living, I found a quiet, hard-working family man who bore no resemblance whatsoever with the man I’d been ordered to kill. Now, before you say anything, I know that most criminals of this type don’t have stamp on their forehead, but I’ve learned to trust my instincts in these situations and my instincts were telling me that this was bad news." She shifted again. "During my time with Briacci, I’d learned the value of obtaining private contacts and they came in handy here. From a friend, I learned that the only truth I’d been told about this man was his name. The rest was a pack of lies wrapped up in pretty paper guaranteed to get my temper hot and tied up with a neat little bow. I also found out something very important."

"And that was?"

"That he was a government witness for a trial involving a rival Family."

Now the pieces, or at least some of them, were starting to fall into place. I nodded in what I hoped was an encouraging manner for her to continue.

"Many of us have lines we draw in the sand and this was one of my lines. I never killed innocents and I never killed witnesses, no matter who they were testifying against. Needless to say, I had a very large bone to pick with Salvatore Briacci for setting me up like this and I made a quick call to Sicily to let him know that. Unfortunately, he wasn’t available when I called, so I left a message. Then I went back to Nunzio’s lackey and told him ‘no deal’. I went home, stowed my gun, and went to sleep, thinking that was the end of it." She snorted softly through her nose. "I should have known better."

The shuttered veil slid over her eyes again and I resisted the urge to put my hand on her arm in support.

"I woke up the next morning to the sound of a dozen police officers beating down my door. It seems that Tony Selleti had a little accident during the night and they had five witnesses ready to swear in court that I was seen walking down from his office, gun in hand and blood all over me." She laughed mirthlessly. "It’s amazing what a little money in the right hands will cause a person to see, isn’t it."

I nodded, understanding her perfectly. Though the witnesses in my trial weren’t bribed, or at least not that I knew of, it’s amazing what neighbors think they hear in the dead of night and from behind closed and locked doors. The mind is a very selective thing. I’d learned enough about that first hand. Add a little incentive to the pot and . . .well, it’s said that every man has his price.

"Was it Salvatore?" I asked after a long moment of contemplative silence.

"I thought so, at first. I wracked my brain trying to think of something I’d done to make him want to set me up like that. I couldn’t think of anything. I’d always been a good soldier, listening to his orders and obeying them without question. This was the first time I’d turned my back on a hit." Rolling her head against the concrete wall, she ran a hand through her hair, settling it somewhat. "What I couldn’t figure out was why he would want me to take out a witness who could put a rival behind bars. It didn’t make sense to me. At all. Briacci had always had trouble with this guy. I’d have thought he’d be happy that there was finally enough evidence to get him out of the picture without having to get his own hands dirty."

"You’re right. That doesn’t make any sense."

"Then I started having my suspicions, but by then, I was tried, convicted, sentenced, and on my way to the Bog."

"If you had suspicions, why didn’t you fight it?"

She laughed again, though I could see, in the bright of the lights, the glitter of tears in her eyes. It was an astounding sight. "I didn’t fight it because I belong where I am, Angel. I might not have killed Selleti, but I’ve killed so many more. I’m too dangerous to be left out on the streets."

"Ice . . . ."

"No, Angel. It’s true. I’m where I belong. Where I’ve always belonged." She wiped her eyes harshly with the back of her hand, obviously annoyed at the wetness she found there. "Anyway, after he heard, Briacci backed off from me totally. I wasn’t too sure why, since even though I’d turned away from the hit, his objective got accomplished. Maybe he was just pissed that he’d had to use someone else to do what I should have done in the first place." She shrugged. "I dunno."

"I’ll bet that hurt."

She looked at me for a long moment, then turned away, hiding her face with the fall of her hair. "Yeah. It did. What hurt worse was the fact that Josephina wouldn’t talk to me either. It didn’t matter to me what the rest of them thought, but I wanted . . .no, I needed her to believe my version of the events. I tried calling her a couple of times but there were always excuses about why she couldn’t come to the phone. After awhile, I just gave up."

"Then why did she . . . ."

"I’m getting to that. When I saw her that morning, I knew something wasn’t right. Aside from Cassandra’s knife at her throat, that is. Josephina may not have been a saint, but regardless of who her husband was, she was a good woman. There was no reason for her to be locked up here, unless someone else was behind it. And for her to be brought in in the middle of the night . . . ." Her words trailed off as she shook her head.

"You’ve heard about Salvatore’s troubles with the law," I ventured.

"Yes, but not until it was all over. Her refusal to testify against her husband was just like her, and the prosecutors wanting to play hard-ball just added to the equation. And then she was killed and I wound up in the hole."

"With Cassandra."

"Exactly." Her smile was hard; devoid of any warmth. "She told me an interesting little story. It seems that the night Josephina was brought in to the Bog, the warden paid Cassandra a little visit. In exchange for him letting her keep Heracles, a deal which I’d already worked out with him, as you know, he had a little job for her to do."

"To kill Josephina," I breathed, my heart beginning to race.

"Exactly. He gave her a knife and left the door to her cell unlocked so she could carry out his orders. He only had one other condition."

"And that was?"

"That I had to be there to witness it. She told me he was very adamant about that."

"My God. Why?" Suddenly, the mystery of his presence in the jail on that day became very clear.

"Because Josephina was carrying a very important piece of information. And if I received that information, his whole little fiefdom here could come tumbling down around his ears."

"What was the information?"

"The name of the man who had killed Tony Selleti. Before she died, she managed to tell it to me. It was the lackey of Nunzio, the guy who had given me my orders in the first place. A man by the name of Joseph Cavallo. And the same man you saw outside today shaking hands with the warden."

The whole puzzle suddenly came together with blinding force. Our pious warden was up to his eyeballs in corruption that went far beyond some stolen car ring.

"When Cassandra acted up the first time and I went to talk to him about Heracles, he made me a deal. The continued liveliness of her pet in exchange for my participation in a little business venture he was starting up."

"The chop shop."

"Right. I knew there was really no getting around it, so I agreed. I started having my suspicions back then when I thought I recognized some of the guys who were bringing in the hot cars. But I bided my time until it was too late. Cavallo’s supplying Morrison with the cars and no doubt paying him a tidy sum of money to break them down or paint them up. The warden pockets the money, Cavallo gets new cars at cut rate prices, and everyone’s happy."

"I’m still not sure exactly how Josephina’s death plays into all this, though. Beyond the obvious, of course."

"It plays for a number of reasons. First, with her as a living witness to the actual events that took place on the night that Selleti died, I could get a new trial and stand a good chance of being acquitted. That would leave me wide open to expose the warden’s little money making scheme and that would be the end of him. In addition, there are some higher-ups in the State Capitol who would very much not want to see that happen, given the fact that Morrison helped them get elected in the first place."

"That’s very true." The prosecution’s sudden desire to get tough with Josephina made much more sense now, given who signed their paychecks.

"Add to that the fact that if you put two and two together, you get a picture of one Joseph Cavallo working as a mole for the rival Family who had a vested interest in seeing Selleti go down permanently. It was the perfect set-up. Cavallo gets me to kill the witness against his real boss, the rival don. It didn’t matter that I refused because he had it done anyway and put my name to it. Briacci never received my message so he had no choice but to believe the little weasel. Josephina also told me before she died that Salvatore had long suspected a plant in his own Family. Cavallo convinced him it was me to get the heat off himself. Josephina’s dead, so the chances of my getting a new trial are nil. But, since I now know who the real killer is, and since I also know he’s a plant, and further that he and Morrison are business partners, I just might have some leverage with our dear warden."

"What kind of leverage?"

"I’m not sure yet. Morrison made his biggest mistake when he made Josephina’s death such a public spectacle. He should have had it done in private, or at least somewhere where I wouldn’t be around to see it. But he got cocky. He took a big risk and he lost." Her teeth flashed again. "He just doesn’t know it yet." Straightening slightly, she stretched, bringing her long arms up over her head and arching her back. The sound of her vertebrae crackling was loud in the quiet room. "But one thing’s certain. Joseph Cavallo’s days are numbered. I’m going to see to that personally."

I couldn’t help the thrill of fear that skittered its way down my own spine and I kept myself from looking at her, knowing that the expression on her face would doubtless deepen that. This Ice wasn’t a noble woman trying to make life better for the women she shared space with. This was a trained killer full of the fire of retribution and the cool cunning of a prowling cat.

When she spoke again, her voice was soft and contemplative. "There are probably many who say that Briacci’s only getting what he deserves, and that Josephina, by extension, did too."

"No one deserves to die, Ice."

She turned to me, a wry smile lighting her eyes. "Remind me to argue with you about that one later."

I smiled back, backhanding her lightly on one arm. "Deal."

"They took me in when no one else would. They gave me food, shelter. Family. Just because I chose to move down a dark path doesn’t make that gift any less precious to me. I owe them both a debt, and I will pay it."

As her eyes took on that faraway glint once again, I found myself studying her hand which was placed flat against the white sheet of the bed. It was a strong hand, tan and well-veined, with long tapering fingers that were graceful and deadly in the same breath. Like a curious child, I placed my own atop it, wondering at the softness and warmth beneath my palm even as I laughed inwardly at the size difference.

When I turned my head, I found her eyes upon me, totally awake, aware and in the moment. I knew this time my heart would not be denied what it was so patiently seeking. Our lips met with an infinite sweetness that all but wiped out the primal carnality of our first encounter.

The warm softness of her lips covering mine in gentle exploration melted me inside, all but fracturing who I thought I was and birthing a new woman to stand in her place. Warm and wet, our mouths moved together in a graceful dance of turning heads and deepening breaths. My hand traced a line up the long elegance of her neck, sinking my fingers into the thick fall of her hair as I felt the tip of her tongue trace the seam between my lips.

My mouth opened under the teasing gesture and I took her in willingly, moaning softly as she mapped out what she found within with deft, sure, sensual strokes. My head began to swim, though whether it was from lack of oxygen or overwhelming emotion I’ll never know. I pulled away reluctantly, savoring the last taste of her as my head came forward to rest against one broad shoulder. "God . . . .that was . . . . Wow."

Her arm threaded its way behind my back and I soon found myself caught up in a strong embrace. A gentle kiss was pressed into the crown of my head and I relaxed against her, enveloped in a cocoon of warmth and tenderness. I listened to the music of her heart as it beat steadily just beneath my ear as I waited for the tingling that engulfed me to subside. I felt the warmth of her cheek as it rested against the top of my head and my eyes slipped closed in contentment. It was a bit disconcerting that my husband would have to die so I could find my home, but the truth was laid out plain for me to see.

Her low voice burred into my ear. "I’m sorry, Angel."

I tried to pull away, but her strong grip prevented me from moving, so I laid my head back on her shoulder and sighed. "Sorry for what?"

A wry laugh rumbled. "For lots of things, I suppose. Shutting you out. Keeping you at a distance when all you offered was help. But mostly for taking something that is so precious on a dare."

It was the opening I’d been waiting for for months and the paths that suddenly appeared before me were many and varied. Humor seemed to work best with her and so that’s what I tried first. "As I recall," I replied, adopting a dry-as-dust tone, "I was the one who dared you."

The wry laugh came again, vibrating against my body where our flesh met and merged. "Perhaps. But I knew what I was doing. Knew what I wanted. And I’m used to getting what I want." She signed. "But this . . .this is something that should never be taken. Not even as a joke."

My heart crawled into my throat, forcing the words hiding there out into the open. "So you feel it too."

There was a long beat of silence as I felt her own throat work against my head. "Yes," came the whisper after what seemed an eternity. Another silence descended, longer than the first. "From the moment we met." She shifted, bearing my body up to settle more comfortably against her. "I tried to ignore it. Tried to shove it down deep where the rest of my feelings are buried. Obviously, it didn’t work."

I was about to say something when the lights flickered, signaling lock-down in ten minutes. She squeezed me to her more tightly for a second, then her arms released and she moved away. I caught her hand and brushed a kiss on the back before placing it over my heart. "This isn’t over, you know."

Her lips compressed, obviously trying to bite back a smile as one eyebrow rose over a cerulean eye. "It isn’t, huh?"

"Not by a long shot." And with no hesitancy or fear, I moved closer, covering her mouth with my own, showing her in a kiss the passion that was hidden in my soul. Her hand slid down from its place on my chest, sliding over my left breast with a gentle touch.

Responding in kind, I touched for the first time in desire the breast of another woman. Soft and warm and pliant under my inquisitive fingers, I gasped into the kiss as I felt a responsive nipple brush against my palm. My thumb, of its own volition, gently brushed over the cloth that separated it from the warm flesh beneath and I felt her body shift closer to mine as a low moan whispered forth from her throat.

I was suddenly seized with a great need to feel the responsive flesh under my fingers and so I broke off the kiss, growling as I reached up for the zipper that held her jumpsuit closed. I managed to yank it down only halfway when the lights flickered once again and an anonymous voice crackled over the PA system, announcing lock-down in five minutes.

Dropping my fingers inches from their goal, my eyes found themselves glued to the magnificent scant inches of cleavage my efforts had provided. My mouth watered and the urge to bury my head amidst that tempting flesh to taste and smell was almost overwhelming in its intensity.

Shaking my head to fracture the vision, I looked up to find Ice looking back, the color of her eyes deepened to a stormy indigo that framed her dilated pupils like a corona around the sun. Her breathing was slightly labored and beads of sweat dotted her upper lip. God, but it was the most beautiful thing that I’d ever seen.

The sound of someone softly clearing their throat drifted through the pounding in my ears and I whirled around to see a blushing guard standing outside the entrance to Ice’s cell. "Ladies," she said almost apologetically, "it’s time for lock-down. You need to get back to your cell, Angel."

I turned back to Ice who was smiling that cockeyed grin at me. Believe me when I tell you that particular expression did nothing to damper my ardor.

"Angel . . . ."

"Alright! Alright. God." I had to tell my muscles what to do and was gratified that my legs retained enough strength to bear my weight up and off the bed. It was a close call, really, but they managed to get the job done. "Remember what I said, Ice. This is not over."

Her grin grew a touch smug. "I’ll remember," she replied softly. "Night, Angel."

PART 8

BUT IT WAS over. At least for the time being. True to her nature, Ice closed up once again, as if our evening together had bared too much of her innermost self to me. I won’t say I wasn’t disappointed, because I was. But I also tried my best to understand things from her point of view. Each delving into that battered soul gave me more insight into the woman that I was able to confess freely, if only to myself, I had fallen in love with.

But each baring of that soul came with a price to her and to myself. I suppose it’s akin to a leeching out of toxins in the body. You always need a recovery period just to regain the balance you’d lost.

In the meantime, I kept myself busy with my library work, my teaching, and even managed to allow myself to get roped into playing on the so-called "Inmate All-Stars" softball team that was set to go up against the guards during the first week of summer.

My status as an Amazon allowed me to speak to people I wouldn’t have dreamed of speaking with before. I listened to their concerns and questions and tried my best to help in any way I could. As I’ve said before, most of the Bog’s inmates weren’t hard core lifers. Most were young women serving short sentences for stupid mistakes. Though I helped as much as I could with their continuing education scholastically, I wanted to do more to help prepare these women for their eventual lives outside these prison walls. With the help of the guards, several non-profit organizations, and the local universities, I was able to set up various classes for the inmates. Classes such as "Anger Management", "Parenting", "Household Budgeting" and "Career Paths" were, surprisingly, very well attended. It made me feel good to be able to have a positive effect on the lives of my fellow inmates, if only to do my best to make sure that once they left the Bog, they’d never return.

My second spring in the Bog also saw the first time I was able to intervene in a fight without assistance. And, in fact, I didn’t even need to resort to violence.

I was on my way to the laundry room to pick up some clean uniforms (and if you’ve managed to stay with me this long, you’ll no doubt remember my warning about prisons and laundry rooms) when I stepped into the outer antechamber and saw two inmates, both rather new themselves, standing over another prisoner who’d just gotten out of segregation. All three wore bruises of beatings past, the kneeling woman’s fresher and more vivid against the pale tone of her flesh.

I came fully into the room, letting my presence be known by the force of my stride. The kneeling woman looked up at me with a plea in her eyes; the others, anger. "What’s going on here?"

"I don’t see as it’s any of your business," one of the standing ones replied.

"How about if I say I’m making it my business. Does that help?"

The second woman released her grip on the front of her captive’s jumpsuit and started toward me.

"I wouldn’t if I were you. Those bruises can get a whole lot worse real fast."

Catching the tone in my voice, she trailed to a stop, looking at me questioningly, assessing.

"Well?"

She looked over her shoulder at her compatriot, who shrugged. Then she turned back to me and raised her hands in front of her chest. "Didn’t mean nothin’ by it."

"I see." I smiled. "Well then, I’m sure you won’t mind letting this woman get what she came for and leave, right?"

"Sure," said the first after a moment. "No problem."

"Good." I nodded encouragingly to the kneeling woman, who nodded back and struggled to her feet, her eyes still wide with fright. A further nod from me and she turned and walked into the laundry proper, reappearing a moment later with a stack of clean jumpsuits. Taking one last look at us, she bolted for the door. I could see the second woman, the one who had aborted her advance on me, shooting daggers with her eyes in the direction of the door.

"You know," I continued conversationally, "it wouldn’t be the wisest move to go after her once I’m gone. Do yourselves a favor and leave it alone. You’ll both be a lot happier, believe me."

"Who are you?" the first asked.

I could feel my grin widen. "My name’s Angel."

"Angel, huh?" said the second, appraising me once again. She was a medium-sized woman with lank brown hair which hung down over her eyes, which were currently squinting myopically at me.

"That’s what they call me, yeah."

"You don’t look so tough."

"Looks can be deceiving. You’re welcome to try and find out, though I’d rather go about this in a more adult fashion."

The second woman walked over to her companion and I took the time to study them both carefully. "Looks like someone came down on the both of you pretty hard," I observed. When they both turned angry looks my way, I held up a hand. "It’s alright. Happened to me too. More than once."

"Nothin’ happened to us," the first protested. "We just got . . . clumsy."

Though I wanted to laugh, I managed to keep it inside. "Yeah, I’ve been known to have a sudden attack of ‘clumsiness’ myself a time or two. Hurts, doesn’t it. Kinda makes you want to make others feel as ‘clumsy’ as you, huh?"

Now I had both of them squinting at me. "What in the hell are you talking about?" the second asked finally.

"I’m talking about beating up on someone because you’ve just gotten beaten up yourselves. I’m talking about how you think that’ll make you feel better about what happened to you. But I’m here to tell you that it won’t. The only thing that will even begin to make you feel better is to learn how to stand up to the people who hurt you. Not to become bullies yourselves. Because let me tell you something about bullies, ladies. There’s always someone a whole lot bigger, a whole lot stronger and a whole lot meaner than you around."

"You?" the first asked, snorting in disbelief.

"I’ll do for a start. But I’d really rather give you lessons on how to defend yourself rather than defend myself against you. Whadda ya say?"

They looked at one another, then back at me, obviously beyond knowing what to make of me. "Alright," they finally said, in unison.

My smile brightened. "Great! I’m out in the yard every day at eleven. A lot of my time is taken up by softball right now, but if I can’t help, I’ve got a bunch of friends who will. Meet me out by the free-weight area tomorrow and I’ll introduce you to them, alright?"

"The free-weight area? But that’s where the Amazons hang out."

"Exactly."

"You’re an Amazon?"

"Sure am." I’m afraid my smile grew a trifle smug, but, really, wouldn’t yours? Their expressions were tinged with a new emotion: respect, and it made me proud to be who I was. "So, do we have a deal? No more beating up on anyone?"

"Uh . . .yeah. Deal."

"Great! See you both tomorrow then." Brushing by them, I continued on into the laundry and picked up the uniforms I’d originally come for. When I came back out, they were both still standing there, staring at me. Giving them a final wave and a bright grin, I left on my way.

The prison grapevine was in perfect working order, as I found out when I walked into the library later that afternoon. Half a dozen Amazons and one elderly librarian converged upon me in an orgy of congratulations and back-slapping. I looked around in disbelief as they applauded me for the success of my first ‘solo’.

Raucous laughter and talk of ‘busted cherries’ accompanied the good natured teasing and had me blushing to the roots of my hair. Pony almost did me in when she pushed forward bearing a cupcake she’d scrounged from the commissary vending-machine, complete with lit candle. I was serenaded with "For She’s a Jolly Good Amazon", and the wish I made when I blew out the candle is mine alone to know.

*  *  *

As the warmth of spring gave way to the heat and humidity of summer, Ice began to come out of her shell once again, as if drawn out by the steamy days and balmy nights. We’d often sit outside near dusk, after I’d been given leave by the guards, and just talk, generally about nothing. It was obvious that the wound of Josephina’s death was still sore, but it appeared to be getting better, little by little.

Many times I found myself telling her little stories of me as a young girl. I hoped these would open her up enough to tell me some stories in kind, but that was a horse of a different color. Still, storytelling was something I’d enjoyed since I was young, even if I didn’t usually have any audience but my hated dolls..

Most of my stories centered around our summer cabin in the Canadian wilderness. I told her about the time that my mother’s parents had come to visit for a week and my grandfather had dumped all the dirty plastic eating utensils in the fire, stinking the house up for days. Or about the one and only time I’d gone fishing with my father.

My father didn’t think it was a girl’s place to fish, but lacking any other, more suitable, companionship one day, he grunted at me to join him in the small boat we kept tied to the dock. Fancying himself a master fisherman, he had a beautiful rod and reel and an expensive tackle-box with all sorts of fascinating lures, none of which I was able to touch lest they be tainted by girl-cooties or something. I was presented, with great pomp and circumstance, a simple bamboo rod with a length of wire and a small hook dangling from the end. I was also given a styrofoam cup of nightcrawlers and the admonition that I’d better not ask him to bait my hook for me. Apparently, my father’s notions of femininity didn’t extend to getting one’s hands dirty impaling worms on pointy hooks.

He took us out to a tiny island in the middle of the lake, where he dropped anchor and fixed his rod and tackle. He cast out into the clear blue water as I was still trying to figure out the best way to bait my own hook without getting worm guts all over me. I imagined I could hear the poor creatures cry out as I stuck the sharp point through their tough flesh and watched the blood ooze out of the hole I’d created.

Swallowing back the bile, I completed my task, determined not to give my father yet another reason to be disappointed in me. The very second I swung my line out, I felt a sharp tug and pulled up on the pole to find a nice-sized perch struggling on my hook.

That’s pretty much how the day went. Every time I dropped my hook, a fish seemed to latch itself onto it. My father, on the other hand, even with all his fancy equipment, managed to snare himself two bluegill and a perch too tiny to bother keeping.

To say that my father was in a bad mood two hours into the venture would be understating the fact. Without saying a word, he abruptly stowed his gear, pulled up anchor, and turned us back toward land.

That evening’s fish dinner was the best I’d ever eaten though my father looked like he was choking down every bite.

I even managed to get a rare, full-throated laugh out of Ice when I told her the story of the week we had some friends of the family up to stay with us. It had been raining all day and my mother and her friend had placed their shoes by the stone fireplace to dry out. Apparently, a chipmunk had chosen the fireplace as it’s summer nesting place. Even more apparently, it found my mother’s friend’s shoes a perfect retreat from the drudgery of its rock home.

The next morning, my mother’s friend slipped her foot into her shoe, then let out a scream loud enough to wake the dead. By the time I made it to the ground floor, my mom and her friend were screaming, had brooms in their hands, and were running around the house chasing after a tiny, terrified chipmunk who’d picked the wrong shoe to sleep in.

Ice was always a wonderful listener and seemed always keen on having me tell her of my childhood summers in our cabin by the lake. By the faraway look in her eyes, I think I’d finally managed to get her to at least try and visualize the place that brought me such a sense of peace and serenity.

She always seemed calmer and more open after listening to my tales; softer, somehow. Her pale eyes would take on a deeper, more vibrant hue and the sharp angles and planes of her face would smooth out some as she looked tenderly in my direction; that child I’d seen in the photograph not far under the surface of the woman grown. It was a part of her I so much wanted to know. But like a clear pool whose depths aren’t fully known until you find yourself up to your neck in them, there would be layers upon layers of mystery and emotional armor I’d have to patiently pry my way through to get to the soul underneath.

There were other times that she’d come and watch me play softball, her eyes raking over the field and its players, that blasted enigmatic smile painting her lips. I learned quickly to force my attention onto the game or risk fat lips, black eyes, and the unmerciful razzing of my teammates. There were times when I could almost feel the heat of her gaze upon me and I had to actively resist shifting out of my stance to turn and meet that smoldering gaze with my own, knowing it would be my undoing if I did.

The kisses we’d shared in her cell woke an animal I hadn’t even known was hidden inside me. My nights were filled with images both erotic and tender. My days weren’t all that much better, truth be known. There were times I thought I’d explode from the pressure, the pieces of me left to flutter down in ribbons of frustration.

But, if there’s one lesson I learned well in the Bog, it’s that patience is a virtue. And when I put my mind to it, I can be truly virtuous. My name is Angel, after all.

Too, there were times when the smile on her face would gauge the lightness of her mood and I’d try to draw out her feelings and plans for the retribution she promised for the warden and her betrayer. Try as I might, I could never get any hints from her and knew well enough to back off or risk retribution of my own. Still, I couldn’t help but worry about the drastic measures she might see fit to bring forth in her quest for what she considered to be justice, albeit of the most base sort.

In reality, there was nothing to keep her from going directly after Morrison. She was, after all, a lifer with no hope, at least in her own mind, of ever seeing freedom again. I think that thought must have been tempting in the extreme for her at times, especially on Sundays when we would all be forced to sit through three hours of his pious preachings, knowing all the while the vile creature which lay beneath the vestments. Why she didn’t take that road, I have no idea. It doubtless would have been easy for her and, really, what more punishment could she possibly receive?

Another avenue I considered was the one that comes most easily to the mind of almost any prisoner, whether it be in the Bog or elsewhere. Escape. Talk to any ten inmates of any prison around the world and nine will admit to having thoughts of escape. And the tenth will be lying. It was the thing you talked about over meals and thought about when the darkness of the prison night came home to roost in your cell.

Almost every inmate could tell you at least a dozen ways to leave the Bog without benefit of parole. And, truth be known, some of these ways even stood a good chance of success. This was the Bog, after all, and not Alcatraz. Corinne, who was the most in the know about such things, stated with authority that there were twenty one successful escapes from the Bog in the years since it had been turned into a women’s prison. Of those, fifteen were eventually recaptured, two were killed outright and the remaining five were never heard from again.

The most popular and successful escape route, though horribly cliched, was the old ‘slip out in the clean-laundry basket’ maneuver. Two of the five inmates who weren’t killed or recaptured chose this route for their dash to freedom. In 1966, however, the prison lost its State laundry contract and that closed off the laundry avenue for good.

Tunneling was out as a means for escape. The Bog is aptly named, as it sits on many acres of swamp land. Tunnels crumble and fall apart, filling with water almost as soon as they were dug. To date, again according to Corinne, twelve inmates have drowned attempting to tunnel out of the prison.

The award for the most idiotic escape attempt, and one which was very nearly successful despite its stupidity, goes to a woman named Slick. Unlike the Bog, she was not aptly named, for she was anything but. Slick worked in the auto shop and by all accounts, she was a good mechanic. She was also a crazed and dangerous killer who would stop at nothing for the chance to escape. One evening, as she was putting the finishing touches on a State Police cruiser, she decided to hide beneath the tarp covering the flooring of the back seat and leave the Bog in style. The guards rarely inspected the police cruisers, figuring the patrolmen who drove in them would be in the best position to know if anything was out of place in their own vehicles.

What Slick forgot, however, in her zealous, if not overly bright, planning, was that the backseats of police cruisers don’t have door-handles. Nor does the thick plexiglass shielding the front seats from the back allow for easy passage from one compartment to the other. When the officer who drove the car got back from his briefing at the station, he found, to his great and amused surprise, an escaped inmate all boxed up and awaiting her return trip to the Bog.

Guard dogs specially trained to sniff out the human scent and the advent of electronic garage door openers ended the chances of escape through the auto bays once and for all. Each car was inspected as if it were waiting at a boarder crossing and anything seen out of place was immediately attended to.

Corinne told me that in the ten years since that incident, there had never been a successful escape attempt. Some women still tried to climb over the fence or slip out with the visitors, but no one ever made it off the grounds.

Even if that hadn’t been the case, I had my doubts that escape was something that Ice would ever seriously consider. She was the rare inmate who truly believed that she belonged where she was. And even if she was incarcerated for a murder she didn’t commit, her sense of guilt over crimes she had gotten away with continued to weigh on her heavily. She believed justice had been well and truly served in her case and seemed content to stay where she felt she belonged.

But I also knew that however long it took, somehow, some way, Cavallo and Morrison would also have justice served to them on a platter no doubt stained red with blood. And that was what worried me.

Another worry, though one more annoying than frightening, was the continued intrusive presence of my own little shadow named Digger. It seemed that no matter where I was or when I was there, Digger was always somewhere in the near vicinity. To be honest, my routine of library, softball, library, meals, library, cell wasn’t that difficult to figure out, but it was still disconcerting nonetheless.

I tried talking to her. I had Corinne try talking to her. I had the Amazons try talking to her. Nothing worked. She seemed to be one of those people who couldn’t see the facts in front of their face. It got so bad at times that I seriously considered asking Ice to intimidate the ever loving hell out of her, but my more polite side kept that tucked down deep to be used only as a last resort.

Still, Digger did manage to have some use for me and so I put up with the constant frustration of having a living shadow and kept telling myself that at least she wasn’t Psycho. Or so I hoped.

Digger was, not to put too fine a point on it, a neat freak. The inside of her cell was clean and sparse as a monk’s and her uniforms were always just so; wrinkle-free with perfect creases. It often amused me how she would spend several minutes during a softball game brushing the resilient fabric after sliding into a base to avoid a tag.

As a cleanliness nut, she was a natural in the janitorial jobs so abundant in the Bog. Let’s face it. It’s a rare woman who enjoys swamping out toilets for a living, but Digger did it with a smile. Other inmates had taken to calling her "June Cleaver" behind her back and it was the cause of much teasing in our own little corner of Hell.

Her tidy tendencies didn’t escape the notice of our warden, who also seemed to ascribe to the notion that cleanliness was indeed next to godliness. When it came to pressed suits and swept floors, that is. The man’s soul was as dirty as the bottom of a New York taxi.

In any event, never one to pass over an easily used and abused resource, the warden appointed Digger his personal housekeeper, which meant, of course, that she was in the perfect position to pick up and deliver juicy little tidbits that Morrison let slip during the course of his daily business. And believe me when I tell you that Digger was very good at her job. Suffice it to say, William Morrison had the cleanest brass doorknob in all prisondom. Of course, Digger kept it well polished with her ears and eyes, but he didn’t need to know that.

*  *  *

The morning of the first inaugural Inmate/Guard softball game dawned with the proverbial "three H’s" in attendance. Hazy, hot and humid. The sky was a flat, monochrome gray and the air was thick enough to be cut through with one of Psycho’s knives. At nine in the morning, the temperature was already eighty-two and climbing. I had decided, spur of the moment, to come out a couple hours early to get in some extra batting practice, knowing our pitchers would be out practicing as well.

As I stepped out into the sauna the yard had become with the rising of the sun, I silently thanked our team captain for lobbying for the uniform I now wore. Instead of the thick, heavy polyester of my prison jumpsuit, I had on a simple cotton T and loose-fitting cotton shorts. Sweat immediately beaded between my breasts and at my hairline. I had pulled my hair into a loose tail for the game and vowed once again to get it chopped off at the next opportunity.

A body brushed by my side and I almost soiled my new shorts as I whirled, hands up in a defensive posture. Digger jumped back, a chagrined smile on her face, her hands also raised. "Sorry, Angel. It’s just me. Musta been thinking about the game, huh?"

I returned the smile, though weakly. "Uh . . .yeah, Digger. You just startled me." I fought hard to keep the annoyance from sounding in my voice. "What are you doing out here so early?"

"I figured you’d want to get in some last-minute practice, so here I am." Her grin widened as her eyes roamed over my body. "You look real nice, Angel."

I looked down at myself, seeing places where my sweat had glued the cotton to my skin in dark patches. There was already a ‘V’ forming between my breasts and I resisted the urge to cover myself up. "Thanks," I managed. "So do you."

In truth, I didn’t think it was possible to get cotton so white and absolutely wrinkle-free, but somehow Digger managed it, as usual. Unlike me, her sweat didn’t dare stain those pristine garments. I chuckled inwardly as I imagined her yelling at her pores, demanding they stay shut nice and tight for the duration.

"So," she said, fidgeting slightly to break the silence, "you ready to kick some guard ass?"

"Sure." Switching my mitt to the hand closest to Digger, I started across the grounds, taking the still air and the muggy, slightly swampy smell that hung on the mist surrounding us. Our pitchers were looking warmed up and ready and I stood just outside the foul line, watching and cheering them on for a moment.

Players from both teams began to drift onto the field, calling out to one another in shouted greetings and good natured ribbing and kicking up the dust to hang in the still, humid air. Another body came close, but instead of brushing by me, it moved forward until we were almost touching. Two strong hands settled onto my shoulders in a grip I recognized and a low, sultry voice sounded very close to my ear. "Give ‘em hell, Angel." The hands gave my shoulders a brief squeeze before a head swung briefly around into my field of vision, depositing a soft kiss to my cheek. "For luck."

A subtle shifting and the figure was gone, leaving behind a wonderful scent and me, staring dazedly at nothing with a flush rapidly darkening my face and wondering why in the world I had thought the day could possibly be lousy.

"Was that Ice?" Digger said from beside me, her voice filled with hushed awe.

I blinked in annoyance, the spell Ice had woven over me temporarily broken. "Yeah, that’s Ice."

"Wow. That is so cool! Hey! Do you think if I asked, she’d give me a kiss too?"

Before I knew it, I had whirled around to face her. "Don’t even think about it."

Her look of surprise was so comical I had to bite back a bray of laughter. "Let’s just . . .go practice, alright?"

"Yeah. Sure. Anything you say, Angel."

*  *  *

The game was fast and furious from the start. The guards had an excellent team with pitcher who could thread a needle with a softball and could set your bat on fire if it got in the way. Their batting was good too, as was their outfield, who had rifles for arms. Their only weakness was their infield and I set out to exploit that as best I could by peppering line-drives up the gap between short and second, a particular sweet spot of mine anyway.

Our strength was our infield. Though annoying, Digger was an outstanding first-baseman, well earning her nickname by digging out a few errant throws that might have gone on for extra bases had she missed them.

It was the top of the fifth and the score was tied at one apiece when I bobbled what should have been an easy double-play ball, then managed to get it stuck in the webbing of my glove, thus allowing both runners to advance. In a fit of frustration, I threw my glove down on the ground and stomped around, much like a child having a tantrum, which, I suppose, I was.

In the middle of my tirade, I felt a pair of eyes on me and I whirled, expletives still spewing like sewer water from my lips. The torrent ceased abruptly as my gaze locked with Ice’s, allowing the calmness and confidence in her eyes wash over me like a soothing balm. I suddenly forgot why I had gotten so angry in the first place and felt a blush of embarrassment creep into my cheeks, heating my ears. Her eyebrow arched as a smile played across her lips. She gave me a brief nod before deliberately breaking the lock of our gazes as she looked toward the batter’s box, studying the new guard who’d stepped up to the plate.

Bending down to pick up my glove, I murmured my apologies to my teammates and readied myself for the next play, bolstered beyond belief by the confidence one woman had in me. Taking a few deep breaths, I leaned forward in a crouch, my glove before me flexed and ready for anything.

When the blistering line drive came at me, I felt my glove raise in an almost unconscious reaction. It sunk quickly, but I managed to scoop it up on one hop and this time I didn’t bobble it. Standing up quickly, I stuck my mitt out to tag the runner leaving second for one out, stepped on the bag for the second out, and threw the ball to Digger who caught it a split-second before the runner crossed the bag for a triple play.

You might have thought I’d won the World Series the way my teammates dog-piled on me, screaming their fool heads off. Even the guards applauded and shouted their congratulations. Once again, Digger came to my rescue, threading her way through the pile and pulling me to my feet. Though I welcomed her help, I gently resisted her attempts to brush me off, not wanting her hands on me any more than necessary and figuring I’d earned the dirt I wore.

The bottom of the same inning, we managed to get a jump on their pitcher, who was tiring. Digger doubled into the gap between left and center field to start us off. Trey, who had forgone gang loyalty to offer us her strong bat, smashed a towering hit almost to the fence in straight away center, but the outfielder had her played perfectly and caught the ball with ease. However, Digger tagged and advanced to third, beating the throw by a hair. The next woman got out on a short pop fly that barely cleared the infield and left Digger no room to run.

And so it was my turn. I suddenly felt that good kind of nervousness that you get deep in your gut when the game’s riding on you and your teammates are cheering you on. I looked over at the woman I now considered my lucky talisman, and got a half-grin and a pumped fist for my efforts. Returning the grin, I stepped into the batter’s box and dug in.

Everything telescoped around me. The crowd’s shouting grew dim and far-away. My eyes were only for the opposing pitcher, who was giving me a feral smile of her own as she nonchalantly tossed the ball up and down in her hand.

My hands were sweaty on the bat’s handle and I twisted my grip several times to solidify it. Then I took a few experimental swings and dug my toe further into the loamy dirt as I chanted the silent litany of "eyes steady, shoulders square, easy swing".

When the pitch finally came, it floated to me on an arc so lovely and graceful and perfect that I could have sworn it had "please knock the crap outta me, Angel" stitched into its hide. And so, of course, I obliged. The ball impacted my bat right at that perfect spot where the feeling in your hands and the sound of the contact lets you just know you did good.

It flew from my bat, just barely avoiding giving the pitcher a haircut, before again splitting the gap between short and second, then hitting a wet patch of outfield grass and just . . .dying. The short-stop, second baseman and centerfielder all converged on it, missing a three-way collision by the barest of inches. Digger floated home while I took second with ease before the ball finally made its way back to the pitcher, who tipped her cap at me before turning to deal with the next batter. I couldn’t help the grin that spread its way across my face nor the turn of my head to meet the pale eyes of my silent supporter. Receiving another brisk nod and a quick wink for my efforts, I felt as though I were floating on air.

The pitcher dug down deep and struck out our last batter to end the inning, but I’d done my job, helping us to go up by one run. Now all we had to do is hold them for three more outs and the game would be ours.

Unfortunately, Sandra Pierce wasn’t privy to that plan. Stepping up to the plate, she blasted a left-field home-run that went so high and so far that I think even now, seven years later, it’s still floating somewhere in the stratosphere.

Phyllis stepped up to the plate next and, taking a page from Sandra’s book, blasted a hit to left field. Trey had a bead on it, however, and showed us all just why the Lady Vols were so devastated when she left. In a leap the height of which I’d never seen a human produce before, she reached up and snagged the ball just as it was about to sail over the fence. While the rest of us looked on in open-mouthed awe, she casually tossed the ball in to the pitcher and straightened a non-existent crease on her uniform shirt.

Grinning and shaking my head, I returned my attention back to the game, secretly wondering in my heart of hearts why a woman who had taken the life of another deserved to feel so good. I shook off the feeling quickly before it ruined what this day had become, figuring that sometimes, things just are and it’s best to leave it at that.

The next two outs were routine grounders that we had no trouble handling and then it was time to run off the field and hope for the best in the bottom of the last inning of the game.

It was also the bottom of our line-up, where our weakest batters were. All three were looking nervous as they realized the positions they were in. We all did our best to calm them down as the chanting and cheering of the crowd reached an almost deafening crescendo.

Our first batter stepped up and dug in. I could see her legs shaking from my spot behind the batter’s cage and swallowed hard in empathy. The first pitch came, sinking fast into the dirt and she swung at it for strike one. The second one blew by her before she was fully into her stance for strike two. She pounded the head of the bat into the dirt in frustration, then settled again. The next pitch was perfect and she swung for the fences. It shot down the first-base line, skittering off the glove of the woman defending the bag and rolled onward, allowing her a stand-up double.

In the dugout, we all went crazy, seeing a possible light at the end of this particular tunnel. The next batter was a quick out, leaving our baserunner on second, but the next was a hard grounder that saw both women safe on their respective bases.

Flustered and tired, the pitcher then walked the bases loaded and our weakest batter stepped up to the plate. Three swings later, she stepped away from the plate, swinging her bat dejectedly and apologizing to us all as she stepped back into the dugout.

It was one of the situations every ballplayer, from Little League to the Majors, dreams of. Bases loaded, bottom of the last inning with the score tied and two outs. It’s also the situation every player dreads.

Two quick pitches and she was in the hole, the rest of us right along with her. But she wasn’t our lead-off batter for nothing, and so she simply squared her shoulders and waited patiently for the next pitch.

Three more pitches and the count was full. The yard went silent as we all, prisoners and guards alike, leaned forward for what promised to be the final pitch of the game. Even the birds went quiet, as if knowing the somewhat dubious importance of this event about to transpire but respecting it nonetheless.

Our batter stared at the pitcher. The pitcher stared back, not quite so cocky as before. She fiddled with the ball nervously before putting it behind her back and leaning forward to catch the signal from the catcher.

Every eye in the yard followed the ball as it rose up in a majestic arc through the hazy air. We watched as it hit the pinnacle of its trajectory and then began to give in to gravity’s unbreakable summons. It finished its graceful ballet by landing cleanly in the catcher’s glove. Our batter had never removed the bat from her shoulder.

All eyes then turned to the umpire, awaiting her fateful decision. Small eternities were born and crumbled to dust under the weight of her pregnant pause. Her jaw moved, forming words we all fought to hear.

"BALL FOUR!!"

Ok. So it wasn’t the most exciting way to win a game, but it counted. The batter smugly dropped her bat in the dirt and trotted over to first base, bringing the runner on third home. When she crossed the plate, the yard erupted and a frenzy of cheers and we all piled on the hapless runner to get in on the action.

Forgetting for the moment that they were our keepers, the guards jumped into the crowd of bodies, laughing and shouting with the rest of us. For a moment, we weren’t prisoners and guards forced by circumstances to co-inhabit a stinking pit in a far-away corner of nowhere. For that brief moment of time, the weight of our crimes broke under the exhilarating feeling of freedom. We were just two teams battling it out on a lazy summer’s day. The prison, and our places in it, felt far away as we whooped and danced around like crazy idiots, hugging one another and slapping each others’ backs and butts.

I chanced a look up at the red-brick building. It seemed smaller somehow. As if its very existence fed off the fright and guilt of the women it housed and when those emotions weren’t there, it shrunk in upon itself like a flower that wilts from lack of sunlight.

I stuck my tongue out at the building, then turned as something smooth and cool was slipped into my hand. Looking down, I saw a bottle of sparkling grape juice waiting for me and, grinning wildly, I shook it, then popped the plastic cork, spraying guards and teammates alike with the chilled, sticky liquid. Corks popped across the field and we laughed like children as we doused everyone within reach.

In the midst of the revelry, I took the time out to commit the scene and its feelings to memory, knowing that there’d someday be cause to draw it out like a treasured photo when the nights were long and freedom seemed ten lifetimes away.

When the celebration began to wind down, I looked back over the yard which was awash in orange, brown and white, looking for a hint of black hair and blue eyes; disappointed when I didn’t find them. I indulged myself in a brief but harmless fantasy of receiving a more private congratulations, then snorted softly at my foolishness. Snapping out of my reverie when I felt a companionable arm slip over my shoulders, I looked up to see Sandra standing next to me, clinking my bottle of ersatz champagne against her own.

"Hell of a game, Angel. They should sign you up for the Majors with that triple play you turned."

"Ah, that was easy. I think that homerun you hit landed in Harrisburg somewhere."

She laughed, then knocked back a swig of her grape juice. "That felt good. Been a long time since I’ve had fun like this, though. Thanks."

"No. Thank you. For the first time in a couple years, those bars didn’t seem quite so close."

There was a moment of companionable silence as we watched the inmates and guards slowly walk back into the prison. "Where’s Ice? Figured she’d be here to congratulate you personally."

I know my blush was evident as she regarded me with twinkling eyes. Then I snorted. "Who knows? She’s probably off preventing another riot or delivering a baby or beating the snot out of someone. Or something."

Sandra threw back her head and laughed, squeezing my shoulders in a comradely hug. "That’s our Ice." She released my shoulders and turned to face me fully, her expression suddenly serious. "Underneath all that bluff and bravado, Ice is a good woman, Angel. I know you know that, but sometimes it’s hard to remember when she closes herself up in that shell of hers. She’s made a lot of mistakes, but they don’t change the person she is underneath." A sad smile bowed her lips as she reached out and laid a gentle hand on my forearm. "You’ve been good for her, Angel. I really thought we’d lost her after all that time in the hole, you know."

Swallowing hard, I nodded. "Yeah, I know. I thought so too. That was . . .scary."

Returning my nod, Sandra squeezed my arm. "I don’t know the whole story behind it and I don’t wanna know. But she was just . . .dead inside. But when that idiot Derby got her mitts around your neck, you should have seen the spark that came back into her eyes. God, it was a beautiful thing."

"Sorry I missed it," came my droll reply. "I think I was almost unconscious at the time."

She laughed, then released my arm. "Ready to go back?"

"No, but that’s where the showers are, so I suppose I have to. God, I’m a mess."

"You and me both, kiddo. I’ve got grape juice in places the good Lord didn’t intend grapes to go."

I took one last long look around the yard, watching as the last few stragglers made their way back into the building. Empty bottles littered the base pads bearing mute testimony to the celebration just passed. I felt a bit of melancholy steal through me and so I blinked the image away. "Sure. Let’s go."

*  *  *

Though I intended to head directly to the showers to wash the grape-juice, dirt and sweat from my suddenly tired and aching body, my plans took a sudden detour when an inmate came to me, tears streaming down her face, begging for my help. Her baby daughter had gotten sick and was rushed to the hospital, but the baby’s father, who was watching over her, wouldn’t give her any information and she was frantic.

I pulled her over to the guards’ room and called in a favor, which was the use of their phone. There were three pay phones situated throughout the prison for inmate use, but I wasn’t carrying around any spare change and hospitals usually don’t like to accept collect calls. But, as I’ve said, most of our guards are a compassionate bunch, even if we did just kick their butts in softball, and I was waved into the room with nary a murmur.

Half a dozen calls later and the problem was solved. The baby had been taken to Pittsburgh Children’s Hospital with febrile seizures and was released back to her father and grandparents after some Tylenol had taken care of the problem.

After enduring her thanks for what seemed like hours, I was finally able to affect my escape to the showers, knowing that by now most of my teammates had probably gone on to the somewhat greener pastures of the mess hall and common room.

Shrugging my shoulders, I made my way down to the showers, happy to hear that at least one person was inside by the sound of the water. Quickly stripping out of my sticky clothes with a sigh of profound relief, I slipped into my flip-flops, grabbed a towel, and made my way into the shower proper.

And stopped, frozen, before I’d even gotten a foot into the room.

There, facing me, her hair slicked back and tumbling over her shoulders like freshly spilled ink, stood Ice. Her body glistened from the water pouring down from the showerhead and her neck arched back to wash the last bit of shampoo from her hair, thrusting her wet and shining breasts out toward me, the nipples hard and tight.

My mouth actually watered at the sight as the towel slithered from suddenly nerveless fingers to land in a heap at my feet.

She straightened back up, but her eyes were still closed, and I continued to take the opportunity to play voyeur as my own eyes feasted on the perfection of her body. From the way she wore her jumpsuit, from the way she carried herself with athletic grace, I would have expected all slashing angles, and to be truthful, there were. Her musculature was long and lean, like a hunting cat’s, with long lines of ropy, veined muscles stretching across her shoulders and down her arms. Her legs were especially developed and I watched them flex and relax as she shifted under the spray of water.

But what intrigued me the most was the lush femininity also present within that same body. Though not especially large, her breasts were full and proud. Her hips flared out slightly from a well-tapered waist in very pleasing curves that drew in my eyes and held them for a timeless moment.

I swallowed hard, shocked with my body’s response to another woman, even given what Ice and I had already shared. But it was as if this woman, this body, had been made just for me, given my own responses to it. It was as if someone or something had pulled the vision from the realms of my deepest subconscious, from a place so deep within me that I didn’t even know it existed.

Regardless, my body was sending me some very definite and urgent signals and my feet followed along for the ride, moving me closer to the vision beneath the stinging water, my towel forgotten behind me.

Azure eyes opened and froze me once again, mere steps from my goal. She blinked once, freeing beaded water from her long lashes, then smiled slightly. "Like what you see?" Her voice was a sensual purr and the summons became all the more urgent.

"God yes," I replied, my hands aching to do . . .I didn’t know what . . .but something.

"So do I." I could feel the heat of her gaze as it traveled a leisurely path over my own equally naked body. My arousal was building by the moment from a simple look. I didn’t know if I’d possibly be able to live with what looked to be the final consummation of the feelings between us.

I took another step forward, only to be stopped by Ice’s upraised palms. "This probably isn’t the best place to be doing this."

The memories of that morning in the cafeteria flashed through my mind and I nodded, biting on my lip. "Um . . .yeah. I . . .I guess you’re right."

She smiled crookedly, then stepped out from beneath the shower. "Why don’t you get cleaned up. I’m sure we can find a more private place to . . .continue this discussion."

I nodded again and she slipped past me, allowing our bodies to brush against each other just slightly. The feeling of her water-slicked smooth skin sliding briefly against my own almost did me in as I felt the strength in my muscles begin to flee. I braced one hand against the tiled wall as the other fumbled with the knob. For the first time since I’d come to the Bog, the icy cold spray was a welcome relief.

Though the chill dampened my raging lust somewhat, my mind was free to wander. And wander it did, with the speed of a tornado. Anxiety, performance and otherwise, displaced hormones and my body trembled with it. I didn’t remember being that nervous on my wedding night, and that was going some.

While I had my hopes, I realized truthfully that I had no idea where this all would lead. All I did know was that I had no desire to be another nameless, faceless assignation in some broom-closet somewhere. My feelings for Ice ran much deeper than that and I resolved that, burning body or no, if she didn’t return them in at least some measure, I would suffer the consequences of lonely nights and a broken heart. Whatever else, I still had to live within the shell of my own body and look at myself in the mirror every morning.

My resolve thus fortified, I set about the task of removing the grime from my hair and body and did so in record time. As I turned off the water, I noticed that sometime during my mental perambulations, Ice had returned to place a fresh towel over a neighboring showerhead. Though it made me feel a bit uneasy that I hadn’t heard her approach, I felt pleased that she had at least noticed and helped in this small way.

Drying off, I wrapped the towel around my body and stepped into the changing room to find Ice, fully dressed and sitting on one of the benches, her hands clasped loosely between her knees. She smiled at me, then turned her head prudently as I snagged a clean jumpsuit from the pile by the bench and dropped my towel to dress.

Once fully clothed, I realized I didn’t have a comb to run through my hair and could have kicked myself. As if reading my mind, she handed me a black comb. "It’s clean. I washed it when I brought over your towel."

I accepted it gratefully, wincing as I pulled the fine toothed implement through my tangled hair. "I swear. One of these days, this is all coming off."

"It’s very beautiful."

Suddenly, combing out the tangles didn’t seem to be so much of a chore. "You really like it?" Yes, it was lame in the extreme, but I was fishing for conversation here.

"Yes. It reminds me of a sunset in Phoenix."

"You’ve been to Phoenix?" Two for two. I was doing better here than during the game.

"Yes, many times."

Finishing my task, I handed the comb back to her, then pressed my palms down the front of my uniform, feeling like a new bride.

"You ready?"

Oh, that particular question covered a whole myriad of bases, sticking for the moment to the softball analogy here. "Uh . . .yeah. Sure. I guess." How was that for a decisive answer?

If she read anything into my hesitancy, she didn’t show it. Instead, she stood and beckoned me to follow her. "C’mon."

As we stepped out of the shower room, who should I almost run straight into, but my ever-present shadow, Digger. Her face lit up into a smile as she saw me. "Hey, Angel! I was looking all over for you. They’re showing Wuthering Heights in the common room tonight and I remember you telling me you liked the book. You wanna go with me?"

"Oh . . .hi, Digger. I’d . . .um . . .love to go but I’m kind of busy right now." I gestured to the tall woman standing at my side.

"Oh. Ok. I understand. Next time then, alright?"

"Yeah. That sounds great."

"Well . . . see ya!" With a jaunty wave, she walked off.

I turned to see a very amused Ice smirking down at me, one eyebrow held aloft.

"What?"

"Next time?"

"Hey!" I said, poking her in the side. "You try living with a shadow every minute of every day who doesn’t seem to know the meaning of the word ‘no’ and we’ll see how you handle it."

"Thanks, but I’ll pass. Let’s go."

My assumption that we were heading for the stairs to Ice’s cell was put to rest as she passed them by and instead continued into the long series of branching corridors that lead to the shops. Within moments, we were in the room with all the doors and getting patted down by the guards once again.

Satisfied that we weren’t carrying any concealed weaponry, the guard let us into the auto shop. Not bothering to turn on the lights, Ice led us down to the ‘chop-shop’ door in the darkness and ushered me through, flipping on one set of those lights. I looked around as I stepped inside, noticing both bays were empty.

Ice walked over to a barren, battle-scarred desk sitting off to one side and settled her long frame down on it, patting the top for me to join her, which I did. My nervousness, which had subsided somewhat during the walk, came back with a vengeance and I resisted the urge to fidget with it. Silence bloomed between us suddenly, heavy and oppressive as a living thing.

"So," I said finally, just to break the tension, "that was some game, huh?"

"Yeah, it was. Nice triple-play, by the way."

"Thanks." My fingers found themselves wanting to drum on the desktop. "How come you don’t play?"

"Say again?"

"How come you don’t play softball? I bet you’re good."

Her soft laugh sounded beside me. "It’s not really my game."

"Do you have one? A game, that is?"

"Hmmm. I like football." She shrugged. "Track and basketball too, I suppose. Martial arts."

"You’re probably great at all of them."

The broad shoulders shrugged again. "I do alright."

More silence.

"Ice . . . ."

"Angel . . . ."

"You first."

"No, please. What were you going to say?"

I opened my mouth, then closed it, my words drying up. Sighing, I shifted on the desk until I faced her. Alright, Angel. This is it. Whatever she says, whatever happens from here on out, at least you’ll know. There’s something to be said for that, isn’t there? I truly hoped so, because I was about to lay my heart out on the line. "Ice, I need to tell you something. Something very important to me and I hope, maybe important to you too."

Her eyes were steady as they met mine. "What is it, Angel?"

"I care for you. A lot. And sometime during the past week, I’ve finally been able to put a name to these feelings." I shifted again. "Now . . .I know that what I’m about to say might make you feel uncomfortable, but I need to tell you how I feel before we do anything further." I took a deep breath and stepped off the cliff, though without the bravery to look her in the eye as I made my confession. "Ice, I think . . .no, I know I’m in love with you. I’ll understand if you don’t feel the same, but I need you to know this. This place, this prison, is too small for things like this to go unmentioned."

The silence came back as I fingered the lines in my palms. Tears sprang into my eyes as I figured the answer and I wiped them away, willing myself not to crumble. A gentle hand displaced my own, cupping my cheek as a thumb dried the tears from my eyes. "Don’t cry, Angel," Ice murmured from beside me. "I’m in love with you too."

I hitched in a breath. "I’m sorry I made you feel uncom . . . . What? Could . . .would you mind repeating that please? I’m not sure I . . . ."

"You heard me. I love you, Angel. I have for a very long time now. I told you as much in the cell, remember?"

"Well . . .yeah, but I didn’t think we were talking about the same thing."

"We were." I chanced a look up and what I saw made my breath catch in my throat. Her eyes, usually so shuttered and cold, were open and warm and caring and sparkled with an adoration that I’d never seen in another person before. And it was for me.

Those damn tears stung at my eyes again, but this time it was for an entirely different reason. As I sat pondering the wisdom of having my tear-ducts surgically removed, Ice turned fully to face me and, cupping my face in both hands, laid gentle kisses to each of my eyelids, neatly solving the problem in a far more pleasant way.

"I love you," she whispered, placing a kiss on my forehead, then one to each cheek. "I love you," she whispered again as her lips met mine with gentle warmth. The kiss was almost reverent and stole my breath as she pulled away, tucking her chin and looking directly into my eyes. "I love you, Angel."

"Oh God," I exclaimed, half sobbing and half laughing in absolute relief as I fell into her body, my mind a whirling torrent of emotions, none of them nameable. Her arms wrapped tightly around me and I could hear the rapid beating of her heart through the fabric of her jumpsuit. She’s as scared as I am!

Though perhaps not a revelation to you, that thought filled me with wonder, and a large kernel of happiness blossomed, banishing my nervousness to the farthest reaches of my soaring soul.

I felt a brief instant of panic as she shifted against me, but her embrace held tight as she came to stand before me, pressing another kiss on the crown of my head. Pulling away finally, she held me at arm’s length, hands clasped on my shoulders. Her eyes were full of questions.

Reaching up slowly, I touched her cheek with trembling fingers. Speechless, I watched her eyes flutter closed as she leaned into the tentative caress. As if watching from very far away, I felt my hand cup her cheek more purposefully, then slide down to her jaw and back, beneath her ear, to curve around the base of her skull.

I bunched my arm slightly and she bowed to the pressure, moving smoothly under the summons of my hand. Our lips met and merged like satin on silk and my fingers tangled in her hair as my mouth opened under the tender assault of her lips and tongue. My free hand cupped around the taut curve of her waist and I pulled her body closer to mine, spreading my knees wider to accommodate her flaring hips and muscled thighs.

She rocked up against me, tight against the stretched and protesting fabric pulled taut between my legs. I whimpered out a need I couldn’t even identify, let alone articulate. Her hands clenched my waist and pulled us closer still as our tongues entwined in a sweet duel.

Bereft of air, we pulled away at the same time and looked into one another’s eyes as she continued to slowly rock against me. Her hand reached up and toyed with the pull to my zipper briefly before grasping it fully and slowly pulling it down to stop where my cleavage began. Reaching up again, she slid her fingers beneath the fabric at my shoulders, parting it further as she drew it, whispering, over my heated flesh.

Her hair, still damp from the shower, brushed against my lips as she lowered her head. I could feel the warm smoothness of her tongue as she tasted my collarbone, tracing a slick trail from my throat outwards to end with a light nip to my shoulder. The process was repeated on my right side as her fingers worked the zipper again, pulling it down until it reached the end.

My eyes closed and my head fell back as she lipped my pulsepoint before suckling at the hollow of my throat. My nostrils flared with the sweet scent of her hair. I leaned back, taking my weight on my hands, my hips responding to her continued slow rocking with thrusts of their own.

Her lips detached from my neck and I thought to open my eyes, but that fast became a faded memory as her warm, wet mouth closed itself over my breast, the gentle suction of her lips’ caress sending molten fire through my veins. My heart fluttered in my chest, then pounded strongly, sending my blood in rapid spurts exactly where it needed to be, engorging me and making me full. I could smell the faint scent of my own arousal which only served to excite me even more.

My head fell back further, my wet hair tickling against my shoulder blades, my breath coming in rapid pants. Her tongue trailed a line between my breasts before latching onto the other, pulling in my nipple as her teeth grazed against it, teasing it into a wonderfully aching hardness.

I moaned out my need in some unintelligible language known only to lovers and she responded in kind, the vibration of her lips against my flesh fanning the flames my body had become.

Drawing away again, she smiled tenderly down at me as she sat me up and pulled the fabric of my jumpsuit off my arms altogether, leaving it to puddle around my waist in a fan of orange on the rickety wooden desk. Her eyes blazed a trail down my body once again and I felt the flames of my desire grow hotter beneath her liquid blue fire. "Your body is perfect," she purred, drawing a single fingertip down the centerline of my torso. "Soft. Firm." She cupped one breast in her palm. "Warm." Then she leaned in again, capturing my lips in a soul-melting kiss. "Mmmm. Delicious."

As she began to straighten, I reached up and grabbed the tab of her zipper, determined not to be denied. It bunched, as zippers often do during the most urgent of times, and she laughed softly at my grunt of frustration. It was apparent that my grace, dignity and verbal skills were having a foursome with my nervousness somewhere because they certainly weren’t readily available to me.

Releasing my grasp on the tab, she stepped back one step. Two. Then she squared her shoulders as she leveled me a challenging stare. Swallowing hard, I gave her my own rendition back, pleased when she acknowledged the expression with her eyes.

The sound of her zipper lowering was loud in the small confines of the room. Inch by slow inch she revealed more of her flesh to my heated gaze; taunting me, tempting me, teasing me beyond all rational thought.

Once her zipper reached the end of its long, solitary journey, her smile became a teasing smirk. Her hands came up and grasped the fabric at her breasts, parting it, then slipping the top down off her proud shoulders. The jumpsuit slipped to the floor in a whispering of fabric and when she stepped out of it, that magnificent body came within my hungry grasp.

I took in her firm breasts with their tight, peaked, rose-hued nipples and licked my lips as if inspecting a king’s feast put before me. Leaning forward, I captured one in my mouth, savoring the taste and feel of her against my tongue and lips. My mind was shouting stridently, reminding me that I hadn’t the faintest idea what I was doing, but I cheerfully told it to shut up as Ice moaned deep in her chest and threaded her fingers through my hair, clearly enjoying what I was offering her.

Her scent, musky and exotic as Eastern spices rose up to curl around me, making my head spin. Wanting more, I switched my attention to her other breast, taking in her murmurs of contentment with joyful ears. I might have been flying by the seat of my pants, but God what a ride it was turning out to be.

I suckled like a hungry infant, jumping as a tentative bite caused her to surge into me, almost knocking both of us back across the desk. Deciding I very much liked that reaction, I nestled my teeth together once again, moving with her forward motion better this time.

After another moment, her hand tightened in my hair and she pulled me away from my feast. My moan of displeasure died on my lips as my gaze caught hers. Smokey and smoldering, her indigo eyes seared into me, touching me in places that fairly screamed out in primal want. My heart beat out a staccato tattoo in my chest. "Please," I whispered, though I had no idea what I was asking for. "Please."

Her hands began to map out my body once again in slow, teasing strokes of lightly callused fingertips. She trailed down my newly muscled abdomen and paused to play at my navel briefly, smiling as I squirmed.

Then her fingers went lower, slithering beneath the fabric to rest just above my pubic bone. Her eyes again asked a question.

"Yes. God, yes."

Smiling slightly, she slid further inside my uniform, giving me the briefest of gliding touches where my need was the greatest. My hips exploded off the desk and I thought I would release right then and there. Again her fingers stilled and she turned wide eyes to me. "So responsive." The low register of her voice tickled at my hearing as I tried to will myself back under control.

After another moment, she withdrew her hand and I swallowed back my reaction to the glistening wetness that coated her middle finger. The very tip of her tongue darted out as she tasted my readiness. Her eyes never leaving mine, she sucked her finger into her mouth in the most erotic gesture I think I have ever seen. "Perfect."

As she leaned in to kiss me again, I tasted myself for the first time and decided I liked it. Her hand was warm against my upper back and with gentle pressure, she lowered me down on the desktop, covering me with the weight and heat and scent of her body.

Her kiss was deep, lustful and ravishing. I took it and gave back in kind, squirming beneath her, feeling the scarred wood beneath me rub against my naked back. We locked together for what seemed a blissful eternity before she growled and pulled away again, trailing feathery kisses down the front of my body.

Her hands followed her lips, skimming lightly over my breasts and down my sides to pull the jumpsuit down over my hips and legs. She tapped me slightly and I lifted my lower body, feeling the fabric give way and free my from my cloth bonds. She planted a kiss to my pubic hair and as her mouth engulfed me fully, I climaxed, unable to hold back the tide anymore.

When the tremors ceased, I felt her mouth still holding me gently, her motion still and quiet. When I lifted my dazed head to see what was going on down there, I was suddenly filled by what I assumed to be her fingers hooking into me and rubbing against my inner walls in a most delightful way. My head fell back to the desk as her tongue began moving against me in time with her strokes. I could feel the peak within me rising again and this time I did nothing to try and hold it back. Within moments I released again, actually breaking off a chunk of the gently rotting wood I was laying on as my body convulsed against the pleasure I was receiving.

As I began to come down from this high she didn’t stop. Instead, she increased the strength of her thrusts, adding a slight twisting movement that promised to drive me absolutely insane. I felt her teeth graze against me, sparking the third orgasm in what seemed to be as many minutes.

This time, however, when I finally stopped shaking, I tossed away the wood that had practically pulverized in my hand, then sunk my fingers into her thick hair, fending off her continued advances. "Please," I gasped, "no more. You’re . . .gonna . . .kill me."

Her twinkling eyes met mine and for a moment, I really thought she was going to ignore my pleading. But then, to my great and utter relief, after delivering a final kiss, she pulled away, withdrawing her fingers gently at the same time. I couldn’t believe how suddenly empty I felt.

As if reading my thoughts, she lifted me by the shoulders and cradled me against her, stroking my sweat-soaked hair and murmuring soft endearments that slipped just past the edge of my hearing and made me feel full once again.

Concentrating on steadying my breathing, I ran a hand down Ice’s thigh, watching as her flesh humped up with the passage of my fingers. As my hand retraced its path back up that strong leg, I was surprised by the slick dampness coating the inside of her thigh. Tilting my head, I looked up at her. The gaze which met mine was steady but not coaxing. Looking back down, I blindly followed the trail upwards as she spread her legs wider, giving me freer access.

I couldn’t believe the heat radiating from her; heat which almost scorched my hand as I moved in further, brushing against soft hair which tickled against my fingers. Finally I reached my goal as heated wetness coated the backs of my fingers in a lover’s intimate embrace. I heard her take in a breath of air and release it as a moaning sigh. "Ice? I . . .um . . .I’m not sure what I’m doing here."

Her laugh sounded through her nose. "Believe me, Angel, you’re doing just fine."

"But . . .I . . .um . . . ."

"Relax. Here." Her larger hand came down and cupped over mine, pressing it against herself.

I gasped out at the slick, heated moisture waiting for me and moved my fingers through it, causing another surge in her body, accompanied by a moan. "Oh . . .perfect, Angel."

Moving again, I marveled at the softness under my fingers. I know I must have been driving her crazy with my fumblings, but I couldn’t for the life of me stop. I was drawn in like a bee to honey of the sweetest kind.

I knew I’d pushed to her limits when she grasped my hand again, forcing it downward. "Angel. Now. Inside."

Following her terse, panted instructions to the letter, I gasped in wonder as her velvet walls hugged around my fingers in a hot caress as I became sheathed fully within her. I moved my fingers and she groaned, her hips thrusting back against my hand. I smiled. I could do this.

"Harder," she gasped, her fingers digging into my wrist so hard I began to lose circulation. Still, I struggled to comply, working my hand as best I could given the constriction. I felt her expand around me, then clamp down hard as her body began to buck and shudder, leaning against me heavily.

Using my other arm to bear us up, I continued at my task, grunting with the effort to prolong her pleasure. With a last, low, shuddering growl, she relaxed against me, breathing heavily through her mouth and nose. I made as if to withdraw, but she clamped down on my wrist again. "No. Stay. Please."

I nodded, panting with exertion and the incredible feelings that washed through me at what we had just accomplished. Shuddering tremors played across my fingers until finally all was quiet. She removed her hand from my arm and I withdrew slowly, taking care not to stretch the tender tissue clasping me so intimately.

We fell into an embrace, our bodies glued together with the sweat of our passion.

PART 9

THE NEXT MORNING, it was all I could do not to start humming at odd moments as I dressed, ate, and made my way down to the library to begin another day in the Bog. The memories of the evening before played in a continuous loop behind my eyes and I’m sure I was probably glowing like some preternatural mist. Try as I might, I just couldn’t manage to wipe the silly little grin off my lips, as the imp in me responded to the looks I was receiving with an internal You just wish you knew what I’m smiling about, don’t you. I’m afraid I was quite insufferable that morning.

Corinne greeted me with a ‘cat-ate-the-canary’ grin of her own that set alarm bells jangling. Determined to play it cool and not give her any ammunition, I walked over to my desk and sat down as if I didn’t have a care in the world. It wasn’t really an act, given the fact that if she had pressed a gun to my head and told me to name a worry, I wouldn’t have been able to think of a one.

Her smile faltered just slightly, then grew wide again as the tipped a wink at me, conceding the round. She peered at me over the tops of her glasses as she relaxed back in her chair, stretching her corpulent frame just slightly. "So . . .I hear congratulations are in order." Her smile turned sly, daring.

Play dumb, Angel. She’s just fishing for information. Don’t fall into her trap. "Thanks," I replied, smiling brightly, parrying her leer with feigned innocence. "It was fun."

"Mmmm. I’ll just bet it was."

Oh, she’s good. "It was," I agreed. "Very . . .exciting. Stimulating, even."

Her eyes widened infinitesimally before the smug expression slid back down over her complacent features. "I heard you were . . .quite good. With a very fluid stroke."

I narrowed my eyes. "Yes, well, I’ve been doing it since I was a young girl."

"A young girl, eh?"

"Oh yes. I have lots of experience, you know. Don’t let these innocent looks fool you, Corinne."

"Lots of experience, you say?"

"Indeed. Just ask around. There are plenty of women here who’d be happy to prove my point."

We looked at one another for a long beat of silence before both breaking out in gales of laughter. I laughed so hard that tears ran down my face in buckets. It provided an excellent release of the sexual tension that had been building since I’d woken up that morning.Not quite how I wanted to release the tension, mind you, but it would do. For starters.

When we both managed to calm down, Corinne dragged herself out of her chair and came over to me, bearing the sheaf of newspapers I’d requested. Setting them down in front of me, she took the chair next to mine and lowered herself into it. "My apologies for teasing you, Angel. Though you certainly have learned to give as good as you get. It’s just that you have this sort of glow about you this morning and I have the feeling it’s from more than just winning a softball game."

I patted her hand as I looked into her solemn eyes. "Corinne, I don’t think it’s any surprise to you that I’m in love with Ice." At her nod, I continued. "Well, yesterday I found out that she feels the same way about me. So, if you see a glow about me, let’s just say it’s been well earned and leave it at that, ok?"

Her smile, this one almost one a proud parent might bestow a favored child, reappeared on her face and she nodded. "Fair enough, Angel. Fair enough." She gestured to the stack of newspapers lying before me. "So, what of these? I thought you’d already given them a good going over. What more do you hope to find?"

"I don’t know, exactly. But there’s got to be something here. Something I’m missing." A week earlier, Ice had given me permission to share the full story of Cavallo and his cohorts with Corinne and I did so without hesitation. I was bound and determined to see justice done against Morrison and Cavallo, and to see it served well before Ice had the chance to do anything damaging to herself and her soul. Corinne, with her wisdom and street-smarts, was a perfect compatriot in my quest.

I looked up at my friend. "Corinne, do you think I’m doing the right thing? I know Ice wants to handle this herself and I know I’m kinda prying here, but . . . ." I sighed. "I just don’t want to see her get hurt."

Corinne looked back at me, compassion in her eyes, knowing I was talking about far more than mere physical injuries. "A little digging won’t hurt matters any, Angel. But if you get to the point where action’s needed, you’d best speak with her first before doing anything. She doesn’t take well to betrayals. Even if they’re supposedly in her own best interest." She finished the last with a pointed look and I read the message clearly.

Taking in a deep breath, I let it out slowly, my eyes scanning over the newsprint that I’d already studied a dozen times over. Logic warred with my heart. My heart won. I eyed Corinne. "Looking can’t hurt anything. I promise, if I find anything, I’ll go to Ice with it, alright?"

My friend smiled. "It’s not me you need to be promising that to, Angel."

Chagrinned, I nodded. "Yeah, I know. And I will. Take it to her, I mean. When I’ve found something worth mentioning. Until then . . . ." Running a hand through my hair, I set out, once again, to try and read between the lines of the text, scanning every inch for a clue well hidden. "If I could only get a hold of the trial transcripts," I half-muttered, more to myself than anyone.

I didn’t see the brief smile that crossed Corinne’s lined face as she pushed herself away from the table and returned to her desk.

*  *  *

With a strangled moan, I collapsed down on top of Ice, snuggling into her strong, sweaty frame as I tried to regain control of my breathing. Withdrawing her hands from their pleasurable task, she enfolded me in an embrace and pulled the sheet up to cover my naked body from any prying eyes that should happen to be about.

Making love in Ice’s cell hadn’t been my first choice, but when I’d come up there to visit with my new lover, one thing quickly led to another and soon any cares of being spied upon were swept away in the rising tide of our passion. I lay smiling on my human mattress, listening to the music of Ice’s heart as it gradually slowed its frantic beating and feeling warm tingles that spread though my spent body in time to her tender stroking of my hair and upper back.

I had found a haven in this hell, or, more accurately, a Heaven. It was here, in the all-encompassing embrace of the woman I loved, surrounded by sure strength and the perfume of clean sweat and musky arousal. My very pores were open wide, drinking it in, fusing it to me in a primal mating of the senses. My eyes fluttered closed and I rested in a cocoon of love.

Sometime later, I woke up out of a wonderful dream and immediately flushed with embarrassment as the living reality of my situation filtered down through my sleep-fuzzed senses. Lifting my head slightly, I wiped a bit of drool from Ice’s warm chest. Her low laugh sounded as she tousled my hair affectionately. "God, I am so sorry," I mumbled, struggling to pull away from her in my mortification of falling asleep on her. Literally. "I must be crushing you."

Her arms gave no quarter as she pulled me back down on top of her. "Relax. You didn’t do anything wrong, Angel."

"I fell asleep!"

"So?"

"I . . .well . . . . I . . .um . . .I’ve never done that before."

Her laugh sounded once again. "Then I’ll take it as a compliment."

"Yeah, but it wasn’t very fair to you."

Her hand slipped down and tilted my chin up to meet her gaze. "Angel, let me decide what is and isn’t fair to me, alright?" She sealed her statement with a kiss that drove away embarrassment still lingering within me. Pulling away after a long, wonderful moment, she playfully tapped me on the end of my nose. "I love you, Angel. And if you wanna fall asleep on me, that’s perfectly alright with me." Her grin turned rakish. "As long as you don’t do it while we’re otherwise engaged."

I snorted. "Morgan Steele, if I live to be a hundred, I will never, I repeat never fall asleep on you while we’re otherwise engaged."

When the laugh I expected didn’t materialize, I looked up into Ice’s stormy eyes, my heart clenching at the look of desolation I saw there. Easing myself up her body, I reached out to gently cup her cheek and turn her head to face me. "Ice? What’s wrong? Did I say something . . . ?"

Ice tightened her embrace around me. I could hear her throat working as she tried to put whatever emotions were running through her head into words. I caressed her cheek again, offering whatever support I had to give and praying to any god who would listen to give her the strength to open up to me.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, she turned her head completely toward me and pressed a kiss to my forehead. Then she pulled away slightly, looking down into my eyes, her own completely open and unguarded. "It’s nothing really. It’s just that . . . ." her throat worked again as she swallowed, "your talking about being old and gray makes me realize all over again how this, what we have, will only last for a short time."

"I don’t understand, Ice. What do you mean?"

She smiled sadly. "Angel, there’s gonna come a time in the near future when you’re gonna be able to walk out of this dump. And don’t think that I don’t wish every day for that to happen. And when it does, you’ll be free and I’ll be . . .here," she finished with a whisper.

As I looked at her, many ways to answer this came to mind. My spirited heart overruled the others and made me speak the words closest to it. "Then why don’t you fight it?"

"What?"

"You heard me, Ice. You’re in here for a murder you didn’t commit. You know that. I know that. The warden knows that. For God’s sake, Josephina knew it and she died for it."

"I know all this, Angel. I’m living it, remember?"

"Yes, Ice, I do remember. What I wanna know is why you won’t fight it. And don’t give me the ‘because I belong here’ routine, either. I didn’t buy it then and I’m not gonna buy it now."

She stiffened, as if about to push me away, but I grabbed her hard and held on. "No, Ice. You’re not running away this time. I won’t let you. I know you’ve killed, Ice. I’ve got that down pat already. I know you feel guilty about what you’ve done. That’s patently obvious to anyone with half a brain. What I don’t get, no matter how often I think about it, is how someone who is so strong and so courageous can just lie down and roll over without putting up any fight at all! You were framed, Ice! You were betrayed by someone you thought you could trust and cut off from people you considered your family! Certainly that has got to be worth something to you!"

Ice’s eyes, so warm and tender during out lovemaking, became cold and stony as an arctic beach. Her face was set in grim lines and I could practically feel the anger radiating from her tense body.

"I don’t want to talk about this right now, Angel." Her voice held a clear note of warning.

I refused to be cowed, though I well knew exactly how much danger I was in. I could feel her heart pound strongly beneath my breast but I continued to keep hold of her. It was like trying to harness a lightening bolt, but I was nothing if not determined. "I know you don’t want to talk about it, Ice. You never want to talk about it. But I have news for you. It’s not going away. This self flagellation kick you’re on is not going to take care of the problem. You need to do something. If not for yourself, then do it for Josephina."

Her eyes narrowed, blue flame licking out and burning through me. "I intend to do something, Angel." Her voice was a deathly purr.

"How? Through murder?"

Her smile was death itself. "That’s right. It’s who I am. Remember?"

"It’s not who you are, Ice. It’s not. You can fight this through legal avenues. If Josephina knew, that means Salvatore did as well. And who knows who he told? And Morrison knows too! There’s a whole slew of people who know the truth, Ice. Demand your case be reopened!"

"Like you did?"

I stiffened against her. "What?"

"You heard me, Angel. You’re no more guilty of your crime than I am of mine. Yet you sit here while your own case gets moldy in some file drawer somewhere. Tell me, Angel, why are you so hot on me getting my case reopened when you left yours to die?"

Stunned, I could only look at her for a long span of moments. Logically, what she said in some ways made perfect sense. In my mind and heart, I knew I was no more guilty of murder than of jay-walking, yet I never once thought to appeal my case. And, if I were being totally honest with myself, it was because . . . . "Ice, my husband died because of me. I crushed his skull with a baseball bat."

"While he was raping you, Angel. It’s not like he came home drunk one night and you clubbed him to keep him from waking up the neighbors. It was self defense! You don’t belong in jail for that."

Releasing my grip on Ice, I slid from her body, lying between her and the cool concrete wall.

"Now who’s running, Angel?"

"I’m not running, Ice. I’m right here. I just need to think."

"About what? The facts are plain to see. We’re both in the same boat here."

"No we’re not. Not really. I’m here because my husband is dead and I killed him. I pled self-defense, but a jury of my peers decided otherwise. You didn’t kill that man, Ice. In fact, when you found out who he was, you refused to kill him. There’s a big difference between our situations and you know it."

"Is there? We’re both here for a crime we didn’t commit. Your husband is dead, yes. You killed him, yes. But you didn’t commit a crime."

After a long moment of silence between us, I looked back up at her. "I’ll try if you will."

"Angel . . . ."

"Ice . . . ."

"Angel, listen. Please. You have a chance. I don’t. Look at this logically. You have the word of a prison warden who’s managed to get a bunch of powerful people elected in this state. And against him, you have the word of a convicted murderer, a psychotic inmate, a dead woman, and a Mafia don. They’ll laugh the case right out of court. Can’t you just accept my word that I’ll handle this in my own way?"

"I want you to try to do it the right way, Ice. The legal way. Just sign a note to obtain your trial transcripts. I’ll even write it for you if you want. It can’t hurt anything for you to just look them over, can it?"

"You’re really passionate about this, aren’t you?" Her eyes held a slight hint of incredulity.

"Yes, I am. Will you do it?"

For a long time, I didn’t think she was going to answer me. I contented myself with watching the fascinating interplay of emotions as they crossed through her almost colorless eyes. Finally, her white teeth flashed as she bit her lower lip. She sighed. "Fine. I’ll do it. But if they’re released, which I doubt, I look at them first, deal?"

I grinned so broadly that I though my face would split in two from the force of it. "Deal."

"And you try and get yours too. I’m not going through this alone."

After a moment, I nodded. "Alright. Though I don’t think I’ll find . . . ."

She silenced me with a kiss. When it ended, I’d forgotten what I was going to say as my hormones played etch-a-sketch with my thoughts.

"Fight over?" she asked, a touch of amusement in her voice.

"Yes."

"Good. Cause I can think of a couple things I’d rather be doing right now."

The rest of the evening melted away in a haze of absolute bliss.

*  *  *

"You’re sure you don’t have them."

"Positive Ma’am. I’ve checked and rechecked the files. Nothing with that name or docket number shows up here. As I’ve told you before, Ma’am, you need to call the Hall of Records. We don’t usually keep court transcripts here unless there’s an active appeal."

"I’ve called the Hall of Records. I’ve written the Hall of Records. They keep sending me to you!"

"I’m sorry for the inconvenience, Ma’am, but as I said, I really can’t help you here. Perhaps you might think about putting in a call to the District Attorney’s office?"

"I’ll . . .think about it. Thanks for your help."

"Sorry I couldn’t do more, Ma’am. Goodbye."

"Bye."

Stonewalled. Again. Frustrated beyond words, I slammed the phone back down on its hook so hard that the bell jangled back at me in outrage. Running my hand through my tangled hair, I spun away from the wall so quickly that I almost managed to knock Corinne, out in the prison square on a brief sojourn from her library, flat on her keister.

"Struck out again, huh?" she asked as she adroitly avoided our near-collision.

"Yeah," I replied, resisting the urge to rip my hair out of my skull just to relieve the pent up frustration. "The newest suggestion is to call the DA’s office."

"That might be a possibility."

"Not one I’m ready to explore yet, Corinne. I’d rather keep that particular office out of the loop for the time being. No telling what would come up if they found out Ice has a sudden interest in her case, if you know what I mean."

"All too well, unfortunately." She slipped a hand through the crook of my arm, tugging slightly. "Come on back with me to the library. I think you’ve given our friends enough of the ‘Angel blows her cool’ show for one day, don’t you?"

I looked around for the first time, noting the interested gazes of my fellow prisoners, and just managed to keep the blush from coloring my cheeks. "Alright. Not much more I can do today anyway."

When we arrived in the library, I threw myself down into my chair as Corinne busied herself at the hotplate. It had been two of the most frustrating months of my life. It began simply enough. I had typed up a letter requesting access to the transcripts in Ice’s name and brought it up to her for her signature. To my surprise, she signed it with little fuss and even wished me luck, though with an expression that was a hair short of patronizing.

Ignoring the look, I happily went about my business, sending the letter away and waiting for a response. I received one, two weeks later. It appeared I had forgotten to put the docket number on the letter and the records could not be found using the case name. After several phone calls, I was able to track down the docket number and so sent another letter. That came back saying I was missing some other important piece of information. And so on and so on, world without end. Amen.

When I finally got a letter off that had all the required information in the required fields with the required names and the required numbers, I received a phone call from a very nice woman who kindly informed me that she had no record of either the case name or the docket number in her files. She then told me that perhaps it was better if I spoke to someone in the Hall of Justice and gave me the name and number of some clerk or other who might be able to help me find what I was looking for.

I would have done my mother proud with my utter politeness, disguising as it was the fits of apoplexy I was undergoing at the time. Back and forth I went, talking to one low-level clerk after another, all without success. Like the Dodo bird, Ice’s court transcript seemed to have vanished from the face of the earth.

When a mug of steaming tea was slid in front of my face, I broke out of my frustrated musings, smiling as I breathed in the bracing aroma. Lifting the mug to my lips, I took a grateful swallow, then almost spit it right back up again when the hard burn of a strong liquor hit my stomach. I turned a hard-eyed look at Corinne, who grinned at me, totally unrepentant.

"Don’t tell me you’re a teetotaler, Angel."

"No. It’s not that, really. I just wasn’t expecting it." And that was the truth, as far as that went. As for the other, liquor and I usually didn’t cross paths. On the few occasions I was allowed it at my parents’ table, I hadn’t liked the taste very much. Plus, you must remember that I lived with a man for whom liquor was a cruel mistress. Seeing its effect on Peter didn’t make me want to run for the bottle any time soon.

"Yes, well I thought you could do with some unwinding." She saluted me with her own mug. "Cheers."

I returned the salute. "Thanks." Taking another, smaller, sip, I was pleased when the warmth of the tea and liquor settled in my stomach pleasantly, loosening some of the tension that had accumulated during a totally fruitless day.

"How goes your own hunt, Angel?" Corinne asked.

"That was the easy part," I responded, continuing to sip my tea. "I won’t see the transcripts for at least another four months though."

"Four months?"

"Yeah. Apparently there’s a real backlog in the Hall of Records. Something about state cutbacks and the lack of transcriptionists. She offered to put a ‘rush’ on it, but four months was the earliest she could offer me." I shrugged. "What choice did I have? I took it."

I looked up to find my friend looking speculatively at me. "What?" I asked.

"The fact that you’re having trouble finding Ice’s records wouldn’t have anything to do with this laissez faire attitude you’ve adopted toward your own, would it?"

Setting my mug down, I narrowed my eyes at her. "One has nothing to do with the other, Corinne. If you remember, I haven’t given a thought to my own case since I came here, and that was well before I met Ice."

Corinne must have found what she was searching for as we continued to lock gazes because she finally blinked and looked down, nodding slightly. I won’t hesitate to say that I found more than a bit of pride in finally winning a stare-down with the woman. It may have taken almost two years to prove to her that I had some strength of will, but it finally happened, and for that, I congratulated myself with another swig of the potent tea. My limbs tingled pleasingly as my heart pumped the alcohol through my system. The tension started to dissolve away and I could fully understand, at least in part, why the bottle seemed a savior to so many.

The rest of the afternoon passed in pleasant conversation with Corinne and the other visitors to her library home. When I next looked at the clock, it was coming on dinnertime. Dragging myself out of my chair, I extended my good-byes and headed back toward the prison proper, hoping to catch Ice as she made her way back from her day at the auto shop.

I was just about to step into the brightly lit main square from the hallway when an arm wrapped itself around my waist and tugged, pulling me backwards into one of the utility closets that shared hallway space with the library. The liquor I’d drunk dulled my reaction time slightly, but I was able to thrust an elbow back toward my captor, though I managed to hit nothing but the handle of a mop sitting in an old bucket in the corner.

Rubbing my smarting crazybone (and really, is there anything that hurts worse, save for stubbing your toe or getting a paper cut?), I tried to use the rest of my body to struggle against the arm which held me trapped. The grip loosened somewhat and I whirled, teeth bared, ready, willing and able to show my abductor exactly what an Amazon named Angel could do in close quarters.

The skills I wound up using were quite different than the ones I’d intended.

Soft lips covered my own, their taste one with which I was intimately, wonderfully acquainted. Melting into the body of my captor-cum-lover, I returned the kiss with the fervor of new love too long apart. Our deepening breaths seemed to suck up all the air in the small room and all too soon we broke apart, though I continued to caress Ice’s body in random patterns, happy again to feel her against me.

She squirmed away, slightly. "Hey! No fair!"

I looked up from my happy task toward her upraised palms. They were black with grease and dirt from her work in the shop. I’m afraid a quite evil grin mirrored my thoughts as I moved back in against her, pulling her zipper down just slightly and feasting on the flesh beneath.

"Angel . . . ."

The moaning, breathless quality of the admonition rendered her attempted warning moot. "Mmmm?" I mumbled around a mouthful of succulent flesh.

"Unless you wanna walk through the prison to the tune of snickering inmates ‘cause you have two big black handprints on your ass, I’d suggest you let me take a shower first."

Laughing, I pulled away only slightly, still remaining within striking distance. "I’m only practicing my counter-attack maneuvers, Ice," I said with a voice innocent as a newborn’s. "Are they working?"

"Oh yeah."

"Good. I think I’ll add them to my repertoire. What do you think?"

"You’d better not."

"Oh? Why is that?"

"Because then you’ll have every woman in the prison wanting to ‘fight’ you."

I laughed again. "And that would be a bad thing . . .how?"

Mirroring my laugh, she leaned down and playfully nipped my nose. "Because they’ll have to get through me first, and I have a very strict ‘three broken arms a month’ policy. You wouldn’t want me to have to up my quota on your account, would you?" In the feeble light cast by the hallway, I could see her eyebrow arch as a grin played around her eyes.

Sighing in mock frustration, I pulled further away and obediently returned her zipper to its original position, primly patting her chest after I was done. "I suppose not."

"Good answer."

"I was on my way up to say hello before I was so wonderfully detained." Straightening, I executed a half bow, crooking my arm gallantly. "Would you do me the honor of dining with me at Chez Dump tonight? I’ve heard a rumor that the mystery meat might even be recognizable this evening."

"Sounds like a plan. Give me some time to grab a shower and I’ll meet you outside the cafeteria, alright?"

"Will do." Standing on my toes, I kissed her quickly, then turned and left before that mischievous streak she always seemed to bring out wound up with me needing to change uniforms.

*  *  *

The mystery meat remained a mystery as I finished off the last bite, wincing slightly as it stuck to the inside of my throat, dry as dust. We were sitting at a corner table with Critter who’d just come in, bearing a piece of paper and a big grin. "What’s the smile for, Critter?" I asked, taking a big slug of lukewarm milk to wash the rest of the meat down.

"My first parole hearing’s next week. Isn’t that great?"

Standing up, I hugged my friend, then kissed her cheek. "That’s wonderful news! You nervous?"

She shrugged, then nodded. "Yeah, a little," she admitted.

Grinning, I patted her shoulder affectionately. "You’ll do great. Don’t worry."

Critter had served five years for an ‘assault with a deadly weapon’ charge, coupled with ‘breaking and entering’. The weapon in question was a brick that she’d used to break through the glass door of a local convenience store to grab some liquor. She’d made the mistake of retrieving the brick after she’d made entrance into the darkened store, and the sight of her, ‘weapon’ in hand, scared the elderly proprietor, who’d just finished closing up, into a massive heart attack. Emergency surgery saved her from a manslaughter rap and the proprietor from a date with a harp and white robe.

From the stories I’d heard, she’d grown up a lot in prison, from a street-smart young punk with a taste for booze into the beautiful and wise young woman that sat grinning across from me.

The rest of what passed for dinner went pleasantly, with Critter and I engaging in spirited conversation and Ice listening and contributing as she desired. Corinne’s killer tea was still spreading its warm tendrils through my veins and I suspect I was a bit more animated than usual.

Finally, I wiped my mouth with a cheap paper napkin and looked to Ice, who nodded slightly, then rose and bore our dishes off to be washed by the kitchen help. Critter and I stood up as well and she tipped a wink at me, which in turn caused me to flush furiously. Grinning, she clapped my shoulder, waved, and left the cafeteria, humming off key to herself.

Ice returned, cocking an eyebrow at my slowly retreating color.

"It’s . . .um . . .nothing."

She let it go. "Where to now?"

"How about a walk? Whatever we just ate has transformed itself into a ball in my stomach."

"A walk it is. Shall we?"

"Let’s."

*  *  *

I rested my head on the flat plane of Ice’s lower abdomen, savoring the taste of her on my lips as my fingers traced idle patterns on one muscled thigh. Her hand released its death grip on my hair as she relaxed, stretching slightly.

After a moment, her husky voice filtered down to my ears. "Well, you’re certainly in a good mood this evening."

"Mmmm," I agreed, kissing the sweat-salty skin beneath my lips. "Just being near you, especially in my current position, does that to me." I grinned. "Of course, Corinne’s magic elixir didn’t hurt any."

Ice’s hand returned to my hair, tugging to bend my reluctant neck up to meet her gaze. "’Magic elixir’?"

"Yup. Two-hundred proof and good to the last drop." I licked my lips. "Sorta like you."

Releasing my hair, Ice groaned and flopped back onto the pillow once again. "And why did Corinne feel the need to get you drunk?"

"She wasn’t trying to get me drunk. Just . . .relaxed."

"And why did you need relaxing?"

I sighed. "Another fruitless round of ‘find the transcript’."

"Well, I won’t say I told you so," she replied drolly.

"How very big of you."

"I do try."

"Hmmmph."

A very comfortable, warm silence settled over us as my drowsy eyes idly scanned the room, not remembering quite how my jumpsuit managed to get tossed across the room to land, one sleeve draped over an outstretched limb of the Freedom of Power bonsai. I squinted as my eyes alit on something, like my uniform, that hadn’t been there the last time I’d been in Ice’s cell. Sitting against one of the other trees was the photograph I’d looked at when Ice had been in the hole.

This, most definitely, was an opportunity too big to pass up. Problem was how to introduce the topic without letting on that I’d already seen the picture in question. With the coming on of fall, I decided to go with the football analogy of an ‘end around’. "Ice, what is that?"

Her body shifted slightly as she looked around the room. "What is what?"

"That," I pointed, "the picture near your bonsai. Is that your family?"

I could feel her body stiffen beneath me and I held my breath, hoping I hadn’t again pushed things too far. After a long moment, she finally relaxed and I started breathing again in relief. "Yeah," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "That’s my mother, father, and Boomer."

I snorted against her belly. "Boomer?"

And received a light slap on the head for my sacrilege. "I was five at the time, if you must know."

"Oh I must. I must."

That earned me a hair ruffle, which I leaned into with pleasure. After a moment, I decided to push a little further. "Do you mind if I get a closer look?"

"You will anyway, so go ahead."

Grinning at her tone of melodramatic long-suffering, I slipped out of the bed, wrapping the sheet around my naked body and leaving Ice to lounge in nude splendor on the bottom sheet as I walked over to the table and picked up the photograph. As I turned back, the sight of her long, tan, gloriously naked body sprawled out on the white sheet, her dark hair fanned out on the pillow and her normally pale eyes darkened with residual eroticism, made my body hum again with need.

Unwrapping the sheet from around my body, I climbed on the bed to straddle her waist, then allowed the cloth to drape, tent-like, over my shoulders, shrouding us both in a field of white. "The interrogation can wait," I growled, leaning down to capture her lips in a fierce kiss which sparked the burning embers of my passion into a roaring bonfire once again.

*  *  *

Some time later, I sat, once again wrapped in the sheet, leaning against Ice’s shoulder as I looked down at the black and white photograph now laying in my lap. "Tell me about them?"

Her breath tickled the hair at my ear as she turned her head to look down at the picture. "Nothing much to tell, really. Alexander, my father, was a chemical engineer at DuPont. My mother was a mezzo-soprano with the Baltimore Opera Company."

I turned wide eyes to her. "Your mother was an opera singer? I love opera!"

Ice shrugged. "Yeah. She was pretty good."

I snorted. "’Pretty good’ she says. Forgive me for saying so, but you’re probably the type who looks at a Picasso and shudders, aren’t you."

"What can I say? I’m not exactly the artistic type."

"Oh, you’re not are you," I replied with a knowing grin as I looked over at the beauty of the bonsai sitting complacently on the table.

As I turned back, I swore I could see the faintest trace of a blush on her bronzed cheeks but wisely neglected to mention it as her face resumed its business-like mask. She shrugged again. "Anyway, I wouldn’t know. She gave it up after she had me. Said she wanted to be a full-time mother and that was that." A small, almost shy, smile cracked the somber façade. "She could hum a mean lullaby, though."

"What about your dad?"

"My dad? He couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket."

Groaning, I thumped my back against her shoulder. "That’s not what I mean and you know it. What was he like? What kind of a man was he?"

"Uh . . .manly?"

"Ice . . . ."

"Angel, listen. It’s kinda hard to talk about this, alright? I only took the picture out yesterday. I was hoping you wouldn’t spy it quite so fast."

Biting my bottom lip, I nodded, understanding her gentle rebuke for what it was. "I’m sorry, Ice. I didn’t mean to push."

"You’re not pushing. I just need to be able to tell this in my own way, at my own pace, alright?"

I smiled warmly at her. "No problem. We can continue this another time if you want."

"No, that’s alright. Just give me a minute here." Shifting on the bed, she pulled me in close once again, nestling my head against her neck and laying her cheek atop my hair. Then she took the picture from me and laid it on her own lap, the very edge of her thumb brushing over the static figure of the tall, handsome man who was her father. "My father was a good man. Hyper intelligent, but very easy going and friendly. I don’t think there was a person in the world who didn’t like him once they got to know him." I could feel her smile against my hair. "He probably should have gone into sales or politics, but instead he worked Research and Development at DuPont.

"He was also passionate about sports, especially the local teams. He had season tickets to watch the Colts play and even managed to score two Super Bowl tickets to watch Unitas get outfoxed by Namath. I was with him that day." Her voice grew slightly wistful. "It was one of the best days I can remember having, even though we lost."

"Sounds like a really special time," I remarked, more than a trace of wistfulness present in my own voice. I had spent most of my childhood aching for such a relationship with my own father. "How about your mother? Was she . . .jealous over your closeness to your father?"

She laughed. "Jealous? No, not exactly. She was an Orioles fan, with season tickets of her very own. She’d take me to some of the night games. I even got to hear her sing the National Anthem before a couple of ‘em."

I straightened, gape jawed. "Your mother actually sang the Star Spangled Banner before baseball games?"

"Yeah. Her voice sounded really strange, echoing through the stadium. It was an . . .interesting experience, to say the least. I used to have a bunch of signed memorabilia from them. You know, jerseys, mitts, balls, bats," she shrugged, "stuff like that."

There was a moment of silence as she looked down at the photograph as if seeing into a past long buried. "She was a pretty soft touch as mothers went. Pretty much let me try my hand at anything I was interested in, as long as it wouldn’t get me in trouble with the law." Her laugh this time was slightly bitter. "Bet she’s rolling over in her grave about now. Her and my dad both."

I wanted so badly to tell her what she already knew. That if her parents were still alive, chances were excellent that Ice would never have done the things she did to wind up here. But I decided to keep my own council on the subject, hoping that by sharing more of this life with me, she’d eventually figure it out on her own.

"About the only thing she insisted on was voice lessons. Said that the human voice was God’s instrument and you’d best keep it well tuned and not risk pissing Him off sometime down the road."

I shuddered with the memory of my mother forcing me to take deportment lessons for almost the exact same reason. "Did you hate them?"

"Nah. They weren’t so bad. I suppose it could have been worse, if I’d been born with a voice like my father’s. I was lucky, though. Singing came naturally to me, though I hated all things opera. Still do."

Tilting my chin up to meet her eyes, I smiled. "Maybe I can hear you sing sometime?"

She returned my smile with a little quirk of her lips. "Maybe."

Satisfied, I returned my head to its place burrowed against the warm skin of her neck. "How did your parents meet?" Not able to resist, I took a gentle bite of her sweet flesh, grinning as I felt a minute shudder pass down her body. Pressing a kiss into the mark I’d made, I felt her heart pick up its pace beneath my palm.

She shifted against me. "Keep this up, Angel, and you’re never gonna hear the story."

If it had been any other story, the choice would have been an easy one. Ever since our first ‘real’ time together, my body had been in a constant state of sexual arousal. Just the smell of her would turn my insides into flaming gelatin and right now, I was surrounded by her heady, exotic scent.

The more logical part of my mind, however, reminded me that if I gave into my body’s demands, I would more than likely have to wait months for the chance to question her on this topic again. If, indeed, that chance ever came. With Ice, nothing was ever a sure thing.

Lassoing my hormones, I pulled slightly back from temptation. "Alright, I’ll be good. For now. More story, please?"

Leaning in, she gave me a kiss, then pulled away, resting her head against the wall. "Unlike me, my father loved the opera, as did his fiancée at the time. My mother’s company was putting on their rendition of Massenet’s ‘Werther’, and she was singing Charlotte. To hear him tell it, from the moment my mother walked on till the time she left the stage before the final curtain, he didn’t have eyes for another living being."

"God, that is so romantic!"

"Yeah, well my father’s fiancée didn’t think so. After the show was over, he dragged her backstage to meet my mother. She might have been a piece of lint on the carpet for all the attention he paid to her after that point."

"Did your mother feel the same way when she met him? Smitten, I mean?"

"Oh yeah. She said that when she looked into my father’s eyes, someone she knew was looking back, even though she’d never met him before." Ice laughed. It sounded almost frightened. "All my life, I never knew what that meant. Until now."

When this kiss connected, it was almost a carbon copy of the first we’d ever shared. Images flitted though my mind too quick for me to follow, but I knew, down deep in my soul, that we were connected on a level far deeper than mere surface attraction. There was something elemental and bedrock in what we shared, something both primitive and new and ageless at its very foundations.

It was not a kiss of passion, though it was indeed passionate. It was a kiss of healing and of home. If the ancient sages were right and we did spend our lives searching for the other half of our souls, I had found mine in almost as deep a pit of hell as it was possible to go and still be able to struggle to the surface intact and alive.

When it ended, I collapsed against her, weak and spent, yet filled with strength and energy, as if I had connected with some elemental force that nourishes the soul and relieves the heart of its heavy burdens.

My voice was very definitely plaintive as I asked my next question. "More?"

Ice chuckled. "Of what? The kiss or the story?"

"Mmmm. How about both?"

"Nope," she teased, "one or the other."

"Oh alright. The story then. I’ll always be able to get kisses out of you."

"Ya think so, huh?"

"I know so."

"Hmm. I’ll remember that." She tightened her grip around my waist once again. "Let’s see, where were we? Ah yes, the meeting. Well, after the girlfriend left in a huff, they sat and talked until the opera house closed for the evening. After that, they had what my mother called a ‘scandalously short’ courtship. Two months. The scandal came in because of the fact that the ex-fiancé’s father was a noted patron of the arts and wasn’t very happy to hear that his daughter had been dumped like yesterday’s trash by the side of the road while someone who’s career he funded made off with the goods."

"You have such a way with words, Ice," I snickered.

"Yeah, well in many ways, I’m my father’s daughter. Anyway, after two months of dating, they got married, bought a new house, and a year afterwards, had me."

"It sounds like they loved one another very much."

"They did. Even though they’d have a fight every now and then, even as a kid I knew they’d always be together. I know most kids don’t think their parents will ever split up, but there was just something about them that even I could notice, young as I was. It was almost like they were two halves of the same whole or something." She shrugged. "I can’t explain it any better than that."

"I think you did a great job. That describes the feeling perfectly, don’t you think?"

She smiled. "Yeah. It does."

I spent the next several silent moments trying to gather up the courage needed to take the next, obvious step. I was torn with indecision. Torn between needing to know and needing not to open up what was obviously a wound that still festered deep inside Ice’s heart.

As if reading my thoughts, her body stiffened once again and she took in a deep breath before letting it out slowly. "They got hit by a bus."

"What?"

"My parents. You were wondering how to ask me how they died. They were hit by a bus. They had driven in to DC for their anniversary to see ‘Werther’. They never made it. My mother was killed instantly. My father managed to hang on for a few days, but he never woke up. They finally decided to pull the plug."

"Oh, Ice. I’m so sorry."

"Yeah," she said quietly, wiping the tears from her eyes. "So am I."

*  *  *

Later that night, in the solitary darkness of my own cell, I lay on my back as tears wended their slow course down my cheeks, dampening my pillow. As I replayed our conversation in my mind, part of me wondered whose life had the more tragedy. Ice’s, whose family loved and doted on her and were taken away? Or mine, whose family had, at best, only tolerated me and now considered me, though still very much alive, dead in their eyes?

I cried for us both that night. For the young girls we had been and for the women we had become. For our families. For ourselves.

But within the tears of sadness there also mixed tears of joy. If new life can spring from the ashes of the old, then a new life had sprung up between us from the barren soil of our individual tragedies.

A snatch of an old lullaby I had heard in some movie or other sprung to my lips and I hummed it to myself as I fell asleep, tears slowly drying on my cheeks.

PART 10

AS DAYS TURNED into weeks, I felt my frustration level reaching new heights. Every new clue regarding the whereabouts of Ice’s transcripts led to a blind alley with no answers and little hope of finding them.

When dead end after dead end spurred fantasies of homicide, I would take a walk outside into the crisp fall air and take out my frustrations on the ever-ready punching bag. I often found myself having to share it with a disappointed Critter who had failed her first parole hearing. She had found out during the hearing that while surgery had saved the store-owner’s life, his health had never fully recovered. As months turned into years, he continued to become more and more frail. If he died as a direct result of the previous heart attack, Critter was afraid they’d add a manslaughter charge to the ones she was already serving time for. In any event, it looked as if she would have to wait yet another year for her next chance at freedom.

Pony and Sonny were on the outs over some failed love triangle and Ice was working long, enforced hours in the auto shop, breaking down and fixing up a whole slew of stolen cars designed to line the pockets of our corrupt warden.

All in all, it was not a good season for any of us, and it was about to get worse.

Frustration is a dangerous emotion in that it often leads us to make stupid mistakes in trying to relieve it. I made one such mistake and it cost me dearly.

About at the point of tearing my hair out in frustration, I finally gave in to Corinne’s oft-repeated suggestion of allowing an investigative reporter friend snoop around a little to see what he could find. All previous suggestions of this sort had been rebuffed by me with the knowledge that many reporters of this type are greedy bastards who will stop at nothing to blow the lid off a big story if they can find one. This was one story I didn’t want to be taken public.

Corinne promised me that she had so much dirt on this man that he wouldn’t dare act against her wishes or he’d find himself ruined both personally and professionally. After what seemed the hundredth time of hearing the same suggestions and the same arguments, I was finally at the point where I’d either tell her to stuff it or to go with it. I chose the second option.

The next two weeks crawled by with semi-regular reports from the man who called himself ‘Slim Jim’ for reasons I’m sure I don’t want to know. And those reports didn’t tell me anything I didn’t know already; that there appeared to be a cover-up of some kind regarding Ice’s court transcripts. His contacts within the justice system were rebuffing his overtures with uncharacteristic stoniness and he sensed something big was going on behind the scenes. Something he couldn’t possibly be expected to uncover given the strict ground-rules I’d laid out for him. Though I understood the hint, I didn’t rise to the bait and left the man grumbling but determined to crack what could well be the case of a lifetime.

I was beginning to become seriously concerned that this man’s innate greed for a big story would outweigh whatever dirty little secrets Corinne had on him and had finally come to the decision to tell her to call off her dog.

I sat in the library, rehearsing my arguments in my mind, knowing Corinne would use all the verbal charm at her disposal to talk me out of this decision. Against my better judgement, I had bowed to her formidable will once already and didn’t want to do so again. This was too important to me.

As I opened my mouth to speak, another voice interrupted before the first sound exited my lips. "Angel, may I speak with you for a moment?"

I turned to see Ice filling the doorway, her face an expressionless mask that usually denoted anger and her eyes cold as her prison name. I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. I looked over to Corinne for support, but found her staring at Ice as well, her own face showing trepidation, an expression I’d never before seen on her. Turning back to my lover, I nodded. "Yeah, sure."

Taking a deep breath, I pushed myself away from the table and out of my chair, trying to control the shakiness in my muscles as I made my way across the library and out into the hallway. Ice led me halfway down the dimly lit hall before stopping and turning so that my back was against the wall, her presence looming over me. "This stops now."

"Um . . .excuse me?"

Her hand flung out, palm up. "This . . .investigation . . .of my missing files. You’re in way over your head on this one and everything is about one step from tumbling down all around you. I must have been out of my mind for agreeing to this in the first place."

"But, Ice . . . ."

"No, Angel. No, you listen to me. Call off whatever dogs you’ve got riding on this and close it down. Now."

"Ice . . . ."

Her hands came down and clamped painfully on my shoulders. "Now, Angel. Do us both a favor and back off." Releasing my shoulders, she glared at me for a moment more before turning on her heel and stalking off, leaving me to stand and stare after her retreating form, totally stunned.

A sound coming from the other direction caused me to whirl around. Corinne stood a few steps from the library door, looking down the long hallway. Her eyes slowly moved to meet mine. "I heard," she said in a soft voice. "And I’m sorry. I should have listened to you and not tried to bully you into something you didn’t want in the first place."

"That’s alright, Corinne. You were only trying to help."

"Regardless, this is more my fault than yours. I’ll try to explain that to her."

I snagged her arm as she walked up to me. "No. I don’t think that’s a very good idea right now. I don’t think she’s in a listening mood."

My friend dragged a hand through her gray hair. "I suppose you’re right. What should I do?"

"Get your friend on the phone and threaten him with every piece of dirt you’ve got. If that isn’t enough, make something up, but get him off that case. Please."

Corinne nodded. "That I can do." She looked at me, her gaze both apologetic and compassionate. "Will you be alright?"

"I’ll have to be, won’t I." That came out more harshly than I intended and I clasped her wrist. "I’m sorry, Corinne. That was uncalled for." I sighed. "I’ll give her a while to calm down and then go up to her cell. Maybe by then she’ll be willing to tell me what’s going on, huh?"

"Good luck," she snorted, returning my clasp before disengaging and walking back into the library to carry out her instructions.

"Thanks," I whispered after she was gone. "I think I’ll need it."

As it was almost time for my assigned exercise period, I headed down the hall, intent on taking in some fresh air to soothe my troubled emotions. As I stepped out into the prison proper, Digger spotted me and loped over, excitement broadly painted on her face. "Angel, I’m glad you’re here. I need to talk to you."

"Not now, Digger. I need to get some fresh air for a bit. Maybe later, ok?"

"Please, Angel, it’s really important. I’ll even go outside with you. The guards won’t know if we stick close to the building. Please."

The sense of urgency in her eyes made me acquiesce, though I really wasn’t in the mood for company of any sort, let alone that of my shadow. "Alright, Digger," I said finally. "But just for a few minutes, ok? I’ve got a killer headache."

"Just a few minutes, I promise."

I followed her through the prison and out the door into the yard, feeling the sun on my face start to dissolve the incredible tension tying my body in knots. After taking several deep, cleansing breaths of the autumn air, I turned to Digger, eyebrows raised. "What was it you needed to talk to me about?"

"Alright. I was in the warden’s office today, cleaning up like I usually do, right? I was only there for maybe an hour when the door opens and a guard comes in leading Ice."

I turned to her, my interest fully captured. "What?"

She nodded. "It’s true! Ice looked like she was ready to tear the whole place apart, and twice as bad when she came back out! I almost peed my pants, I swear!"

"Did you hear what was said between them?"

"Some. I couldn’t get it all. People were comin’ in and out of the office and I had to be real careful ‘bout listening in, you know?"

Resisting the urge to throttle the woman for not getting to the point, I simply nodded encouragingly for her to continue.

"Anyway, she goes in and the guard leaves. Which is really surprising, cause the guards usually go in with the prisoners when they’re brought up to see the warden, ya know?"

Her plaintive look seemed to demand some response, so I forced a smile to my face. "I understand, Digger. Please continue."

"Alright. So anyway, being as I was alone for the moment, I picked up my polishing rag and went right up to the door, making like I was polishing the knob and nameplate, you know? And I heard the warden tellin’ Ice that he was on to her about somethin’. And Ice told him that she didn’t know what he was talking about. Then another guard came in, so I pretended to be working and didn’t hear anything until the guard left. When I got back to listenin’, Ice was telling the warden that she was gonna stop everything. I didn’t know what she meant, but the warden sure did, cause he started yellin at her."

"What was he saying?"

"He was yellin’ something about how she wasn’t gonna stop anything if she knew what was good for her. Said if she didn’t shape up and fly right, things were gonna start getting real bad for her. He even said that he’d make it so that her little girlfriend would get transferred to Hell’s Kitchen. I didn’t even know she had a girlfriend. Did you?"

My throat became dry again as my heart skittered in my chest. The reason behind Ice’s warning became frighteningly clear to me. Hell’s Kitchen was the nickname of another Woman’s State Prison in Pennsylvania, and rumored to be one of the most dangerous of its kind in the country. Almost every woman released from the prison either made it out in a pine box, or immeasurably changed from the experience. And not for the better.

My emotions must have shown on my face because Digger grabbed my shoulder and shook me. "Angel? Angel, are you ok? You look like you seen a ghost."

"No. No, I’m fine. Did you hear anything else?"

"No. The warden musta called for his guards, cause one came in right after that and took Ice away. Man, she sure looked like she was ready to rip someone a new asshole. And since I’m kinda partial to mine, I played like a houseplant and kinda shrunk into a corner till she left."

"Did the warden say anything after she left? Make a phone call or anything?"

Digger shrugged. "I don’t know. By that time, all I wanted to do was finish cleaning and come down and tell you what I heard. I figured with you and Ice being friends and all, maybe you’d know what was goin’ on." She looked toward the fence, where the guards were looking down from the towers. "I’d better get goin’. Don’t wanna get in trouble for being out here. Talk to ya later?"

"Yeah . . .sure, Digger. See you later."

She grinned and waved. "Bye, Angel."

"Bye, Digger."

Turning from the doorway, I slowly walked across the yard and up to the fence protecting the outside world from me. My thoughts were a clutter racing amok in my mind like a dog chasing its tail. It wasn’t hard to fill in the missing spots in the conversation between Morrison and Ice. The warden had obviously found out about the investigation into Ice’s missing transcript, which was something I had been desperately trying to avoid. He most likely called her out on it and she responded by threatening to pull her contributions from his little automobile laundering scheme, which in turn led to his threats toward her and her friends, myself included.

This was not what I had in mind when I begged Ice to at least look into the possibility of reopening her case. In hindsight, her warnings to me on this very topic were crystal clear. Why I hadn’t heard them at the time I’ll never know, but I didn’t. My mind was on the injustice she’d suffered, sparked by her sadness that we wouldn’t always be together.

I’ve always been somewhat of a crusader. It’s been part of my nature since I was very young and making up plans to free the dogs from the local humane society. I’d thought, however, that I’d gotten over the ‘leap before you look’ philosophy while still a girl. Apparently, I needed to study up a bit more because I’d obviously blown it, big time.

Threading my fingers through the links, I rested my forehead against the cool metal, trying to come up with a way to make things better. Ice had every right to be angry, though she had agreed to my attempting to get her records. Still, I hadn’t told her that I’d given in to Corinne’s suggestion about using her reporter friend to help with the search. And I had no doubt that that was what brought the whole matter to a head.

I was deep in my thoughts when Sonny approached, laying a compassionate hand on my shoulder. "Are you alright, Angel? Was Digger bothering you?"

Swallowing back the tears in my throat, I pasted a semblance of a smile on my face and turned to her. "I’m ok. And no, Digger wasn’t bothering me. She just had some news to share with me."

"Was it about Ice? I saw her coming in from the warden’s office looking like she was ready to kill someone."

Not trusting myself to speak, I nodded in affirmation.

"Shit. Is there anything I can do to help? Maybe get together with the others?"

"No. Thank you though. This is something I need to work out with Ice."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

Sonny squeezed my shoulder, smiling slightly. "Alright then. You know where to look if you want to talk, right?"

Covering her hand with my own, I returned her smile. "I do. That means a lot to me, Sonny. Thanks."

"You mean a lot to us, Angel. Don’t forget that, alright?"

"I won’t."

Despite the gravity of the situation, or perhaps because of it, her words made me feel a little better. I hadn’t been as close to Sonny as I had been to Pony and Critter. But after the stabbing, we became friends. Beneath her somewhat rough and tumble exterior, she was a sweet, kind and caring woman who was always available to help someone in need.

Of course, she was also an armed robber, the only female in a bank and armored car robbery ring who met their demise during a botched bank hold-up. Everyone in the band was killed by the SWAT team except for her. She said that the only reason she remained alive is that at first the police thought she was a hostage and not one of the robbers. She almost got away with it too, until one of the actual hostages pointed her out as she was leaving the building.

Giving me a final pat on the back, Sonny turned and walked back to the weight area where the rest of the Amazons were congregated. As I looked out onto the black parking lot, part of me damned my insatiable curiosity, for it was what led me out to this very spot those months ago to see what Ice was looking at. If I had not walked up to this very fence, I would not have seen the warden and Ice’s betrayer, and perhaps none of this would have ever happened.

But another part of me jumped all over that maudlin thought. If I hadn’t seen what had happened in the parking lot, Ice most likely would never have taken me down to the chop shop that fateful evening when she bared her soul to me. We might never have made love in that very room.

Had I destroyed the trust she had so painstakingly given me with my zealotry? In my quest to right an injustice, had I ruined everything between us that I had fought so hard to build? I took a deep breath and mustered my courage.

There was only one way to find out.

*  *  *

Ice was sitting on her bed, back ramrod straight, her hands resting lightly on her thighs. Her feet were flat to the floor and her eyes were closed as if in meditation. The air was still around her. Even the always present hum of the fluorescents seemed subdued in her presence.

I stood there, watching her for long moments in silence, knowing somehow that she was aware of me, yet not wanting to shatter the seemingly peaceful scene. I worried at my lower lip with my teeth as I tried to stand against the signals my body was sending me to leave and not look back.

Just as I was about to give in to my panic, her eyes snapped open, bathing me in their pale blue fire. "Is there something you need?" she asked, her voice calm and uninflected.

I stayed outside the boundaries of her cell, not sure where I stood with her. The feeling was uncomfortable for me as I had considered this place a haven of sorts. What could I say to make her understand? What words could I use to make everything better? There seemed to be none adequate enough. The two secrets I held within burned me like a brand.

"Well?"

I decided to wait and hear what I was going to say with my own ears. The dam broke. "I just wanted to tell you that I heard . . .about what happened with the warden. And that . . . ." I trailed off as Ice rose to her feet, her face a mask of rage.

"I’ll kill that bastard!"

"No! Ice, wait!" Moving to block the door, I held my hands up. "It wasn’t the warden. It was . . . it was Digger. She was in the office when he called you in. She overheard some of the conversation. She was worried and so she came to talk to me about it. Honestly!"

To her credit, and my utter relief, Ice didn’t try to come through me. Instead, she narrowed her eyes. "What did she say." It wasn’t a question.

Taking a deep breath, I replayed the conversation for her as best I could, trying not to put my own spin on things in case I was wrong. As I spoke, I could see the tension gather in the long lines of her body until she fairly radiated it as if from her pores. My heart picked up in response. When my voice finally trailed off to silence, she simply stared at me, though I knew it wasn’t me she was seeing. Her hands were fisted so tightly that I could see the white of her bone pressed against the tan of her flesh.

"Ice?" I asked tentatively.

She blinked once, slowly coming back from wherever she’d gone in her rage. Her shoulders slumped slightly. "You weren’t supposed to know," she half-whispered.

I smiled a little. "I’m glad I do."

"I’m not."

Chancing it, I took a half-step closer to her, reaching out and laying a hand on her muscle-knotted forearm. "I am. I think I have a right to know when I’m being used as a Sword of Damocles to hang over your head."

That got a small smile out of her. "Only one of many swords, Angel."

I grinned back. "Maybe, but I’m just egotistical enough to believe that I’m one of the bigger ones," I teased.

"The biggest." She tipped me a ghost of a wink as the tension began to release from her body, easily felt through my fingertips.

Becoming serious once again, I gripped her arm with more fervor. "Ice, I need you to know that I’ll willingly go to Hell’s Kitchen if it means you can continue your fight to get out of this the right way."

"Your right way, Angel. Not mine. And no. I will not let that happen. As I’ve told you before, I’ll deal with Morrison in my own way and in my own time. You just concentrate on getting yourself out of this slag heap the ‘right’ way, alright?"

"Ice . . . ."

She laid a finger over my lips. "No, Angel. No more. I asked you to stop and I meant it. This is my problem. Let me deal with it. Please." Removing her finger from my lips, she gently pried away from my tight grasp on her arm, then turned back toward her bed. "I just wish I knew how he learned about it."

I felt myself color. "Um . . .about that . . . ."

She turned back to face me ever so slowly. "Yes?"

My blushed deepened, me ears burning hot with embarrassment. "Well, it was just that I was so frustrated and Corinne was so persistent and . . . .:"

"Corinne?" Her face was becoming dangerous once again.

"It wasn’t her fault!" I interjected, raising my hand again. "It was mine. I take full responsibility here."

"Spit it out, Angel. What’s going on?"

Scratching the back of my neck, I sighed, giving in to the inevitable. "Well, I was tired of getting the run around from those bureaucrats at the Hall of Records. Everywhere I looked, every letter I sent, every call I made, it was always the same thing. Nothing. I finally got so frustrated that I okayed Corinne’s suggestion about her reporter friend . . . ."

"Her what?"

"Her reporter friend?"

Her fists clenched again. "Damn it, Angel!"

"I know, Ice. I know. It was stupid. And I shouldn’t have done it. But I was just about to tell her to call it off when you walked into the library today. It’s all taken care of now. I promise."

Shaking her head in amazement, she snorted out a breath of air. "What am I gonna do with you?"

I winced. "Forgive me?"

"Do I have to?"

"It would be nice. I promise I won’t do anything like this again without speaking to you first."

She smirked. "Don’t make promises you’re not sure you can keep, my little crusader. C’mere."

I gratefully walked into her open arms, grinning widely as she wrapped herself around me in a warm hug. "You’re lucky I love you, Angel," she said against my hair.

"Yeah," I sighed. "I sure am."

*  *  *

The winter rolled along and brought a flu epidemic with it. It raced through the Bog like a lightening-sparked wildfire, leaving almost no one standing in its wake. While all the hospitals in the area were full to overcrowding, the only place the inmates were allowed to be treated, the County hospital, had shut its doors tight to all but the most severely afflicted. And that didn’t include any of us.

In the space of days, the entire prison became an infirmary. The guards had also been hit hard and were operating at half staff. If there was any time to have a replay of the riot of last year, this would have been it. Fortunately for everyone involved, any potential troublemakers were too busy puking their guts up to plan or take part in such a venture.

The infirmary overflowed by day two of the epidemic and most of the prisoners were left to fend for themselves as best they could, some even spending hours in pools of their own body fluids when fever made them too weak to make their way to the commode. The guards put in repeated requests for help, but all were ignored by a warden who believed that sickness was God’s vengeful wrath upon sinners.

I was one of the lucky ones. I had myself a tall, dark and absolutely gorgeous nurse who attended to my every need. Granted, my needs at the time weren’t as stimulating as they might have been normally, but I’ve never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth, and having Ice treat me with such loving tenderness in my so called hour of need wasn’t going to make me start anytime soon.

Ice kept me clean, warm and dry when the drenching sweats of night-time fevers alternated with the bone wracking chills that came with the rising of the sun. She sat with me and held me when the spasms of coughing stole the breath from my lungs and the will from my body. Her strong fingers were gentle on my skin as she massaged the wrenching gut cramps that hit with unpredictable and vengeful force.

Even within the terrifying depths of my feverish delirium, I knew she was there and took strength and comfort from her solid presence. I felt surrounded by a blanket of love and caring; no more so than when the sound of her humming an old lullaby would soothe me into a dreamless sleep.

It was a week later when my fever finally broke, leaving me weak and shaky as a newborn. I awoke to find my head pillowed in Ice’s lap, her fingers brushing through my sweat-drenched hair in a hypnotic and pleasurable rhythm. My scalp tingled to her gentle touch.

I blinked my eyes open, wincing at the over-bright glare of the glowing lights. A second later, her hand left my hair and instead shaded my eyes. Her smile was crooked and sweet. "Hey, stranger. How ya feeling?"

"Like that heavy bag out in the yard must feel after going a few rounds with you," I managed to croak out through an aching throat and cracked lips.

"That good huh?"

I just groaned.

"Do you think you can sit up if I help you?"

"Do I have to?"

"You’re pretty dehydrated. You need to drink some water at least."

"I don’t think I could hold it down. My stomach feels like it’s been dragged behind a horse or something."

Ice shifted behind me, gently pulling me up so that my head rested against her chest. When she had me settled, she reached over and grabbed a styrofoam cup filled with water and held it to my lips. "C’mon. Just a sip."

Wincing, I took a small sip into my mouth. It was cool against my parched lips and soothing to my scorched throat and I swallowed it eagerly. My stomach stayed quiet, so I took another sip, and then another until I’d finished half the cup.

Pulling the cup away and resting it on the communal nightstand, Ice dried my lips with a soft cloth, then smoothed my hair from my forehead before wrapping me in an embrace and resting her chin on the crown of my head. "Is it staying down alright?"

"No trouble yet," I replied, reveling in the feeling of her arms around me. Looking around, I noticed that the bed next to mine, usually occupied by my new roommate of one month, was empty. "Where’s Edie?"

"She was a bad asthmatic. The flu hit her hard and they didn’t get her to treatment fast enough. She didn’t make it."

"What?" I stiffened in Ice’s embrace. "She’s dead?"

"I’m afraid so."

If I had any moisture in my body to spare, I would have cried. I hadn’t know Edie all that well, but she seemed like a nice, quiet, well-spoken woman who, like many of the rest of us, simply wanted to do her time in peace. Because she roomed with me, she was spared some of the almost ritualistic hazing that befell all new inmates, and for that I was happy. And now she was dead. A young woman taken down in the prime of her life by the flu of all things. I sighed, then thought of my other friends, particularly the elderly librarian. "How’s Corinne," I asked, inwardly dreading the answer.

Ice snorted against my hair. "That old battle axe? She’s fine. Down for two days and then right back up again. She’s got the constitution of an ox."

I laughed, weakly elbowing her in the side. "Sounds like someone else I know. Were you sick?"

I could feel her shrug against my back. "Nah. Couple days. No big deal." I came to find out later that she had been horribly sick for almost four days, yet came down to care for me each and every day, despite her illness.

My eyelids grew heavy as I snuggled into her, though, like a sleepy child on Christmas Eve, I struggled to stay awake.

"Sleep," she whispered, pulling me in close against her. "Your body needs to heal."

"I’ve slept too much already," I complained. "I wanna try and stay awake for a little while. Please?"

My head warmed as she chuckled against it. "I’m not your mother."

"Wish you were sometimes," I mumbled before succumbing to the demands of my body and falling into sleep once again.

*  *  *

When I next awoke, I found myself propped on my side, facing Ice who was sitting on the other bed, reading quietly. I tried to sit up, but quickly gave that effort up as futile as my body decided to shout out its protests quite loudly. Ice looked up quickly and put her book down, coming to kneel beside my bed. "Good morning."

"Morning."

"Sleep well?"

"Well, it wasn’t bad. For a nap."

She laughed. "Awful long nap, Angel. You’ve been out since yesterday afternoon."

My eyes widened. "Yesterday afternoon?"

"Yup. Told you your body needed the rest."

"And you were right. Again," I grumped.

"How do you feel?"

I took stock of my body, realizing that Ice was, indeed, right. "A whole lot better than I did yesterday."

"Good. You look better too. Your cheeks have a little more color to them," she replied, gently stroking the bodyparts in question, to my immense pleasure. "You have the softest skin."

Of course, I blushed in response to that, which no doubt increased the color to my face; a fact which Ice noted with an amused smirk and one raised eyebrow. Which, of course, only caused me to blush that much harder.

"Thirsty?"

"Yeah. My tongue feels like sandpaper."

Raising up to sit on the bed, she gently lifted me up beside her and we repeated the same process as the day before. This time I managed to drink the whole cup without my stomach rebelling in the slightest. It seemed I was well on my way to recovery.

Ice nodded in satisfaction. "Later we’ll try some broth and tea, courtesy of Corinne."

"Alright." Much as I hated to admit it, I was worn out even by that weak attempt at sitting. But this time, I was determined to remain awake and enjoy Ice’s tender companionship. "How about telling me a story?"

Her voice was doubtful. "I don’t know any stories, Angel. At least not any nice ones."

Sick I might have been, but not too muddled not to recognize a perfect opportunity when it was resting in my lap, as it were. "Then tell me a not nice one. Maybe about some of the times when you were out on your own?"

She stiffened against me. "Those aren’t nice at all, Angel."

"I know, Ice. But I’d like to know more about you. And how can I if you won’t share them with me?"

"Some things are better left up to the imagination."

I kept quiet, acknowledging her position, determined not to push against her inflexible barriers this time. My headstrong nature had caused enough problems between us already.

"This really means something to you, huh?"

"Yes. It really does. But not enough to make you upset, Ice. Never enough for that."

When she started speaking again, her voice was so soft I thought I was hallucinating it at first. "When my parents died, the only one left to care for me was my grandmother. I was twelve at the time and she just didn’t have the energy needed to raise a young girl. She was pretty frail. I overheard some of the lawyers talking to my grandmother during the funeral. They were going to make me a ward of the state and put me in an orphanage."

"Oh, Ice . . . ."

"Yeah. I might not have known much at that age, but I did know that I wasn’t about to let myself get stuffed into a home."

"What did you do?"

"I ran. I waited until everyone was caught up in other things and I took off. The funeral home wasn’t too far from my house, and my parents had given me a key when I was five, so I bolted for home. I went inside, grabbed some clothes, stuffed ‘em in a backpack, took my mother’s ‘fun’ money from her hiding place, grabbed Boomer, and left."

"Where did you go?" I shifted a little to get more comfortable against her chest. My arms, neck and shoulders were aching from residual fever and days of enforced inactivity.

I felt a moment of weightlessness as I was borne up easily in Ice’s arms, then settled down to sit between her legs, my back once again against her chest. The sheet was tucked around my breasts and warm hands lowered themselves onto my shoulders, beginning a truly wonderful massage.

My muscles turned to liquid beneath her skilled touches, the pain fading like a distant memory. My head lolled back to rest against her shoulder as her hands continued to probe, soothe and caress in an orgy of sensation. It was bliss.

"Oh God," I groaned as the massage softened and turned sensual. "Where did you learn to do that?"

"Assassins need to keep loose. We can’t afford muscle cramps. It screws up our aim."

"Oh."

"Yeah. ‘Oh’."

"I guess there really are some questions that I don’t wanna know the answers to, huh?"

"Most likely."

I allowed my eyelids to drift closed so as to better appreciate her welcome touch. There was nothing overtly sexual about her movements, but I felt energized just the same, her hands waking dormant parts of my body in pleasing tingles. "You’re not trying to divert my attention from the subject at hand, are you?" I mumbled.

"Would I do that?" Her voice was innocence personified.

"Mmmm hmmmm."

She laughed. "Well, actually, I was just enjoying touching you. But if you want me to stop. . . ."

"Oh no. You can keep doing that till your hands fall off. You won’t hear me complaining."

As her hands moved beneath the sheet to continue their dance across my skin, she cleared her throat and picked up her tale once again. "To answer your question, I headed west. There was a decent stand of woods at the back of the house that I knew from previous experience led to the highway. It hadn’t really sunk in that my parents were gone yet. I tried to tell myself this was just an adventure and that worked for awhile."

"Kids are really good at pretending."

"Yeah. I was pretty lucky in that way. My parents encouraged my fantasy life." She shrugged. "I think it was an art thing."

I hid my smile. "Must have been."

"Anyway . . . ." The timbre of her voice let me know that my ruse had been discovered. "I made it out to the highway pretty quick. After that, it was just a matter of waiting for the right ride to come along."

"You hitchhiked?"

"Well, I didn’t exactly walk from Baltimore to Pittsburgh, Angel."

"Don’t you realize how dangerous that was?"

"Of course I realized it, Angel. I was young. Not an idiot. But what choice did I have? My parents were dead and I wasn’t about to sit around and wait to be shoved in some home somewhere against my will. I saw the opportunity to get out and I took it. I didn’t really have much time to think about anything else, even if I had been thinking clearly, which I wasn’t."

Hearing the defensiveness in her tone, I reached down and clasped both of Ice’s hands in my own, briefly stopping their delicious motion. "I’m sorry, Ice. That was incredibly pretentious of me to say."

She sighed. "It’s alright. It was a stupid thing to do. But I knew enough not to accept rides from certain people. Boomer was a pretty good judge of character as well." I could hear the smile in her voice. "I got pretty lucky. It was near the end of summer and a lot of kids were going back to college. I managed to hook three rides, the last one all the way to Pittsburgh. I had intended to go further west, but for some reason, just wound up staying here. I guess when you’re a kid, even a few hundred miles seems like a world away."

"What did you do then?"

"Well, my options were kinda limited. I had about five hundred dollars of my mother’s money and that could last a long time, especially considering I didn’t need to pay for a roof over my head. Not too many people would rent to a twelve year-old, you know?"

"But where did you live?"

"Here and there. Pretty much any place that would keep the rain off would do. Abandoned buildings, highway underpasses. Places like that."

"Weren’t there shelters?"

"Sure. But that would have been, to my mind anyway, just like being in the orphanage. I didn’t want to be hemmed in. So I stayed away. I was able to live almost six months on the money I’d taken. It probably would have lasted longer, but I didn’t know anything about living on my own. When you’re twelve, five hundred dollars seems like a gold mine. You don’t think it’s ever gonna run out."

I nodded in agreement. On the rare instances I received cards with money in them, I felt wealthy beyond the dreams of kings. And invariably I’d wind up blowing the whole thing in an orgy of gumballs and cheap paperbacks.

"When the money ran out, there weren’t a whole lot of options for me. I could have joined a gang, but I’ve never been much of a follower. Plus, girls weren’t treated any better than non-paid whores, so that was out for me. I tried shoplifting food and stuff, but it isn’t easy to be inconspicuous when you’ve got a hundred and fifty pound attack dog at your side."

Her hands, which had resumed their lazy caress of my body, abruptly stilled and I felt a small shiver of dread flow down my spine. Suddenly, I was sure I didn’t want to hear her next words. Suddenly, I wanted to be anyplace but where I was.

I battled down my fear. After all, this is what I had asked for, right? Right. Whatever I was going to hear would give me insight into the woman with whom I’d fallen in love, and no matter what it was, that was something I wanted more than anything.

Behind me, Ice took several deep breaths. I could feel the strong beat of her racing heart against my back and knew that whatever this secret was, it frightened her worse to say it than it frightened me to hear it.

Minutes ticked by before she softly cleared her throat. "Anyway," she said in a horse voice, "word on the street was that there was this guy who’d pay decent money to take . . .pictures of kids. Boys, girls, it didn’t matter." She cleared her throat again. "As long as they were young. The younger, the better, in fact."

I couldn’t suppress the shiver of revulsion that ran through me at her words. "A pedophile." More things made sense to me now. Like why Cavallo would set Ice up using the lie of pedophilia, something obviously guaranteed to get her fire up.

"Yeah. Into selling child pornography. By that time, I’d started going through my growth spurt and looked older than I was, but I needed the money and figured what the hell. It seemed as good an option as any. After all, what harm could a few pictures do?"

"Jesus, Ice . . . ."

"Yeah, well, I didn’t think about those things then. I just needed money and it seemed an easy way to get it. So I got directions over to his place and took Boomer with me. Figured with Boomer there, he couldn’t make me do anything I didn’t want to do."

She pulled her hands from under the sheet and I sensed she was going to try and distance herself from me during the rest of this tale. I grabbed her wrists as I’d done before, demanding contact with my body to let her know that it was safe to tell me her story. "Please, Ice, go on. I need to hear this and I think you need to tell it. It’s been festering inside you too long."

Relaxing slightly, she allowed me to pull her arms back around my body and laid her cheek against my hair. "He was an older man, maybe mid or late fifties. Longish greasy gray hair and always a day’s growth of beard. He lived in a really seedy apartment in a run-down building on the outskirts of the city. I tell you, if there were a quintessential pedophile, this guy would probably rate a picture in the dictionary."

When I didn’t laugh, she sighed. "Yeah, I know. It isn’t very funny."

"Not by a long shot."

"Are you sure you wanna hear this? It’s not something about me you really need to know."

"Ice, I want to hear it. I think it’s very important that I do. Please."

"Alright. Anyway, the guy didn’t seem to have enough money to buy decent furniture or even a mop or vacuum cleaner, but he had this extremely expensive studio in one of the bedrooms. The photographic equipment alone must have set him back big time, let alone the lighting and other stuff. I went up to the door and knocked and when he opened it, I thought Boomer was gonna take his head off. The guy almost peed his pants, though by the look of them, I doubt anyone would have noticed. He asked me what I wanted and I told him. He said that the dog had to say outside. To which I replied, of course, no dog, no pictures. He thought about it a minute, then let us both in. The apartment was dark and smelled like a gas station bathroom."

"I bet you were pretty scared, huh?"

"Scared isn’t the word. I was terrified. But I just kept telling myself that both Boomer and I needed the money. It got me into the studio. He didn’t talk much. Just told me he’d give me twenty five dollars if I’d get undressed and sit on the bed so he could take pictures of me."

"Twenty five dollars?" I gasped.

"Yeah. Doesn’t sound like much, does it. But it was a huge deal for me, considering I had about quarter to my name by that time."

"So you did it."

"Yeah. I had Boomer sit in the corner and I stripped down to nothing. He just kinda stared at me for awhile, then told me to sit down. He shot a few pictures. Then he began to put me in some pretty suggestive poses. I just kept reminding myself how much I needed the money."

I could feel the sting of tears as they leapt into my eyes. Ice rubbed her hands briskly up and down my arms, comforting us both.

"After he was done," and here she took another deep breath, "he offered me another twenty five to have sex with me. I took him up on it. Fifty dollars could keep me alive for a week, if I played my cards right. My virginity didn’t seem that high a price to pay, given what I’d already been through."

That did it. The sob broke out before I could even attempt to stop it. Ice immediately wrapped me in her strong arms, kissing the crown of my head and rocking me. "Don’t cry, Angel. Please don’t cry. It happened a long time ago."

It incongruity of it all hit me hard. That a young woman who’d given up her innocence for the price of a few meals would be holding and comforting me, a woman who’d never had to worry about food or shelter, made my tears of sorrow turn to tears of shame.

I tried to pull away, but she only held me closer, stroking my tangled hair in an almost desperate way as she continued to beg me not to cry.

My shame and sorrow quickly turned to burning anger. I raged at the man, and so many others like him, who had preyed on the innocence of my friend and untold hundreds, if not thousands, of other young children just like her, forced by tragedy to trade something so overwhelmingly important for a pittance.

I longed to lash out at the image in my mind. The image of Ice as she was in that photograph; young, pure, beautiful being posed and fondled and invaded by a slathering, unnatural beast masquerading in the guise of a man. My body followed through on what my mind so desperately wanted and before I knew it, my tightly clenched fists impacted sharply on warm skin.

My eyes flew open in stunned disbelief. Ice stared down at me, shock naked on her beautiful features. She released me quickly as if my body burned and stood up from my bed, the stoic mask quickly settling over her face.

"Oh God," I moaned.

"It’s alright, Angel," she said in a totally calm tone of voice. "It isn’t something I haven’t imagined doing to myself a dozen times over since it happened." Her eyes were hooded. "I was right to have wanted that story kept where it belonged. I’m sorry you had to hear it."

"No, Ice! God no. Please, listen to me. It wasn’t you I was lashing out at. It was him! That monster that took your innocence away from you."

"Angel, my innocence left the minute I found out my parents had been killed. He didn’t take anything that I didn’t give freely."

I sat up straight on the bed, bringing the sheet up with me. "Freely?!? As freely as a bear gives up its life when it walks into a hunter’s trap?"

"A bear doesn’t know it’s walking into a trap, Angel. I knew what I was doing."

"Ice, bears and all kinds of other animals are lured into traps all the time. Just like young children are lured into cars by the offer of candy or some other treat. You weren’t any different. You went because he offered you something you needed. Money to stay alive."

Though she didn’t say anything, I knew my words were penetrating that thick shield of guilt that she wore, twisted around herself, like a shroud. Her body relaxed slowly and I thought I detected just the faintest glint of gratitude in her eyes. I held my arms out and, to my great surprise, she came into them, allowing my embrace.

I moved back on the bed, gently guiding her down with me and, for the first time since we’d met, she allowed me to hold and comfort her. I molded her against me, stroking her hair and murmuring nonsensical phrases, feeling oddly maternal, as if I were soothing the young girl Ice had once been. And, in a way, that’s exactly what I was doing.

She didn’t cry. I think all of her tears had been used up long ago. But I knew that there was some deeply hidden part of her that was taking comfort in my love just the same, and that knowledge filled me with an elemental joy. After all, I had asked for this. Strove for it for two years now. To know the woman behind the mask. And here she was, snuggled tight against me, her head on my chest, showing a naked vulnerability that I had never thought to see. It was a gift of such immense proportion that mere words will never do it justice.

When she began speaking again, I was surprised, but held her close and listened to her cathartic words, knowing that I was most likely the first person ever to hear them spoken aloud.

"When it was over," she began, her voice soft and faintly muffled as she spoke against my chest, "he gave me the money he promised and told me I was welcome to come back anytime. He also said that, if I wanted, he could give me the names of other people who would be able to ‘give me a hand’ in the same way he did." She sighed. "I didn’t much care at that point. I had my money and the only thing on my mind was finding a place with a hot shower and plenty of soap. I was sore and dirty and just wanted to get as far away from him as I could."

Taking a deep breath, she pulled away from my embrace, sitting back to lean against the wall of my cell, though she kept us connected by laying a hand on my thigh. "The money ran out pretty quickly and I found myself going back to him. Pretty soon, I was going to his friends as well. Some paid better, some not as well. Some wanted sex, some didn’t. It didn’t seem to matter much anymore."

She ran a steady hand through her midnight hair. "It went on for three years, almost. By that time, I’d gotten too mature to be of much use to the pedophiles anymore, but there was this man in Chicago who had apparently purchased some pictures of me and wanted to see me very badly. He was offering five hundred dollars and free airfare if I would come and pose for him. I did some asking around and found out that this guy was pretty reputable in certain artistic circles. I saw it as a one-in-a-million chance, and took it. The only problem is that I needed to leave Boomer behind."

"What did you do?"

"I’d developed, I suppose you could call it an acquaintance, with one of the corner store owners in the city and Boomer seemed to like him well enough. He promised me that he’d keep Boomer in the store to act as a guard dog until I came back, no charge. Seemed like a fair deal to me."

As her voice trailed off, a premonition stole through me, humping my skin into gooseflesh. "Ice . . . ."

"Yes?"

"Corinne told me that you . . .well, you went crazy after your best friend was killed. She was talking about Boomer, wasn’t she."

The tears I thought used up sprang into her eyes then, magnifying their luminescence. "Yes," she whispered in a choked voice. "It was Boomer. There’d been a break-in at the store where he was staying; local street thugs looking for drug money from the till. Somehow, they overpowered Boomer and took him out. When I got back, I heard that they tortured him to death over three or four days, then threw what was left of his body in front of the store as a warning."

She blinked once, freeing the tears from her eyes. They rolled down her cheeks silently as her gaze became lit with the fire of rage. "I knew who did it. They weren’t shy in their boasting." When she grinned, it was like a shark displaying a mouthful of deadly teeth to a baby seal. "I stalked them for a month. I learned every little detail of their day-to-day lives. When one of them even so much as took a piss against a brick wall, I knew about it. I was patient. Very patient."

Her fingers mindlessly plucked at the sheet trapped around my body. She didn’t even seem to be aware that I was still in the room, and I made myself as still and quiet as possible. I didn’t want that rage turned on me. "My patience paid off. I found out they were having a little get together of the whole gang in honor of the leader’s birthday. It was gonna be in an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city and everyone would be there." She laughed. "They just didn’t plan on having an uninvited guest."

Her hand convulsed suddenly, trapping a corner of the sheet against her tightly clenched fingers. Her face was a grinning death’s head mask. "I killed them all. Slowly. I wanted them to hurt just like the defenseless animal they had tortured to death. I wanted them to feel pain. Exquisite pain. I wanted to see the fear in their eyes and smell it coming out of their pores. I thrived off of their screams. I laughed when they begged for mercy. They were less than nothing in my eyes and that’s what I made them. Stains on the floor."

When Ice started her tale of her killing spree, I felt my still-weak stomach knot up. By the time she had finished, I found myself hung over the bed, expelling water and bile into the basin she’d left there, my guts heaving and threatening to turn themselves inside out.

Ice’s warm hands came down gently on my back, rubbing in circles as the last of the dry heaves left my system weak and reeling. When I was sure I was done, she handed me a rag and I wiped my mouth, then sat up slowly. "Sorry about that," I croaked around a raw and aching throat. "That hit me unexpectedly."

She nodded, cupping my cheek. "I told you it was a pretty ugly story."

"Yes, you did. But I needed to hear it as much as, I think, you needed to tell it."

Ice snorted. "I never need to tell that particular story, Angel. Believe me when I tell you that getting it out in the open hasn’t made me feel any better about what I did. The courts were right. I did murder them. Intentionally. Calculatingly. In cold blood. I may have regretted it afterwards, but regret doesn’t erase my actions."

"Do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Regret what you did?"

As she looked at me, her eyes were very serious. "Yes, Angel. I regret it very deeply. Though part of me revels in what I did to those kids, a bigger part feels very guilty. But regretting my actions won’t bring them back any more than it will bring Boomer back. And regretting my actions won’t stop me from doing it again. If you need proof, just look at what I almost did to Psycho when she killed Josephina. I’ll never be able to control that part of myself. I’m not even sure that I want to." Smiling sadly, she tilted my chin up. "I am who I am, Angel. All the regret in the world won’t change that."

Placing my hands over her larger ones, I gently drew them away from my face, kissing each before clenching them in my own. I looked deeply into her eyes and began to speak. "Ice, I know you believe that. That you’re nothing but a murderer. But you’re not, you know. You are so very much more than that."

Chafing her hands gently with my thumbs, I smiled. "You might think that what happened with Psycho proves your point, but it really proves mine quite nicely."

Ice tilted her head. "How do you figure that?"

"You could have killed her. I know you were ready to. But you didn’t."

"I would have, if you hadn’t been there."

"Maybe. But that’s not the point. The point is, you didn’t."

"Because you stopped me, Angel!"

"Exactly how did I stop you, Ice? Did I physically overpower you? Did I pull you off of her and fling you across the jail?"

"No."

"Right. I simply talked to you. I reminded you of things you already knew. I only appealed to the goodness already in you, Ice. Nothing more than that."

She opened her mouth, then closed it again. I could tell by the expression on her face that she very much wanted to argue the point. "But . . . ." Her voice trailed off.

I smiled more broadly, doing my own impression of a shark moving in for the kill. "No ‘buts’, Ice. You’re a good woman underneath all that bluff and bravado. You know it. I know it. There are things that you’ve done which are horrible, some might even say evil. But you’ve also done some wonderful things. Things that even people who are supposedly ‘good’ all the time would never think or try to do. Yes, there’s a side of you that’s fueled by an intense rage. And there’s another side of you that’s capable of great things. What you have to do is choose which side rules your actions."

"It’s . . .not that easy, Angel."

"No, it isn’t. And maybe that’s part of the reason why I’m here. Why we’ve become such good friends. Because I can see that part of you that maybe not many others know is there. And maybe I can help you bring it out more often in situations where rage is the only thing you know to turn to."

Ice shook her head. "Those are noble sentiments, Angel, but . . . ."

Releasing one of her hands, I placed my own hand on her chest, palm down over her strongly beating heart. "This . . .is a good heart, Ice. It’s an honorable heart that’s been beaten and bloodied. Let it heal. Let the rage and the guilt of the past go. You’re right when you say that those emotions won’t bring anyone back. Don’t let them kill you too. You’ve been dying inside for too long already."

"I don’t . . . ."

"Ice, let me help. Let me try to make you see the person I see every time I look at you."

With a sad smile, Ice gripped my hand as she stepped away, lifting it up and brushing her lips against my knuckles. "I don’t think that’s possible, Angel. But thanks. It means a lot that you would want to do that for me."

Leaning in toward her, I placed my hands lightly on her hips. "Let me try, Ice. At least give me that. Please?"

I found myself falling into her eyes once again. "Alright," she said after a moment, her voice deep and warm. Leaning over, she sealed her words with a gentle kiss. Then, grinning, she stood, gripping my legs and swinging them fully onto the bed. "And that, my dear, concludes story hour. Off to bed with ya. I’ll have some tea and broth ready for when you wake up."

She untwisted and smoothed out the sheet, then tucked it up under my chin. Brushing the hair from my eyes, she placed a kiss on my forehead, then straightened up, tipping me a wink. "Sleep. Now."

"Yes, Ma’am!" I grinned.

"You’re learning." Smirking, she turned to leave.

"Ice?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

With another wink and a casual wave, she left my cell. I fell asleep almost immediately, a smile on my face.

PART 11

SPRING’S TRIUMPHANT RETURN brought with it a return to health for most residents of the Bog. The flu had hung on long and hard, eventually taking the lives of three more inmates by the time it decided to leave us.

As I child, I’d always been prone to head-colds that turned quickly into bronchitis, and as an adult, it appeared, that hadn’t changed. Sickness had stuck with me like a secret lover through the rest of the long, dark winter, leaving me thin, pale and weak.

When the sun came out to play, warming our little corner of the world, I went out right along with it, running through the grass like a giddy schoolgirl and stopping only when my still weakened lungs saw fit to voice their displeasure through a spasm of coughing.

Every time I ventured outside, I fended off the pleas of my fellow inmates to again reprise my role as the Bog’s ‘star’ short-stop. Breathing infield dust all day was something I had the feeling my lungs wouldn’t be very thankful for. Instead, I spent my time slowly rebuilding my weakened muscles with the other Amazons at the free weight area.

Spring also brought with it some welcome news in the form of a plain white package stamped with the official State Seal. Inside was the printed copy of my official court transcript. Corinne and I spent many an afternoon laboriously going through each and every paragraph, word and punctuation mark looking for that elusive piece of evidence that could lead to an appeal for me.

Those afternoon searches were fruitless exercises, for the most part. No magic Rosetta Stone appeared to guide us through the hundreds of pages of legalese that twisted the mind and beguiled the eyes. Even Corinne’s ‘jailhouse lawyer’ friends couldn’t provide answers where there seemingly were none to be found.

During one such afternoon, Ice came to the library to visit on an infrequent break from her auto shop duties. Her hair was in wild disarray, her face lined with greasy smudges and, at that very moment, my welcoming eyes had never seen a more beautiful sight.

Grabbing a chair and turning it, she sat down, her forearms resting casually on the back as she looked down at the sheaf of paper decorating the table. "Any luck?"

I sighed, resisting the urge to just sweep the whole pile onto the floor.

"I’ll take that as a ‘no’."

"A big one. I’m about ready to just chuck it all."

"Don’t do that just yet. I may have someone who can help."

"Oh? Who?"

"A friend. She’s an excellent criminal defense attorney and I’ve heard she’s recently narrowed her practice to handle cases just like yours."

A pang of hope lit my heart before I could stop it. "Really?"

Ice smiled crookedly, laying a hand atop my wrist. "Yeah, really. Her name is Donita Bonnsuer and if she’s still talking to me, I’ll try to hook you up with her. Maybe she can help."

"Still talking to you? What happened?"

She shrugged. "We had a little difference of opinion."

My curiosity gene kicked into high gear. "Over what?"

"She wanted to represent me at my trial. I refused. End of story."

"Oh, come on, Ice! You’ve gotta give me more than that!"

Rolling her eyes, Ice looked over at Corinne, who was sitting beside me, then back to me. "Angel, there really isn’t any more to tell than that."

"Of course there is! Why wouldn’t you let her represent you?"

"A couple of reasons. One was that this was a case involving some very bad individuals who, as you now know, will stop at nothing to get what they want. I didn’t want her tangled up in the middle of all that."

I nodded. "That makes sense. The other reason?"

Her eyes twinkled as the corner of her lip smirked upward. "A bit of conflict of interest. She’s an ex-lover."

My jaw dropped, but before I was able to investigate that interesting little bombshell, I was interrupted by the strident ringing of the fire alarm. Seconds later, Sonny, face and uniform smelling strongly of smoke, ran into the library, her breath coming out in heaving pants. "Quick! The laundry room’s on fire! There’s about twenty women trapped in there and Critter’s one of them!"

Ice and I jumped up from the table at the same time, though her longer strides led her more quickly from the library and toward the site of the fire. The klaxon rang loudly in my ears and was soon joined by the screams of terror coming from within the laundry room. Smoke plumed out into the prison proper from the long hallway housing the laundry facilities and I choked as I ran closer to the conflagration, pushing the milling, panicking inmates and guards aside as I tried to keep Ice within my sights.

I skidded up to the doorway just in time to hear Ice demand to know what had happened. Pony was there, a panicked look on her face. The doorway itself was on fire, a beam of some sort having fallen diagonally across it preventing entry or exit from the room.

"I think it started with one of the dryers," Pony choked out, her voice hoarse from the thick smoke that bellowed from the room. "A whole table of sheets went up like a bomb. Critter and I tried to get out as many as we could, but then that beam fell down and trapped the rest inside. Please, Ice, you gotta do something!"

By this time, several guards had arrived carrying buckets of water and thick towels. Ice grabbed two towels, dunked them into the water and tied off one around her lower face and draped the other over her head, covering her hair and neck.

My stomach sinking through my feet, I grabbed her arm, whirling her to face me. "You can’t be serious! Ice, don’t go in there! That’s suicide!"

Pulling my hand from her arm, Ice pushed me back into Pony, who clamped me tightly against her body.

"Ice!! No!!"

Taking a step back to stand against the opposite wall, Ice took in a deep breath, then launched herself at the door, diving through the small space above the burning beam. I saw her tuck and roll as she landed, then spring quickly to her feet and run almost directly into the fire.

Wrestling myself away from Pony’s tight grip, I grabbed one of the buckets and threw the water on the fire blocking the doorway. Steam hissed out at me as the flames drew away for a moment, only to spring back to life quickly. Sandra pushed me aside to add her own water, then tossed down the pail and accepted another from the quickly forming bucket brigade made up of inmates and guards alike.

The fire in the doorway went out just as the first of the trapped women was propelled out into the hallway, gasping and choking, sooty tears making ghoulish tracks down her blackened face. I gently passed the woman down the human chain of onlookers just as another came stumbling out, followed quickly by another.

I looked up to see Ice carrying another woman in her arms. She ran up to the door and thrust the limp body into Pony’s sure grasp before turning back for more. She’d made it just a step or two away from the door when a huge explosion sounded inside the room. A large tongue of fire belched out from the charred doorway, instantly turning one of the guards into a human torch.

Without thought, I stepped forward, tackling the woman onto the floor and smothering the flames with my own body. My hands were instantly burned, but I continued to beat the fire out with them until more people arrived with wet towels. Then I jumped away, patting out the smoldering areas on my own uniform.

"Angel!" Pony yelled.

I turned. "What?"

"Your hair! It’s on fire!!"

Reaching up, my hands burned again as I touched the flames that seeded themselves in my long hair. I almost lost consciousness as a towel, heavy with water, came flying down over my head, dousing the flames and obscuring my breathing and vision. Yanking the towel away, my first sight was of Pony’s concerned face peering closely into my own.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

I took stock of my body. My hands were red and swollen and I’m sure I looked a mess with half my hair missing, but I was okay for the time being. "I’m alright," I confirmed. When I looked back into the laundry room, all I could see was an unbroken wall of fire just beyond the doorway. My guts twisted up inside of me as I realized the implications and I had to fight not to vomit on my feet. "Ice!!" I screamed, fighting to be heard from beyond the blockade of flames.

Hearing nothing in return, I spun to glare at Sandra. "Where in the hell is the fire department?"

"They’re getting here as quick as they can, Angel."

"Fuck that!" I screamed, grabbing a few towels from one of the guards and throwing one to Pony. "I’m not waiting for the fire department! People could still be alive in there!"

Running back toward the door, I used the towel to try and beat down the flames. After a second, Pony joined me. I felt a push against my other side, and when I looked, I saw Sandra stepping in, a determined look on her face as she tried to help douse the fire.

Buckets of water flew over and around us, dousing us and the fire in an attempt to beat it back. Another towel was handed to me and I tied it around my face. I was already choking from the smoke but wasn’t about to stop what I was doing. I would help get this fire out or die trying. Stopping was not an option. Hang on, Ice. God damn it, you’d just better hang on.

It was soon very obvious that we were fighting a losing battle. For every small step we made, another explosion would chase us away and the wall of flames would rise up once again. I began to sob as I continued to beat at the flames as if they were a living thing. I could hear myself screaming incoherently as rage filled me, eclipsing everything else.

Several pairs of hands reached in to pull me away. I snarled like a wild beast, refusing to be turned from my task. My throat was raw from screaming and my eyes stung from smoke and heat and heartbroken tears.

Sandra and Pony worked together, one grabbing me high, the other, low, literally lifting me off of my feet and carrying me away from the fire. I thrashed and squirmed, my balled fists hitting any inch of flesh I could in an attempt to get free.

Their combined strength was too much for me and I screamed Ice’s name as the wall of flames became smaller and smaller in my tear-trebled vision.

Big men in bulky suits and breathing units pushed past us in the narrow hallway, bearing axes and thick hoses with which to fight the fire. Thanking any and every god who would listen, I let myself go limp in the grip of my captors, and when they relaxed as well, I squirmed out and away from them both, running back down the hallway screaming Ice’s name.

Pinning myself between a firefighter and the wall so I couldn’t be recaptured, I watched as the men quickly and efficiently doused the flames with the high powered spray from their hose. Within moments, the fire was out, leaving behind a thick, black, oily smoke that continued to stream out into the hallway, choking us all.

What was left of the laundry room was almost pitch black. The light from the hallway invaded scant inches into the room. One of the firemen lit a high powered flashlight, illuminating the interior.

I moaned and retched as the charred remains of human beings became all too visible in the brilliant light. Water dripping from within the cavernous room was the only sound to be heard.

"Nooooooooooooo!"

A voice I didn’t even recognize as my own filled the silence as I rushed forward, deftly dodging the outstretched arm of the fireman.

Bodies littered the floor, many burned beyond recognition. I stumbled over them, running onward, searching, sobbing. The sound of running footsteps grew loud in my ears and when a heavy hand came down on my shoulder, I whirled and punched a very surprised fireman in the chest, sending him back several steps.

Turning again, I stumbled forward, my mind screaming as my heart pounded out my wild grief. Another ceiling beam laid out across the floor and I ran to it, slipping in the dirty water that pooled on the floor.

Pinned beneath the beam was Ice, the bottom of her uniform burned almost totally off her body. Beneath her, protected by her long frame and tight embrace, lay two more women, one of which I could easily identify as Critter. All three forms were totally motionless.

"Oh God," I sobbed, squatting down to my knees and reaching out a shaking hand. "Ice? Oh, God. Ice? Please wake up! Please!" I touched the skin of her upper face. It was still warm, but that could have been from the fire. Her neck was obscured by the beam crushed against her back and her arms were pinned beneath the two women she’d tried to save.

Standing up quickly, I grabbed the still smoking beam, not caring that my hands were being scalded. With an effort that came from somewhere outside of my natural ability, I moved the beam upward an inch or so, then pulled it toward me, grunting with the strain.

Within seconds, several pairs of hands came to my aid, pulling the beam completely away from the trapped women. I dropped to my knees again, reaching beneath the towel that still covered Ice’s mouth and nose, searching blindly for a pulse.

"Oh, thank you, God," I sobbed, finding one. It was weak and thready and much too fast, but it was there. "Oh God…Oh God…Oh God…Ice, c’mon now. It’s time to wake up. You can do it. Just open your eyes. Let’s see those beautiful baby blues, alright?" I reached in, grabbing her shoulder and shaking it hard. Her head lolled with my motions but she remained deeply unconscious.

Rough cloth brushed against me as one of the firefighters squatted down next to me. I turned to him, grabbing the fabric of his coat and pulling his upper body toward mine so that we were face to face. "Do something!" I wailed, not caring in the least how desperate I sounded to him or anyone else.

He covered my hand with his own gloved one, making no attempt to pull away. His dark eyes were compassionate as they looked into mine. "We have to wait until the paramedics get in here, Ma’am. We don’t want to move her yet."

"Why not? She could be dying for all you know!"

"That beam that fell across her back was very heavy, Ma’am. There’s a good chance it may have damaged her spine. If we move her now, we could make things worse. Just wait a few more minutes. The paramedics should be here by now, alright?"

Releasing my grip on his heavy jacket, I reached down and eased the towel from around Ice’s soot-blackened face, then brushed sweat-soaked bangs back from her high forehead with shaking fingers. As if my gentle touch was some sort of magic elixir, her eyes blinked open, a moan coming softly from her cracked lips. "Angel?" she croaked, her voice raw.

Yet another sob came up from my throat and I covered my mouth with my free hand. "Ice?"

"Angel?"

"Ice! Thank God! You’re awake!"

She blinked her stinging eyes rapidly, then winced as she tried to move. "Is that what this is."

I put a restraining hand down on her shoulder. "Don’t try to move, Ice. Part of the ceiling collapsed on your back. You could be really hurt."

The firefighter added his hands to mine. "Best to do as she says, Ma’am. The paramedics are on their way."

Getting her strength from I don’t know where, Ice managed to shrug us both off as she rolled from atop the pile of bodies she had tried to protect. "I’m fine," she said hoarsely. "See if you can help these two."

"Ice . . . ."

"I’m alright, Angel." Overcome by a sudden spasm of coughing, her body convulsed, drawing in against itself as she heaved and gasped for breath. I saw, with great relief, that her arms and legs appeared to be moving freely, though I guessed the pain of her injuries was intense.

As I stepped over to help her, the paramedics rushed in with their equipment and stretchers, quickly working over the bodies of Critter and the other woman. To my surprise, and happiness, both women were alive, though still unconscious. Critter’s golden curls were caked with sweat, soot and water, but I could see her chest rise and fall in a regular, though shallow, rhythm that caused the first smile to break over my face since the fire started.

The other woman was older, more frail. I knew she worked in the laundry room, but didn’t know her except to wave to in the hallways. She had some nasty burns on her face and arms and her leg was cocked at an impossible angle at the knee where it had been trapped beneath the heavy beam that had fallen across Ice’s broad back.

As the two women were being cared for and made ready for transport, a third paramedic joined me at Ice’s side, slipping an oxygen mask over her face. Her paroxysms of choking immediately eased with the fresh flow of air into her breathing passages.

After the paramedic was sure she was breathing freely, he grabbed her right arm and swabbed it with a pungent alcohol wipe, while his other hand held an IV cannula, intent on piercing her skin with it. Seeing what he was about to do, Ice ripped the mask from her face and pushed him away, snatching her arm easily from his grip. "No."

Throwing down his contaminated equipment, the man grabbed another packet from his kit while simultaneously making another grab for his uncooperative patient’s arm. "Look lady," he sighed, exasperated when Ice wouldn’t willingly hand over her flesh to be pierced. "I need to start an IV so we can get you to the hospital, alright?"

"No hospital. Just take care of those two and the others. I’m fine." Her calm assurances were belied by another fit of coughing which passed through her body.

I grabbed the oxygen mask, but her hand lashed out and batted it away. "No hospital," she repeated in a raspy, wheezing voice. "I’ll . . .go to the infirmary . . .but . . .no hospital. I mean it."

The paramedic looked helplessly back at his superior, who in turned looked over at Sandra, who’d moved in to join us just as Ice awoke. Sandra and Ice locked gazes, heating up the air between them with the intensity of their stares. A free woman had a choice to refuse treatment. A prisoner had none.

"I’m alright, Sandra," Ice rasped out in a tone that brokered no argument.

I could see the indecision in the head guard’s eyes. When Ice was completely set in stone over something, she was a person you most definitely didn’t want to cross paths with. Yet Sandra was a very strong, and headstrong, woman in her own right.

After a moment she nodded slightly, blinking to break eye contact with Ice. She turned to the waiting supervisor. "She’ll go to the infirmary with me. Our doctor’s coming in from home. If she even blinks the wrong way once she’s there, I’ll take her over to the hospital personally. Fair enough?"

"It’s highly irregular, Mrs. Pierce," the paramedic supervisor stated doubtfully. "Sickness from smoke inhalation can show up hours after the event. There’s a good chance someone could die before you could even get them to the hospital. I highly recommend against this course of action, Ma’am."

Sandra looked back at Ice, who shook her head once in a savage gesture. Though I wanted to convince Ice to go to the hospital, I knew that not even my persuasive skills could sway her decision. Instead, I kept quiet, watching the silent interplay between the parties. After another long moment, Sandra seemed to deflate, her shoulders uncharacteristically sagging. "I’ll take full responsibility for the prisoner," she finally said. "Our infirmary is fully stocked and should be enough to see to her needs for now."

The supervisor looked as if he was going to argue the matter further, then simply sighed. "You’ll need to sign this AMA form then, Mrs. Pierce. I’m going on record as stating that this is against my better judgement and that this woman’s life may well be at stake."

"I’m aware of that, and I’ll sign anything you like. Let’s just get this over with so that the other women can be treated."

Rifling through his papers, the supervisor eventually came up with the correct one for the situation and handed it to Sandra on a clipboard. Grabbing the proffered pen, the guard scrawled her signature and handed pen and clipboard back to the waiting paramedic, nodding curtly.

Reading over the signature carefully, the man stuffed everything back into his kit, then gestured to the others to gather their things for the ride back to the hospital with their injured charges. I stood quickly and gently kissed Critter’s soot-streaked forehead, silently wishing her a speedy return to health as she was wheeled from the carnage.

When I turned back, Sandra was gently helping Ice to her feet. My lover winced and gritted her teeth against the pain of her injuries. Though the bottoms of her uniform had been burned away, her legs didn’t seem to be badly burned and for that I was grateful.

When she was fully upright, Ice tried to shake off Sandra’s assistance, but the large woman would have none of that and eased one of Ice’s long arms around her shoulders, slipping one of her own arms around my friend’s narrow waist. Then she leveled a no-nonsense glare at me. "You too, Angel. And before you try that oh-so-innocent act with me, I can see your hands from here. You’re just lucky I didn’t sic the paramedics on ya."

Quickly, before Ice could see, I hid my burned hands behind my back and adopted my best contrite expression. "Yes, Ma’am," I said, trying hard not to smile. Truth be known, so much adrenaline was pumping through my body that I couldn’t even feel my hands, let alone know if they hurt or not. I was sure that would come later and I wasn’t looking forward to it.

*  *  *

That night in the infirmary was the first we had ever spent together. Unfortunately, we couldn’t do much, not even talk. My hands were liberally slathered with burn ointment and heavily bandaged, while Ice was stuck lying flat on her stomach, her burned back likewise bandaged and an oxygen mask secure over her face. And believe me when I tell you that seeing the graceful curve of Ice’s backside as it rose from the pristine sheets of the hospital bed made for one very frustrated Angel.

We’d both been stripped, scrubbed and tended to by the very kind, if a bit elderly and doddering, penitentiary physician, Dr. Soames and his trio of efficient nurses. He tsked and muttered and harrumphed his way through the examination, but despite his gruff mannerisms, his hands were very gentle and soothing to my burned palms and skittish spirit.

After he was finished treating the both of us, he had his nurses administer some pain-killing injections, then dim the lights and lock us in for the night. One of the nurses would keep an eye on us through the reinforced glass window of the adjacent office.

Alone at last, I turned my head to the side to see Ice looking at me, the mask obscuring her features. Her eyes, though, were filled with a curious combination of amusement and adoration as they almost twinkled in the muted lighting. My heart again filled to overflowing with the love I had for this sometimes violent, sometimes gentle, but always heroic woman who chose to share her own love with me.

Reaching out a bandaged hand through the rails of my stretcher, I beckoned contact with my eyes alone. Her face crinkled beneath the mask as one long arm snaked out from under the sheet, touching my wrist above the bandages lightly, her fingers warm and gentle on my sensitive skin. My body relaxed immediately.

So linked by the gentlest of touches, we continued to stare into one another’s eyes until the stress of the day and the painkillers caught up to us and we both fell into a well-earned sleep.

*  *  *

Several weeks later, I found myself sitting with Ice in one of the stuffing-impaired vinyl chairs that populated the visitor’s room at the Bog. My bandages had finally come off the day before and the newly healing skin was driving me mad with its incessant itching.

Ice seemed to be fully healed, of course. Though, to be truthful, she could still be in agony and neither I nor anyone else would ever know it by her demeanor. The Queen of Stoicism . . .that was Ice.

Still, though my hands were driving me to absolute distraction, I counted myself truly blessed. I had survived the fire with minor injuries and a new haircut while seven other women had lost their lives to its consuming flames. Two more were critically burned and two others, of which Critter was one, were still in the hospital suffering the after-effects of smoke inhalation. To everyone’s great relief, though, all the women were well on their way to full recoveries. Critter was due back in prison by the end of the week, which made us all happy, particularly her Amazon friends.

If not for Ice, things would have been a great deal worse. She was touted as a hero throughout the prison by guard and inmate alike. Brushing it off in her typical style, she told us all to thank the firefighters and those of us who tried to put out the fire with buckets, towels and bare hands (the last was always directed at me, of course). We, she said, were the true heroes.

So now I was sitting in the sparsely decorated visiting room for the first time ever, nervously tapping my fingers on the mounds of paper sitting on my lap and waiting for a lawyer who just happened to be my lover’s ex lover. I didn’t know whether to laugh or throw up.

The rattling of the key in the lock startled me out of my reverie and I sat up straighter, wanting very badly to make a good first impression on this woman, for a variety of reasons. The door squealed open on rusty hinges, and I was glad for the noise as it covered the sound of my jawbone rattling to the floor.

Donita Bonnsuer was, to be perfectly honest, absolutely, positively, drop-dead gorgeous. As Ice rose gracefully to greet her friend, I studied the woman with frank appraisal. She was tall and slender with flawless mocha skin, beautifully rounded cheekbones, full, soft lips and sparkling chocolate eyes. She was dressed in a devastatingly impeccable business suit, the bright red setting off her dark skin and jet hair perfectly. Her smile when she greeted Ice seemed to swallow up her entire face and displayed gleaming, perfect, white teeth.

My sense of insecurity, so long dormant, waltzed right up to my guts and shouted "howdy!" as it tap danced on my stomach and decided to stay awhile. I looked at them both, greeting one another like good friends too long out of touch, and thought that they could be on the cover of some magazine featuring the world’s most beautiful couples.

When Ice turned to me, though, the look in her eyes shriveled my insecurity like a slug under salt, and I felt a smile break out over my face that grew even broader when she responded with a rare one of her own.

After placing my paper mountain on the chair beside me, I stood, carefully wiping my suddenly sweaty palms on my uniform. Donita approached and clasped my hand warmly, smiling at me. "It’s a pleasure to meet you, Angel," she said in a low, smooth, and cultured voice. "I’m Donita, as you’ve probably guessed already, and Ice has talked to me about your case. I’d like to know more, if that would be alright with you?"

"Um . . . .yeah! Sure! That’d be great!" Insecurity might have shriveled, but foot-in-mouth disease seemed to be making a comeback.

If she thought me odd, she didn’t show it, but rather grasped her briefcase and led the way to a battered table set up, more or less, in the center of the rectangular room. Grabbing a chair, she hunkered right down, beckoning for the pile of papers I held in my hands. I slid them across the table to her, then sat down myself, crossing my hands in front of me like a good little schoolgirl as I looked on curiously.

Ice squeezed my shoulder in passing and I looked up, panic-stricken, as she made her way to the door. "Where . . .where are you going?"

"Back to work," she replied, smiling slightly. "You two can get along just fine without me."

"But . . . ."

She held up a hand. "Relax, will ya? You’ll be fine. Just answer her questions and take it from there." She smirked, looking over at Donita. "She doesn’t bite, ya know."

The lawyer grinned. "Not hard, anyway."

I gulped. Ice tipped us both a wink, then waved and left the room. Donita give me a grin full of shining teeth.

*  *  *

Two hours later, the session was wrapping up. My jaw ached from hanging in awe as I watched her work. She was, simply put, amazing. She whipped through the thick transcript as if it were child’s play and took the time to explain everything to me, never once making me feel ignorant or foolish with my questions. She was a true master of her craft and I was honored to be in her presence.

Calling an end to the session, Donita snapped her briefcase closed, then set it on the floor next to her own copy of the transcript which she would take with her. She stretched her long arms, then straightened the cuffs of her blouse and suit jacket, a pleased smile on her face. "I think you have an appealable case here, Angel. Mind you, I can’t be sure until I’ve subpoenaed that hack you had for a lawyer, but I definitely think we’ve got some good stuff to work with."

"Subpoenaed?" I repeated blankly.

"Yeah. I need to get a hold of his worksheets, what witnesses, if any, he talked to, questions he asked, stuff like that. That way, we can see exactly where our starting point is."

"Starting point? But . . . ."

Her eyebrow rose, reminding me strongly of Ice. "Yes?"

"I, um . . . ." I sighed. "I thought that I was only talking to you for advice."

She grinned broadly. "Exactly. And you got some. We can win this case."

"We?"

"Is there an echo in here? Of course, we. Unless you’ve passed the bar in the last week or so and Ice neglected to mention it to me."

"No, it’s not that." I sighed again, the need to explain warring heavily with my sense of pride. "You see, I don’t . . .well, the fact is, I’m positive I can’t afford what you’re worth. I’ll be happy to give you what money I have, but I’m afraid it isn’t very much. And my parents . . .well . . .we’re not on speaking terms anymore."

Donita’s smile broadened. "Not to worry, Angel. As you might have guessed, I do pretty well for myself with my caseload. But I also do several appeals a year on a pro bono basis. Yours will be one of them."

"I . . .can’t let you do that."

"Sure you can. All you have to do is say ‘Donita, I’d be happy for you to take my case.’"

I looked at her, dumbfounded.

"Say it."

My dumbfounded look turned to a narrow-eyed stare as I contemplated refusing like a child who has been told to apologize. But the warmth in her eyes and the smile on her face stopped my petulance unspoken. "Donita, I’d be very happy if you’d consider taking my case," I replied, an eyebrow lifted in small triumph.

Grinning, she stood and sketched a mock bow in my direction. "I’d be honored, Angel."

Grabbing her briefcase and balancing the thick pile of papers precariously with the same hand, she reached out and shook my hand to seal the deal. "Remember that the wheels of justice turn slowly. There’s a lot of work to be done before I can even think of bringing this up before a judge. Just sit tight and I’ll be in contact as often as I can, alright?"

I smiled and nodded happily, excited over the chance for an eventual release for the first time since I’d entered the Bog three years ago. "Thank you so much," I gushed.

She beamed. "My pleasure, Angel. And tell Ice thanks for me, alright? This is gonna be fun." With a final wave and a beguiling, blinding grin, she knocked on the door and was soon gone from my sight.

PART 12

THE NEXT SEVERAL months went by quickly for me. The continued positive news from the appeal front kept my mood up even if it did seem, at times, that the wheels of justice Donita had spoken of were mired in quicksand and sinking fast.

One early summer morning, I sat in the cool dimness of the library, excitedly turning a gaily wrapped package over in my hands while pointedly ignoring the demanding over-the-glasses look I was getting from Corinne. I had been waiting for this particular package for almost two months, almost fainting in excitement when I’d heard from a friend that it suddenly became available at an estate auction. My excitement doubled when I found out that it was, amazingly, within my budget.

"A Thousand and One String-Bead Art Patterns," Corinne muttered from her darkened desk.

"What?" I asked, inwardly grinning at finally having the chance to turn the tables on my oh-so-in-the-know friend.

"The name of the book you’re holding like some kid who got into her parents’ Penthouse collection."

"What makes you think it’s a book?"

"Oh please, Angel. Give me some credit, at least. I’m a librarian, for Moses’ sweet sea-parting sake. Or didja think all these square things with pages in between them were decorations." Her hand flicked out from it’s shadowed corner, its gesture encompassing the entire library.

Oh, I’d definitely gotten her dander up, alright. And I was enjoying every moment of my innocent little torture session. "It could be a box, you know. A flat one, filled with all sorts of interesting little goodies."

"Those little goodies are called ‘words’, Angel." She leveled her best ‘no-nonsense’ glare at me. "They form sentences, which in turn form paragraphs. Unless, of course, it’s a book of poetry, in which case, they form nothing at all."

"You’re such a romantic, Corinne."

"I have better uses for this mouth of mine than spouting poetry, my dear Angel." Her tone was absolutely dripping with seduction and, considering her age, she did a good job at it. To my credit, though, I stopped the threatened blush cold. When she saw her ruse wasn’t going to work, she frowned, eyeing me once again over the tops of her half-glasses.

Giving in just a little, I leveled my own parental expression right back at her. "You know, the word ‘please’ has been known to work on occasion."

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," came her prim reply.

"Then I suppose your curiosity is going to have to suffer." I turned the package around in my hands, making sure the indirect lighting caught the foil wrapping at just the right angle. I’d grown up in a house full of cats as a child and well knew how to entice them.

Minutes ticked by, measured by the under-her-breath grumbling Corinne was turning into an art form. Finally, she huffed out a sigh that would have done Paul Bunyan proud, almost toppling a stack of papers as it did. "Alright. Angel, dear, may I please know what’s in that wrapped little package of yours?" Her voice was positively overflowing with sugared sweetness. "I’m afraid my poor old heart will simply explode out of my chest if you don’t tell me right this very moment."

As heartfelt pleas went, that was about the poorest example I’d ever heard, but, knowing Corinne, it was probably the best I could hope for. I allowed myself a small victory smirk as I turned my attention her way. "This little ol’ thing?" I asked, hefting my prize.

"Angel . . . ."

I burst out laughing, unable to help myself. After a moment, she joined me and the quiet air was soon filled with boisterous laughter. After a long moment, I looked back at her, flipping the package in my hands. "You’re right, of course. It is a book. A rare one, actually."

"And?"

"It’s an original printing of ‘One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich’, signed by the author himself, and you know he didn’t do autographs. It’s in Russian."

Corinne’s eyes widened in awe. "Amazing. How’d you manage to come on to such a prize?"

"An estate sale, if you can believe that one. One of my outside contacts dabbles in literature. He saw it and asked if I wanted to bid on it."

"And, of course, you said yes."

"But of course. It came in well under my budget too. Apparently, there just wasn’t any interest."

"Philistines."

"Hey, I’m not gonna look a gift barbarian in the horns."

"Good analogy."

"Glad you liked it." I grinned, shifting on my chair. "Anyway, like I said, it’s in Russian. Problem is, I don’t know whether Ice reads Russian. And before you ask, yes, it’s for her."

Her eyes twinkled. "Had that one figured out already. And don’t worry, I think she reads it. In fact, I’m almost sure of it."

"I don’t get it," I replied, shaking my head. "She became a street kid right out of elementary school. Yet I saw the Tao, written in Chinese, mind you, sitting on the floor of her cell. And it looked like she had read it quite a bit. How could she have learned so much living on the streets?"

"That part of her schooling took place before she went to live on the streets, Angel. Her mother, as an opera singer I think, was an absolute fanatic about other cultures. Ice told me that she was taught to read other languages at the same time she was taught to read English. It was just something that her parents believed in."

"That’s interesting," I replied, hoping that my voice didn’t sound as envious as my thoughts were.

Apparently, it did. Corinne took off her glasses and looked at me, smiling slightly. "Ice was quite young when she shared this with me. I suppose she looked upon me as somewhat of a grandmotherly figure." She moued her lips in self-deprecation.

I instantly felt the sting of embarrassment. "I’m sorry, Corinne. I’m just glad that you were there for her. It must have been hard, especially in the beginning. I’m glad she could turn to you when she needed to."

"She didn’t do it all that often. But yes, there were times even the famed Ice needed comfort." She smiled knowingly at me. "I suspect that’s true even to this day."

I made sure my answering smile gave away little and she nodded in acknowledgement.

"So, is there a special occasion for this lovely little gift?" she finally asked, tone rich with innocence.

I couldn’t stop my blush from rising this time. This day was an anniversary of sorts for me, as well as for Ice, though she probably didn’t think the date significant. It was a year ago to this very date that I had helped the inmate team beat the guards in softball, and a year ago this very date that Ice and I made love for the first time. It was something that was very important and special to me, but damned if I was going to give Corinne the satisfaction of knowing that. Instead, I simply looked at her and silently pleaded the Fifth.

She smirked at me, but decided against pursuing the issue. Instead, she went back to the work her curiosity over my package had interrupted. Silence descended over the library once again.

Several hours later, the time for dinner had finally arrived and, like a schoolchild on the last moment of the last day of school, I shot out of my seat the second the clock struck 5pm. Corinne laughed knowingly as, in my excitement, I almost batted my prize off the table, just managing with quick reflexes, to save it from falling to the floor.

I shot her a glare, but my heart wasn’t really in it. It was with a certain tall, dark woman who, that very moment, should have been closing up shop and on her way to a rendezvous with me in the cafeteria.

After waving quickly to Corinne, I grabbed my package and slipped out of the library, striding as quickly as I could down the hallway while still trying to look like I wasn’t striding quickly down the hallway. Not an easy task, let me tell you.

The prison square was filled with a sea of orange as inmates fresh from their daily labors bustled to and fro, some on their way, like I was, to the cafeteria, others congregating in small groups near the walls, and still others headed for points unknown. The incoherent babble of voices was loud to my ears as my eyes sought out a dark head that towered over the rest.

Not seeing her with the first visual sweep, I swallowed a pang of minor disappointment and headed toward the cafeteria, figuring to meet her there. As I was almost to the doors, a large hand clasped my elbow and I whirled. My pleased, welcoming grin faded as I looked up into Sandra’s hazel eyes.

"Hi, Angel," she said, "I’m glad I caught up with you. Can you come with me for a second, please?"

I opened my mouth to protest, but then thought better of it. Regardless of our seeming friendship, she was a guard and I was a prisoner under her control. So instead I nodded as she released her grip on my arm.

"It’ll just take a moment," she assured me.

I looked around vainly one last time before turning to follow her back the way I’d come, my bright hopes for the evening starting to dim just the slightest bit.

She led me through the crowded square, past the guard room, and down toward the visitors’ room, which was closed for the evening. Turning left just before the visitors’ room, she led me down a shorter hallway toward a guarded exit door. Though this was another area of the prison where I’d never been before, I knew where that particular door led and my steps slowed almost to stopping.

Not noticing my hesitancy, Sandra continued down the hallway and spoke in low tones to the guard stationed there before turning to me. Her look of expectancy turned to one of puzzlement when she saw me still standing at the end of the hall. She beckoned me closer.

"Um . . .if it’s all the same to you, Sandra, I’d kinda like to know what it is you need from me out there?" All sorts of warnings were jangling through my head. Sandra might have been the head guard, but even she had to report to Morrison, who most likely wasn’t too happy about my successes in the possible appeal department. If I were to be released some time down the road, a very large card the warden was holding against Ice would disappear right along with me.

As if she divined my thoughts, Sandra’s look of impatience softened to one of compassion as she smiled and walked back over to where I was standing with what I’m sure was a ‘deer in the headlights’ look on my face. She laid a gentle hand on my shoulder. "Angel, there’s nothing funny about this, I promise you. I just need your advice on something. It won’t take more than a minute."

I looked in her eyes, not finding even a trace of deceit within their depths. Still, I’d learned my lessons the hard way and wasn’t about to easily repeat past mistakes, especially if they could wind up getting me injured or worse. "Can you at least tell me what’s going on?"

"I know this doesn’t sound all that great, but it really is easier if I show you." Then she smiled. "Tell you what. All you have to do is stand next to Barbara right here at the door. I can show you what I need to outside and if it seems safe to you, you can join me, alright?"

I looked over at the other guard, who nodded reassuringly to me. After a long moment, and against my better judgement, I nodded back.

Sandra grinned and squeezed my shoulder before turning back to the guard and getting her to unlock the door. It opened inward slowly and I got a quick glimpse of the fenced in area before Sandra’s large body obscured my view as she stepped outside into the warm summer air.

The sunlight streamed back in as she walked further away from the door and up the short wooden steps to the door of what I knew was the conjugal visit trailer. I watched as she inserted a key into the lock and pulled the door slowly open, peeking her head inside as she did so. After a second, she pulled back and, to my great astonishment, Ice’s head replaced hers in the doorway. Smiling almost sheepishly at me, Ice jerked her head back, beckoning me on.

A thousand scenarios rushed through my mind, none of them good. Keeping with my brutally honest tone here, I must admit that my first thought, given Ice’s unexpected location, was that Donita was also in the trailer with her and that they’d chosen this relatively private place to finally tell me that they had rekindled their romance. A huge part of me denied this thought, but insecurity can be a harsh master and right now, it was controlling my emotions. I froze where I was, trying to decide whether to go forward and have my worst fears confirmed, or run as far and as fast as I could to hide from the truth that my fanciful mind had conjured from thin air.

Sandra turned, smiling and waving. Damn them, I thought. Damn them all to hell. How can they be laughing when my heart’s breaking? When the second guard, Barbara, murmured "Go ahead, Angel," from right next to me, I almost ripped her eyes out.

Then, forcing the more adult side to my personality to the forefront, I squared my shoulders, swallowed painfully, raised my chin, and stepped outside. Walking those few yards from the prison to the trailer was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever had to do.

Consciously releasing my clenched fists as I walked up the rickety wooden steps, I brushed by Sandra without looking at her, and stepped, with a firm tread, into the small trailer. As I slipped into the cool interior, my eyes did a quick, accusatory scan, slowly adjusting to the dim lighting within. The trailer was otherwise empty, though I didn’t rule out my erstwhile lawyer hiding out in the bathroom, such were the turbulence of my thoughts at that moment.

When I looked back to Ice, really seeing her for the first time since I’d entered the trailer, my mouth opened wide in shock. Gone was her customary prison jumpsuit. In its place was a deep blue robe that looked like it was made of silk on satin. It had bold golden embroidery on the cuffs and sash, and ended at mid calf. In the ‘V’ of the robe, I could see a lighter blue camisole in a sheer but not quite revealing material that stopped just at the swell of her magnificent breasts. Her hair was glossy clean and loose as it fell across her shoulders. Her legs and feet were bare and one hand cupped a single red rose, which she held out to me, smiling gently.

Taking a step closer, I tried to blink away my tears. "Ice? What . . . ?"

"Happy Anniversary, Angel."

I took the rose and brought it to my nose while cupping my hand over my mouth to stifle the sob that was waiting to come out. As I inhaled the delicate, wonderful fragrance, I damned myself for seventeen kinds of fool for believing that Ice’s feelings for me were somehow shallow and convenient until something better happened along.

Resolving not to ruin the moment with my histrionics, I pushed all negative emotions to the back of my mind and resolved to enjoy the precious gift I’d been given. My self-chastisement was further halted by an embarrassed clearing of the throat and when I turned to the door, I saw Sandra standing half in and half out of the trailer, her face darkened by a blush.

"I think I’ll leave you guys alone now. Have fun." With a smile and a wink, she turned and left the trailer, locking the door carefully behind her.

I looked over Ice, who was still smiling at me, though her eyes were full of questions. "Is this . . .alright?" she asked, a rare note of hesitancy clear in her voice.

"It’s perfect," I babbled, "just . . .god it’s absolutely wonderful."

"Then why are you crying?" she asked softly, not moving from her place beside the small table set into one of the walls.

"God, I’m just . . .it’s . . .I’m happy," I finally ground out. And bewildered. And embarrassed. And so totally in love with you that I think my heart’s about to burst.

Cocking her head, she looked at me. "Are you sure?"

Placing the rose down on the table, I ran into her arms, wrapping myself around her and squeezing tight. "I’m sure. One hundred percent, absolutely, positively, heart swelling sure."

She engulfed me in her embrace, laying a gentle kiss to my hair. "Good. I’m glad." I could feel her sigh against my chest. "I remember once you mentioned that you’d give anything just to be able to spend one night together. I figured that you didn’t really mean spending it in an infirmary with burns and smoke inhalation, so I thought this up."

Stunned, I pulled away. "You mean we have this all night?!"

Smiling, she nodded. "Yup. It’s all ours, so to speak, till noon tomorrow."

"God I love you!" I exclaimed, pressing her to me once again. Her low, rumbling laugh vibrated through my ear and put an answering grin on my own lips. I inhaled again, smelling something beyond the scent of the rose and Ice’s warm, intoxicating presence. Opening my eyes once again, I peered down on the table, which was covered with a variety of instantly recognizable white boxes. I pulled away, astonished. "You got Chinese?"

Ice laughed again. "Best I could do under the circumstances. Hope you don’t mind Kung Pao chicken."

"Are you kidding? I love Chinese food!" Truth be known, after three years of barely recognizable prison fare, Ice could have served dog food on a stick and I probably would have been happy.

"Good." When she pulled away, I detected a slight blush of color on her cheeks as she looked to the bed. "I thought you might be comfortable in something other than your uniform for the evening, so . . . ."

Following her gaze to the bed, I gasped out loud. There, colors bold against the clean white sheets of the bed, lay a shimmering forest green floor-length robe. Next to it lay a beautiful dressing gown with spaghetti straps and a demure neckline in a lighter shade of green that deepened to aquamarine near the hemline, which was also floor-length.

Walking over to the bed, I reached out a shaking hand to brush against the fabric, feeling the exquisite softness against my fingers. A tear dripped from my face to land, sparkling, on the silken fabric. I brushed it away, then picked up the dressing gown, holding it against my body and watching the highlights shimmer down its length. I turned wide eyes back to her. "This is so beautiful, Ice!"

She gave me a little cockeyed grin. "I’m glad you like it. If . . .you wanna try it on or anything, the bathroom’s right off that little alcove over there."

I tracked her pointing finger, spotting a half-shadowed doorway sitting to the right of the main room. "Yeah, I’d like that a lot. Be back in a minute." Lifting the robe from its place on the bed, I made my way to the bathroom, closing the door behind me.

The bathroom was well appointed for being in such a relatively tiny trailer. It even had a small stand-up shower that looked much cleaner than the shower in the prison. "Oooh," I whispered to my reflection in the small mirror over the sink, "I think I’m gonna take advantage of this situation too!"

Quickly stripping out of my jumpsuit, I reached into the stall and turned on the shower. Surprise of surprises, there was actually hot (well, tepid might be a better adjective here) water coming from the showerhead! Stepping in quickly, I grabbed the new bar of soap and proceeded to take my first warm water shower in over three years. I was in heaven.

After loitering about for a bit, I finally shut off the water and stepped out into the cooler air of the bathroom, grabbing a large, fluffy bath towel and drying myself off with alacrity. One of the good things about having short hair is that drying is a comparative breeze, and so with a thorough toweling and a bit of finger-combing, I was set.

Taking in a deep breath, I held up the gown, pressing the soft, shimmering fabric against my face and inhaling the clean, fresh aroma while feeling the smoothness glide against my cheeks. I groaned in sensual pleasure before pulling it away and slipping it over my head to let it fall, in soft waves, down my body. It was a perfect fit, but I didn’t stop to ponder how Ice could have known that.

Settling the straps over my shoulders, I chanced a look in the mirror, awed to stillness by the image looking back at me. Gone was the scared little girl that had come into the Bog three short years ago. In her place stood the woman I’d become with the experience. The color of the gown deepened the green of my eyes, making them somehow wiser and more knowing. The maturity came across in my short, tousled hair and the new lines of experience painting my face. The gown’s straps sat smoothly on my newly muscled shoulders which bore the weight of my world without complaint.

Yet still, I felt somehow a fairy tale princess all done up in silk and satin. As I pulled the robe on over me, letting the cool fabric slide sensually over my bare arms, I smiled, feeling pampered and cared for and very much loved.

Taking a deep breath, I smoothed the fabric over my body, then opened the door and stepped out into the main room of the small trailer.

Ice was sitting behind the table, her long fingers drawing what I was sure were abstract designs on the Formica. When she saw me, her eyes widened to my secret delight and she gracefully came to her feet, her own clothes shifting with her movement in a most pleasing way. A smile softened the angles of her face and lit her blue eyes from within. She was, at that moment as in many others past and future, the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

She echoed my sentiments, holding an arm out toward me. "You’re so beautiful, Angel," she almost-whispered. "Like your namesake, come to earth."

I stepped toward her, grasping her hand, which she lifted to her lips, brushing a soft kiss against my knuckles. Then she escorted me to the other side of the table, where she pulled out the chair and aided me into it with flawless grace and impeccable manners. I had never been treated with such care before and I must confess that I reveled in the attentions.

Walking over to the other side of the table, she bent down slightly and retrieved a tall bottle and a couple of glasses. "Champagne," she said, turning the label toward my sight. "Not the best vintage in the world, but beggars can’t be choosers, and all that." Popping the cork, she filled both glasses with the bubbling, amber liquid, then handed one to me across the table. "Cheers," she said, raising her class to softly clink against mine.

I took a sip of the liquor, feeling it tingle as it washed down my throat. Not being a champagne connoisseur, I couldn’t tell if it was supposed to taste that way or not, but it was good as far as I was concerned. I grinned over the rim of my glass as Ice set her own down and proceeded to open up the white cartons. Intoxicating aromas wafted up on the steam that escaped its confinement, making my mouth water and my stomach chime in its opinion.

Two chipped, but clean, stoneware plates received their bounty and Ice passed one over to me, together with a set of chopsticks and a cellophane-wrapped package of plastic utensils. I smiled and set the plastic-ware aside, having developed the skill of eating with chopsticks when I was still quite young.

Not much was said over dinner. The food was delicious and I appreciated it as only a prisoner or a college student can. My taste buds tingled their thanks as my mind busily recorded every nuance of the flavors hitting my palate for future remembrance.

When my stomach finally rebelled against having even another morsel packed inside, I pushed my plate away and leaned contentedly back in my chair, patting my belly and grinning at nothing. Surely royal feasts hadn’t been as well appreciated as was this simple dinner.

Ice, who had finished long before me, picked up the plates and stacked them in the tiny sink that shared space on the wall with the table. When she turned back to me, she had something else in her hands that was neither food nor drink.

Stepping around the table, she presented it to me with a smile that was almost shy. I took it, open mouthed with awe. In my hands was a tiny bonsai tree carefully and wonderfully shaped into an angel. Tied around the miniature trunk was a tiny yellow ribbon of the type used when loved ones are far from home.

Tears, those ever-present distorters of my vision, sprung once again to my eyes as I looked on the gift she’d created for me. "My God, Ice," I blubbered through a throat choked with tears, "this is so beautiful! Thank you so much!"

"Do you like it?"

"God, I love it! It’s wonderful!" I carefully turned the ceramic planter holding the tree, looking at the exquisite artistry from all angles. It was absolutely perfect. "You have such a wonderful talent, Ice."

I was sure I caught an embarrassed blush that time and I grinned, partly to put her at ease and, I’ll confess, partly in happiness at having finally caught the normally unflappable Ice with her proverbial pants down. "You do, you know," I said, finally. "It’s a gift. One you should treasure as much as I do." Carefully setting the tree down, I captured the hands that had created such beauty and urged her down, capturing her full lips with a kiss of thanks that quickly turned to something deeper and more primal.

After several moments, she pulled away and cupped my cheek, smiling down at me, her eyes sparkling and warmed from within. "I love you, Angel."

"I love you too, Ice. So very much." I reached under the chair where I’d stowed my own gift and handed it to her. "This is something for you, obviously." I felt my own shy smile spread my lips.

Taking the package, she carefully pried open the folds and slipped the book from its paper confinement. Her smile lit up her whole face as she looked at the object in her hands, opening it almost reverently. Her look became one of shock when she saw the author’s signature on the front leaf. Her wide eyes met mine and I knew that I’d done alright.

"He’s never signed his work," she breathed softly, disbelieving.

I shrugged modestly, though my pleased grin told the real story. "I got lucky."

"I’ll say. This is fantastic!"

"I’m glad you like it." I scratched at the back of my neck. "Um . . .I’m not sure if you read Russian."

"Oh, I do." Flipping quickly through the pages and smiling like a child on Christmas morning, she carefully closed the book and set it down on the table, then reached down and clasped my hands, bearing me to my feet and into the circle of her arms.

She engulfed me in a hug, lowering her head so that her lips just brushed against my ear. A shivering tingle shot all the way down to my toes as she murmured a phrase I knew had to be in Russian. Though the language was guttural to my ears, her low, purring voice galvanized me.

"What . . .what did you just say?"

"’I want to make love to you, my sweet Angel. May I?’" she translated, capturing my earlobe between her lips and teasing her tongue along my flesh in slow, sensual strokes.

My knees turned to pudding.

She chuckled low in my ear as her strong arms easily bore my weight. "Is that a yes?" she teased.

"Ohhhh, you betcha."

Somehow, I managed to regain the strength in my legs and stood up tall. Ice smiled down at me, her teeth flashing in the dim lighting. I felt a slight tug, and when I looked down, I found that Ice had untied the belt to my robe. Her hands were warm as they slid within the parted fabric to rest gently on my hips.

Her head slowly lowered until her lips met mine in an explosion of warmth and desire. Her hands roamed over my hips and downward, grabbing the mounds of my backside and pulling me into her body, melding us as we kissed.

Her fragrance was intoxicating as my starved senses pulled it in on uneven, panting breaths.

I pulled away just enough to untie her robe, then slid my hands inside the folds of the garment, needing to feel her body beneath my palms and fingers. My bold exploration revealed a waist-length camisole and French-cut briefs, both in the finest of silks. I nearly died of wanting her, my need was so intense.

We finally broke off the kiss by mutual consent and I looked up into eyes darkened and half-lidded with arousal. The tip of her tongue peeked out to taste her lips and I found myself tightening at the sight.

Her large, gentle hands with their tapering fingers reached up and slipped the thin straps from my shoulders, laying intimate caresses to my bared flesh as she stared deeply into my eyes.

My own hands joined the ballet, grasping the hem of her camisole and lifting upwards. I broke our gazes as my hungry eyes feasted on each inch of flesh revealed to me as the incredibly soft fabric slid away.

Her hands came away from me as she lifted her arms above her head, aiding me in my task. Her breasts became exposed to my ravenous gaze and I licked my lips at the sight of them. When I could go no higher, given the vast difference in our heights, she took over and pulled the top off, shaking her hair free in a totally unconscious gesture that threatened to take my legs out from under me once again.

I had to have her. That very minute. I could no more stop the raging in my blood than I could stop a flood with my bare hands.

Placing my hands on her hips, I guided her backwards until the edge of the bed bumped against her calves. I kept pushing, lowering her to the bed, and then onto her back. Releasing her, I took a step back, admiring the artistry before me. The white of the sheets and the white of her briefs stood out in a sort of stark purity against the deep tan of her skin and the raven black of her hair which fanned out across the pillow in turbulent waves. The dichotomy was intoxicating.

Taking a deep breath to restore a modicum of equilibrium, I slid my own gown off slowly, teasing her as she had always teased me. Her gaze was rapt upon me. I could see her nostrils flare in the semi-darkness. I grinned wildly.

Finally I stood naked before her, swearing that I could feel trails of fire where her scorching gaze lit upon my flesh. I started to tremble as I felt a dampness between my legs which had nothing to do with the sweat that suddenly broke out across my body.

Stepping up to the bed, I crawled aboard, straddling Ice briefly before coming to rest between her body and the cool wall behind me.

I managed to pull myself up to sit cross-legged on the narrow bed, my knees just brushing against the warm, soft flesh of Ice’s side. I looked into her eyes again, catching the slightest hint of a vulnerability that hadn’t been there before. It filled my heart to overflowing.

I tracked down her body one more time before meeting her eyes and locking in, smiling softly. "I love you, Morgan," I whispered, reaching out a finger and brushing it across her lips. She pursed them slightly, kissing my finger, before relaxing them into a smile that matched my own.

My finger traced across her lips once more, then outlined her sharp cheekbones before smoothing against her expressive brows and up to her high forehead, brushing the fringe of hair back from her brow. My touch was gentle and undemanding and filled with as much love and devotion as I could possibly give.

I traced around the delicate shell of one ear, my smile deepening as I saw a shiver make its way down her long body in the periphery of my vision.

I had fallen into the clear ocean of her eyes and could not break away if my life depended on it. I saw so many emotions running through those eyes. It was as if I were seeing into the soul her body held in its keeping.

My fingers continued their meandering journey as I mapped out her body by touch alone, my eyes only for her eyes, our breath coming together. I slid down the strong, elegant column of her neck, tracing over corded tendons and skimming over a pulsepoint which bounded out a welcome.

Her shoulders were next, and then the warm, moist valley between her breasts. Her eyes darkened more as I brushed against the sensitive underside of first one, then the other, feeding me her emotions through the intensity of her stare.

I circled nipples which were hard and straining for my touch, brushing over them ever so lightly and watching her lips part as a single, almost silent, sigh escaped from between them.

I traced lower, over the soft down that covered her belly, rising and falling over the bands of muscle girding her torso.

My hand reached the lace band of her briefs and her chest expanded with the sudden breath she took. I dipped a finger teasingly beneath the fabric, running it along the seam from one hip to the other and then back again.

Removing my finger, I continued my journey downward, skimming over the silken material until my hand moved to cup over her. Her thighs spread involuntarily, and when my fingers slid over the smooth, hot, wet curve of her body, her hips jerked as she moaned, sharing her pleasure through her heated gaze.

I could feel her readiness through the silk of her briefs and I hummed in anticipation of what I was about to do.

My finger dipped in again, though this time it was beneath the band of her right leg. A sound almost like a whimper came from her lips as I came closer to the place we both needed me to be.

God, she was so wet and open that I almost passed out from the hunger of needing to possess this gift beyond price.

I painted my fingers in her desire, never once breaking the lock of our gazes, the look of her pleasure tearing through me like a wildfire. Her eyes glowed with an inner light, sucking me in deeper against my conscious will. With every stroke of my finger, I felt as if the touch were upon me as well and my body responded, helplessly pulled into the tide of her want.

I entered her quickly, helpless to do anything else, and she hissed out a breath as her hips responded to my thrust, bucking up against my hand, impaling herself further while capturing me and holding me close.

Together we worked into a rhythm, staring so deeply into one another’s eyes that it was as if we were but one soul sharing two bodies, both of which were aflame with need.

"Yes," I breathed as I watched her climb the peak of our mutual creation.

Her eyes grew heavy lidded.

"Don’t close your eyes. Don’t shut me out. Share with me. Please." I used my voice in tandem with our shared movements, bringing her up and setting her free to soar.

She fed me her climax through open eyes which drilled into me and took me with her on her flight to the heavens. My whole world became the blue sky above and the sea below with nothing else from horizon to horizon. It was a soul-shattering experience; her vulnerability and total openness to me in that bright second the most precious gift I’d ever been given.

As our breathing began to steady, I noticed that the vast blue ocean had prismed with tears. My heart jumped up in my throat and I tucked down close to her, gathering her in my arms and sprinkling her face with tiny kisses. "Oh no, don’t cry. Oh, god, please don’t cry, Ice."

She didn’t make a sound. Sobs didn’t shudder through her body. Her tears were silent ones. But she responded to my fervent embrace, holding me almost convulsively as the tears scalded the skin of my neck.

After a long, silent moment, the world whirled around me and I felt myself pressed flat on my back, pinned in place by six feet of aroused and passionate prisoner. Her mouth met mine without gentleness and I tasted the salty tang of tears on her lips as her tongue deftly wove its way around mine.

There was an urgency to her movements as I felt her reach down and jerk the briefs from her hips. When she settled back down against me, straddling my leg, I groaned aloud at the heated moisture liberally coating my thigh.

Ice grunted in reply, her hand sliding quickly down my body, her weight shifting slightly so that my thighs parted wider beneath her. Her fingers worked their way between our sweat-glued bodies as she continued to kiss me with a feral, primal intensity that might have been frightening if it hadn’t been so arousing.

She pulled her lips from mine at the same time she entered me, burying her face in my hair and groaning as she thrust deeply into me, using the weight and motion of her entire body to add power to her movements.

I gasped as I was suddenly filled, squeezing my eyes tight against the invasion, moaning deep in my throat with the pressure and feel of her long fingers stroking and thrusting against me.

Sweat liberally coated our bodies, making us slide against one another in an effortless, erotic dance. Ice kept tempo with her soft grunts in my ear. My moaning entreaties added a melody line. My heartbeat was loud in my ear. Her murmuring, first soft, now guttural, even louder.

Her strokes became long and hard as she bucked against me, rucking the sheet up under my shoulderblades and knocking the pillow to the floor of the tiny trailer.

I urged her on, wanting, needing more. Always more. I was so close. I could see the precipice painted on the inside of my eyelids.

She responded instantly, surging into me, her whole body in motion. Her soft grunts gave way to sharp pants and I knew she was nearing the edge. At what seemed the very last second, she slid another finger into me, stretching me wide, filling me completely.

I knew the second she went over. Her body shuddered down its sweating length and her hand convulsed, claw-like, within me as her sharp teeth sunk into the muscle of my shoulder. I cried out.

Her fingers pressed hard against the very spot I needed them to be and I took off like a rocket, my own wracking shudders all the more sweet for being subdued beneath the weight of her heavy, muscled body.

With a last, low, protracted growl, she slumped full on me, her breath gasping out against the sweat-soaked skin of my neck.

Pleasant spasms continued to spark through me as the motion of her breathing caused her now limp fingers to move deep within me, touching off tingles of sensation that rose to the crown of my head and fell to the tips of my toes.

I sighed out my bliss and she responded by nuzzling closer, kissing the mark she’d made on my shoulder before burrowing into the fall of my hair and cleaning the sweat from my neck with long, languid strokes of her tongue.

"Oh, sweet . . .Jesus," I whimpered as her fingers withdrew from me to move up and caress the slickness, stroking me gently, but with a surety that was intoxicating to my befuddled senses. I turned my head, needing desperately to connect with her.

She latched on to my lips, kissing me with a tenderness that was the antithesis of our previous coupling, yet no less arousing because of it.

Shifting again, she came up onto all fours, straddling my hips with her knees planted on either side, all without breaking the heart-stopping kiss or her tender, erotic stroking.

In a show of supreme control, she lifted her free hand from its place beside my head, and captured my hand, sliding it down her drenched torso to where she was all heated openness for me. Releasing my hand to continue on its own path, she collapsed down on her elbow again, moaning softly into my open mouth as I explored her softness.

I mirrored her movements against me as best I could. I must tell you, though, it was very hard. She seemed to have my entire body under her seductive control. I felt like a marionette in a puppet-show for adults.

I stopped trying so hard and gave my hand free rein. When she gasped and surged against me, I knew my instincts had been correct. I didn’t have time to gloat, however, as her touches turned more insistent and coaxing.

My own sounds of pleasure filled the cool night air.

The end came quickly. We were both too ready for it. I climaxed first and she positioned herself over me so that she could get what she needed from me during that eternal minute of blinding passion.

When it was over, she came to lie between me and the wall. With ease, she turned my pliant, nerveless body so that my back was to her chest. Slipping one arm around my waist, she tugged slightly till we fit snugly together as two pieces of a human puzzle. "I love you, my Angel," she whispered, laying a kiss to the back of my neck.

"I love you too, Ice," I mumbled, shivering with warmth as she nuzzled against my neck.

Within seconds, we fell asleep, spooned against one another, spending the first night ever lying in one another’s arms.

My dream had come true.

PART 13

I AWOKE THE NEXT morning to the sound of a heart beating steadily in my ear and the feel of gentle fingers tracing abstract patterns on my back. I blinked my eyes open to find gentle blues centered on my face. Ice smiled. "Morning."

I yawned, arching my back in a stretch. "Morning. What time is it?"

Her head tilted as she looked over to the clock hanging over the sink. "Almost eight. Sleep well?"

Yawning again, I dropped my head back down on Ice’s warm chest with a thud. "Best three hours of sleep I ever had."

Her chuckle rumbled through my ear, vibrating against my whole body.

We had woken up twice more during the night to make love. The second time had been near dawn. If the trailer had had windows, I would have loved to watch the sun rise with her, but since there were no windows, we performed our own little ritual.

Ice’s gentle touch against my back was making me sleepy again. "Mmm. I had the most wonderful dream."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. You and I were sitting on the porch of my cabin by the lake, watching the sun set over the water. I could smell the pines in the breeze and we listened as the crickets and bullfrogs came out to play. It was wonderful."

I could feel Ice stiffen beneath me as her heart picked up its rhythm. I slumped, damning myself for fifteen kinds of fool. Why did you have to say anything, Angel? You’ve just ruined the morning. Way to go, kid.

But Ice relaxed again, her hand picking up where it had left off, tracing over the lines of muscle and bone in my back. "Sounds like a nice dream."

When I looked up, I caught that look of almost infinite sadness in her eyes once again and in that moment I would have given up anything, even my chance at freedom, even my chance at loving her, to take it away forever.

I blinked and the look was gone, pushed down to whatever hell the demons of her soul resided in. "I’m sorry," I whispered.

Her smile was as sad as her eyes had been moments ago. "Don’t be. Dreams, sometimes, are the only thing that makes this place bearable."

And again, the next question came out of my mouth without my permission. "Do you dream?"

"Sometimes."

"About what?"

"Nothing as nice as yours. Mostly about those I’ve hurt or killed. Their families."

"Those aren’t dreams, Ice. Those are nightmares."

I could feel her shrug beneath me. "Nothing more than what I deserve."

I sighed. "Ice, I told you this before. Guilt can be a good thing. It can stop you from repeating mistakes. But you can’t let it rule your life. If you do, you’ll never be able to live it."

"That’s easy to say, Angel. It’s a whole lot harder to do."

"I know."

"You have given me something, though."

"I have?"

"Yes. Hope. That one day I’ll find another way of dealing with my anger. That I won’t become that person I was before I met you." Her smile was brighter as she ruffled my sleep-tousled hair. "You really are my Angel, ya know."

She sealed her words with a kiss.

*  *  *

When the knock finally came to put an end to our wonderful day, we were ready, packages in hand, orange jumpsuits once again covering our bodies.

I felt tired, pleasantly sore, and deliriously happy. We’d made love again before slipping off to the shower. The tight quarters, and resulting close press of our bodies, sparked our passions once more until it was all I could do to breathe, let alone think about moving.

Finally, we prodded ourselves to get dried and dressed. The packing came next. The clothing would be kept with our other personal effects in the huge storage room next to the warden’s office. My new piece of bonsai art, since I couldn’t keep it in my cell, would reside in the library where I could look at it daily. Ice promised to teach me how to care for it myself.

Keys slipped in the lock and the knob turned. Bright sunlight filtered in, causing us both to wince at the change from the dimness of the trailer. Sandra greeted us both with a friendly smile. I smiled gratefully back, beyond happy with her part in this wonderful experience for me.

Taking our clothing and tucking it under her arm, Sandra led us back down the fenced walkway and into the prison proper. After stepping inside the musty building, the door guard patted us both down, then Sandra escorted us down the long hallway and into the main square.

The sounds of talking and the quick rush of bodies was almost overwhelming after our short interlude in the trailer. I blinked, trying to get my bearings once again.

A noise started off to my left, low, then gaining in volume and pitch until I wondered, blankly, who had let a bird into the prison. Then I saw a flash of orange and white and stepped back, almost dropping the bonsai tree as Cassandra came running toward me, her mouth opened wide in a hideous screech while her manacled arms and legs jangled from the weight of the chains.

I stood there, dumbly wondering how she move so quickly, bound as she was, before I was shunted hard to the right as Ice’s long body smoothly interposed itself between me and the screaming banshee heading toward us.

Normally, I might, at some level, have resented the protective stance Ice took, knowing that I could now well take care of myself. But Cassandra was, as they say, a whole different kettle of fish and I accepted the protection of her strong back gratefully.

I was pushed further away as Sandra dumped the clothing in her arms into the grip of the door guard and moved to stand next to Ice, protecting me further from the impending explosion of blonde, insane fury that was headed our way.

Cassandra kept coming, her fisted hands held chest high as her screech continued unabated, it seemed. Startled prisoners automatically stepped aside to let her pass as her guards tore across the square after her, red faced and huffing.

Ice took a long step forward, neatly intercepting the enraged woman. Cassandra pounded my lover’s chest with her manacled hands, screaming obscenities in an abnormally high voice.

From what I could gather, both my ancestry and what I might have done for a living prior to being incarcerated here were being called into question. Then, her head turned, insanely sparkling chocolate eyes meeting mine and I was left with no doubts. "You’re dead, little Angel. You’re nothing but a little whore who’s tempted my precious Ice away from her path with me. I’ll see you in Hell, Angel. Hell! Do you hear me?!?!"

Though I was well protected by both Sandra and Ice, I couldn’t help the fear that ran through me at her screamed invectives. If there was anyone in the prison who could easily carry out her threats, Cassandra was that person. Still, I captured the fear deep within me, determined not to give her the satisfaction of knowing she had slipped past my defenses.

The other two guards caught up to Cassandra finally, grabbing her around her skinny waist and shoulders and yanking her hard away from Ice. She refused to relinquish her grip and there was a loud tearing sound as Ice’s jumpsuit began to give up the ghost under the pressure of her insane strength.

Ice lifted her hands. grabbing Cassandra’s manacled wrists. Jabbing her thumbs over the sensitive nerves just under the skin, she forced Psycho’s grip loose and the screaming woman was pulled fully away, hissing and spitting like a feral cat in a hunter’s net.

"Call the hospital," Sandra shouted to be heard over Cassandra’s howling. "I think it’s time for her shot." After the women dragged her away, the guard turned to me, concern in her eyes. "Are you alright?"

"Wha--? Oh, yeah. Fine." I let out a shaky little laugh. "I guess I should be flattered, huh? Looks like I’ve become Public Enemy Number One with her."

Sandra patted my shoulder. "God willing, she’ll be in the hospital for more than twenty-four hours this time. When she gets back here, we’ll keep an extra close eye on her."

Like you did just now? I almost said aloud before thinking better of it. In a way, Cassandra was like a greased pig at the county fair. It seemed almost impossible to keep her from doing something once she had her mind set on it. I’d just have to keep an eye out and protect myself as best I could. "Thanks," I said finally.

Ice turned, not bothering to hold together the jumpsuit which had been totally rent at the chest. I found my eyes drawn to the swell of her bare breasts just visible in the ‘V’ of the parted fabric. "Sorry about that," she said in a low voice, totally unselfconscious.

"Hey, no problem. She didn’t almost rip my clothes off, after all."

Ice looked down at her exposed cleavage, then back up at me, and shrugged. Her gaze was intent as it locked into mine.

I smiled. "I’m fine. Really. Between you, the Amazons, Corinne and the guards, I’ve got more eyes on me than a rotten potato."

Ice screwed her face up at my analogy, startling a laugh out of me. Sandra and the door guard joined the levity and soon the fright of Cassandra’s murderous threats slipped to the back of my mind.

As soon as the coast was clear, Sandra led us onward to our cells.

*  *  *

Summer turned to fall, which quickly gave way to winter. Things went on pretty much as usual in the Bog. The gangs remained quiet, leaving the Amazons free to pursue other interests, namely, one another. After their spat, Sonny, who I always thought had a thing for the male gender, and Pony began courting one another in an amusingly old fashioned way. And I, being the writer of our little group, was pressed into love-note writing service for them both. I felt like a modern day Cyrano de Bergerac, sans the large nose, but it made the time pass quickly and so I did it with pleasure.

On a Thursday afternoon in the middle of winter, Phyllis came to me in the library telling me I had a phone call. Donita, sounding cool and collected as always, told me she had some news, though wouldn’t divulge the topic, and asked to meet with me the next morning. I, of course, agreed.

Needless to say, Thursday night’s sleep was all but non-existent.

I spent Friday morning in the visitor’s room, twisting the fabric of my jumpsuit into new and interesting abstract shapes while trying to calm my similarly twisting stomach. Finally, the door was unlocked and opened, and my lawyer, impeccably dressed and gorgeous as always, strode in, a sparkle in her eyes.

"Angel," she greeted, grasping my hand warmly, "good to see you again. Come, sit with me at the table. I’ve got some news."

Soon, we were both seated and sipping at the cool water the guards had so thoughtfully provided (at Donita’s pointed request). Opening her briefcase, she pulled out a thick file with my name emblazoned on the cover. "We’ve got ‘em," she said, her smile triumphant.

My heart picked up its pace. "What do you mean, exactly?"

"You’re aware of baseball’s ‘three strikes and you’re out’ policy?" At my nod, she continued. "We’ve got three huge strikes here. And when I say huge, I do mean huge."

Opening up the folder, she pulled out several pieces of paper and placed the flat on the table, turning them so that I could easily read the text. The first was a simple hotel receipt. I looked at her questioningly.

"You remember your across-the-hall neighbors, the Gracesons? Two of the star witnesses for the prosecution at your trial?"

I nodded again, remembering indeed. Tom and Maggie Graceson had each testified that they had heard me arguing and threatening Peter on the night of his death. I remembered no such argument, but their testimony was compelling, and obviously was believed by the jury. "What about them?"

"Well, if your original attorney, whom I’m seriously considering putting up for disbarment proceedings, had bothered to do just the tiniest amount of research, he would have found out, as I did, that the Gracesons weren’t even home on the night your husband died. They were in this hotel, participating in something that they probably didn’t want to get spread around."

"What do you mean?"

"They’re swingers."

"Swingers?" I asked, completely lost. The only swingers I knew were dancers. And even if they weren’t very good at it, I didn’t see how it would be something embarrassing to them. I said as much.

She grinned at my naivete. "No, not that kind of swinger. The kind where groups of married folks gather around and swap partners. Sexually."

My eyes must have widened to the size of saucers because she covered her mouth over the laugh that came forth.

"Exactly. Apparently, from what I gathered from other members of this particular group, the Gracesons were quite upset because they had asked your husband and you to join them and Peter told them that you had turned him down flat. It seems Tom really liked you, in that special way," she winked, "and Maggie was quite attracted to your husband."

"You’re kidding!"

"Nope. Do you ever remember a conversation of that nature between yourself and Peter?"

"Not at all! Of course, I would have turned him down if he had asked me, but he never asked."

"I didn’t think so. Apparently, on the night of Peter’s death, he had told both Tom and Maggie that you’d finally consented to give it a try and that, if they rented a room somewhere, he’d swing by the house and pick you up. Of course, that never happened."

"My God," I breathed. "I can’t believe this." I shook my head, my anger building. "They made up testimony about me because they were pissed that Peter stood them up?!?"

"That’s what it sounds like."

"Unbelievable!!!"

She laid a calming hand on my wrist as I thought I was about to burst out of my skin with rage. "That’s only strike one."

"There’s more?"

"Oh yes." Moving the hotel receipt out of the way, Donita pushed a white sheet of paper closer to me. It was what looked to be an Emergency Room treatment sheet. "Do you remember this?"

I looked at the date and nodded, remembering the incident.

Peter had come home from work and had tried to get me to go out to the bar with him. When I refused, needing to get up early to get some shopping done before work the next morning, he beat me quite severely, bruising my ribs and giving me a hairline fracture of my eye socket. I had managed to hail a cab which took me to the Emergency Room, convinced I was bleeding internally. Thank God, that hadn’t been the case, but I still felt as if I’d been hit by a truck. I remembered telling the ER staff that I had fallen down some stairs. The looks in their eyes told me they didn’t believe me but they didn’t press the issue. "I remember." I blushed, embarrassed.

"In one of his infrequent bouts of actual competency, your attorney tried to present this as evidence of Peter’s abuse of you. The prosecution, for whatever reason, argued it as irrelevant and the judge agreed to have it suppressed."

I sighed. "I told them I fell down some stairs," I mumbled to the table.

"Yes, I know. It’s in the report. But look at the last paragraph."

Pulling the sheet closer to me, I peered at the writing. Apparently, I had been right. The treating physician did believe that I was the victim of a beating and he further believed that it was done at the hands of my husband. I looked up at Donita. "Why didn’t he ever say anything to me?"

"That I don’t know. But it’s a law that when a member of the medical staff believes there has been abuse involved, he or she must report it to the proper authorities, no matter what the victim says or doesn’t say."

"Did he do that?"

"Yes, he did. He filled out the proper forms and sent them to the proper agency."

"But no one ever contacted me about it."

"No, they didn’t. My investigator followed up this lead and found that it had never been researched. They had everything they needed to open an investigation. They just never did."

"But why not?"

"I’m afraid I don’t know the answer to that either. But the thing here is, Angel, that, by rights, this piece of evidence should never have been suppressed. Even if no abuse could be proven, at the very least, the treating physician should have been called to the stand to state what he found. This document shows that there was at least a possibility that you were telling the truth when you said your husband abused you. It would have gone a long way in helping you prove your case."

I put my head in my hands, my sigh fogging up what little varnish was left on the elderly table. "This is just so bizarre."

"Ready for the kicker?"

I lifted up my head to meet her eyes. "Yeah. Might as well."

"A member of your jury, its foreman, in fact, was a man by the name of Robert Cort."

"I’m sorry, that name doesn’t ring any bells."

"I didn’t think it would. My investigator went to some of the bars your husband used to hang out in and found that this same man was one of Peter’s drinking buddies."

"Please tell me you’re joking, Donita."

"Nope. And that’s a good thing. You see, when my investigator talked to some of the bar’s other patrons, he was told that on the night after Peter’s murder, Robert swore that he was going to find a way to get on your jury and, quote ‘convict that bitch’ unquote."

"He what?!"

"That’s what the witnesses say. We’ve got sworn statements from four of them. We don’t yet know how he managed to get into the pool of potential jurors, but when we pulled out his sheet, we found out he lied quite convincingly to get in."

"Jesus Christ."

"It gets worse. When we polled the jurors, the only two women on the panel had been convinced of your innocence when they went in for deliberations. They both stated to me, personally, that they were intimidated into changing their votes by the foreman, Robert Cort."

The sound of my hand slamming down on the table was loud in the small room. "Then why didn’t they ever tell anybody?"

Donita’s chocolate eyes were compassionate. "They said they were scared to come forward. So they didn’t."

"Why are they talking now?" I couldn’t help it. My voice was filled with the bitterness in my heart.

"They’ve both been eaten away with guilt over it, Angel. They’ve both given us sworn statements as to what happened and are both willing and ready to testify at a new trial. They know they’ve made a mistake, but they’re willing to try and rectify it."

"Don’t they care that their mistake cost me four years of my life?!?" Tears, scalding and bitter as my words, flooded my eyes and streamed down my cheeks, wetting the table beneath me in a flood of anger.

Donita came around the table and put an arm around my shoulder. Her skin was soft and warm. The light scent of her perfume soothed me even as my mind was a whirling torrent of delayed grief. During the entire four-plus years I’d been a resident of the Bog, I’d never indulged in self-pity over the events that caused me to be here.

But the knowledge that my freedom had been taken away by a combination of an incompetent lawyer, a failed protection system, a bully and two timid women brought all home to me. I couldn’t stop my sobs as I thought of what might have been.

A guard, who was keeping tabs on us through the reinforced glass window set into one wall, entered the visitor’s room with a box of tissues which she slid across the table. Donita thanked her pleasantly and the guard nodded, then left. I knew my crying spell would hit the grapevine in less time than it took to write out this sentence.

A dark arm threaded its way through our embrace, handing me a tissue. I swiped my eyes with it, then leaned back and emptied my sinuses, feeling the pressure in my head ease slightly. I felt exhausted. "Sorry about that," I mumbled.

Donita smiled at me. "No need to be sorry. If it had been me, I’d probably have torn this room to shambles." She looked around. "Though to tell you the truth, that might have improved things."

That surprised a laugh out of me and she grinned back, handing me another tissue and discarding the used one in an overflowing wastebasket near the table. I took in a long, shuddering breath, then let it out slowly. "So," I said, tracing my tears on the table, "where do we go from here?"

"Well, I’ve talked to the DA about dismissing the conviction altogether. But he’s a hard-line butt-hole who wears his church pin on his lapel. He won’t budge. Convinced they still have a case against you. So . . . I’ve set up a date to talk to one of the appellate judges in the district. It’s in two weeks. I’ll present this new evidence and see what he says."

"What do you think he’ll say?"

"He’d be crazy not to overturn the conviction, Angel. This evidence is damning. Especially the jury tampering. The DA won’t let it go, though. So even if the judge does decide to do what’s right and overturn your conviction and sentence, the State will demand a new trial." She laid a hand on my wrist. "What do you think about that? Do you think you can go through that again?"

I looked directly at her, knowing my eyes were intense. "Donita, to get my name cleared of this mess, I’d walk through Hell itself." I looked down at the table again. "It didn’t much matter before. Peter was dead. I did it. I thought I deserved punishment. But this . . .this travesty has changed my whole way of thinking."

Donita smiled. "Ice was right about you."

"She was?"

"Yup. She said you were a fighter with the heart of a lion."

I felt my eyes go wide. "Ice said that? About me?"

"Sure did. That’s why I agreed to come in and talk to you in the first place. Ice doesn’t give out compliments easily you know." Her warm hand squeezed my wrist. "She has a lot of faith in you, Angel. And, she loves you very deeply."

I could feel my blush burn my neck, cheeks and ears as it spread over my face. I ducked my head again. "I love her very much, too."

"I know."

I traced the moisture on the table again. "I’m . . .um . . .sorry, . . .Donita."

"Sorry? For what, Angel?"

My blush deepened. I damned myself for my fair skin. "Ice . . .um . . .told me about . . .um . . . ."

"She told you we were lovers in the past?"

"Yeah. That’d be it."

"And it bothers you because the two of you are together now and I’m here to see it?"

"Yes." If I could have sunk my chair through the ground right then, I would have done it.

Her hand reached out and cupped my chin, bringing our gazes level. "Angel, never apologize for being happy. And never apologize for making Ice happy."

"But . . . ."

"No buts, Angel. Ice is a very important person in my life. To see her as happy as she is makes me very happy. It wasn’t meant to be for Ice and I. We both knew that while we were together." She smiled. "Still, in a way, we were a good match. She took great pains to keep her personal life a secret from everyone, including me. Though it shouldn’t have been a surprise to find out what I did about her with her arrest, it did. Of course, we never lived together and were never in one another’s presence for long stretches of time. Still, I felt a bit guilt-ridden that I missed some kind of sign I should have seen. And, of course, I was very angry."

"I can understand that. I would have been as well."

She spread her hands. "And when she wouldn’t let me defend her, well . . . ." She sighed. "It almost ended our friendship." Then she smiled. "I’m glad it didn’t. And I’m also glad that it gave me a chance to meet you. You’re a good soul, Angel. And there are damn few of those around anymore. So stop worrying and, for God’s sake, stop blushing. Everything’s fine from that angle, alright?"

Reading the absolute sincerity in her eyes, I nodded. "Thanks."

Donita tipped me a wink. "Not a problem, Angel. Not a problem at all."

Moving away from me, she went around to the other side of the table, stuffed my file into her expensive leather briefcase, and latched it shut before pulling it off the table by the handle. "I’ll talk to you in a couple of weeks, if not before, alright? Just try to take it easy and relax. Let me do the worrying for the both of us."

I gave her a half smile, the best I could offer. "I’ll try my best."

"You do that. Bye for now."

With a final smile and a wave, she was gone, leaving me alone in the visitors’ room with only my tears and my thoughts for company.

*  *  *

I pulled what we all referred to as "an Ice" and hid out in my cell after finally dragging my exhausted butt from the visitors’ room. For some reason, the tears, of frustration, of anger, of grief, just didn’t seem to want to stop falling.

Critter came up to talk, but I remained sullen and uncommunicative, and she finally gave up in frustration, leaving me to my enforced solitude.

I must have fallen into a doze of mental exhaustion, because the next thing I knew, my eyes opened to see Ice standing just inside my cell, concern seemingly emanating from her every pore. "You okay?"

I managed a weak smile. "I’ve been better."

"Wanna talk about it?" she asked from her position by the door.

And suddenly, I did.

Seeing my expression, she closed the distance in a quick stride and lowered herself onto the bed, gathering me into a hug that went a long way toward taking a great deal of my pain away. I pressed my head against her chest and let the tears fall again. Only this time, they seemed to be tears of healing rather than pain.

Ice rocked me gently within her embrace, seeming to know what kind of tears these were. Normally, the sight of my crying distressed her greatly. Now, however, she silently waited out the minor storm, content only to be there for me. It was a quiet strength I relied on more than words could ever articulate.

After several moments, I finally pulled away, wiping my messy face with the back of my sleeve. Then, after a few, deep, hitching breaths, I blurted out the whole tale, leaving nothing out.

Ice’s expression became thundery, but I didn’t fear it, knowing her anger was directed against those who had harmed me and not at me, myself. She growled in frustration, her fists clenched uselessly against an enemy she knew I would have to handle myself.

"Of course, the good side to all this," I began, gently taking one of her fisted hands and relaxing it into my own, "is that this goes a long way toward assuring me a new trial. This kind of evidence is something that you can’t just ignore."

She grunted in agreement.

As I sat there, contemplating my words, the one thought I’d heretofore successfully kept at the very back of my mind demanded to make its presence known. I willed the tears away, but when I turned to look up at Ice, my words were stilled by a finger to my lips.

"Don’t," she said, her voice low.

"Don’t what?" I murmured around her finger.

"Don’t say it. Don’t even think it."

"How do you know what I’m thinking?"

"Because I can tell by the expression on your face. You’re wondering if you should fight for this opportunity, because if you’re successful, and you will be, that means that you’ll leave here. And you don’t know if you want to do that because of what we have." Her eyes bit into mine, her eyebrow arched, daring me to contradict her.

I couldn’t. I blinked, then looked away, flushing guiltily. "You’re right," I whispered.

"I know I am. I know you and how you think. And I also know that I’m not going to let you give up this chance for me."

"Not even for us?"

Smiling, she cupped my chin. "Angel, there will always be ‘us’. In here, out there, it doesn’t matter. You’re a part of me, and you always will be, no matter where you are."

I sighed, knowing she was right but still wanting to fight the issue. Trouble was, I didn’t have any good ammunition to argue with.

"Angel, you’ve spent the last four years here trying to get me to see inside myself. You’ve tried to get me to see that guilt shouldn’t rule my actions. That’s a hard lesson to learn, and it won’t be made any easier if you decide to give up your fight for freedom."

"I don’t understand."

"Don’t you? If you give up this fight for what’s right, this fight for freedom, because of me . . . ."

She didn’t need to finish her sentence. The meaning was all too clear. Though it would be my own decision whether to stay or fight, if I decided to do the former, she would always feel the guilt of that action.

"So . . .I guess that means you want me to go for it, huh?"

"Damn right I want you to go for it, Angel. This is your ticket out of this shit-hole. Run with it and don’t look back."

After a moment, I gave her a watery smile and thudded my head against her collar-bone. "Alright, coach."

We settled into a comfortable silence that the growling of my abused stomach chose to interrupt. I blushed again as Ice patted it. "Let’s go down and feed this monster before the cafeteria closes and you keep all the inmates up tonight with those weird growling noises."

Lazily back handing her on the arm, I allowed her to pull me to my feet. In step, our hips brushing casually against one another, we walked down to the cafeteria to attempt to consume God only knew what.

PART 14

THE NEXT FEW weeks went by in a blur that was full of disappointing news. Donita called twice to tell me, each time, that the judge she was scheduled to speak with had other cases that had priority over mine. It was difficult, this ‘hurry up and wait’ roller coaster ride of emotions I was going through. One minute I was up, ready to take on the world. The next, I was swimming in a sea of depression, shunning everyone. Everyone, even Ice, started to treat me with kid gloves.

As if feeding off my swirling emotions, the prison natives also began to get restless. There was a feeling of increasing tension within the Bog; a tension so thick that even I, who was deep in a morass of my very own, could feel it. It was almost like the time before the riots, when the stress was so thick, you could snip at it with dull scissors if you had a mind to.

Ice was putting in inordinately long hours at the auto shop, going down each day after morning head count and not returning to her cell until shortly before lights out. Apparently, Morrison had struck paydirt in his stolen car racket and was using Ice’s special skills to the limit. What little spare time she had, she seemed to want to spend alone, or, almost grudgingly, it seemed, with me from time to time over those long weeks. There was something deeper going on with her. But, my mind tied up with my own troubles, I didn’t take the time to dig deep enough.

Given the events that transpired only a short time later, everything in me wishes that I could just turn back the clock and do it all again, the right way.

One evening, after shutting down the library, I walked down the silent, dim hallway toward the main square, my thoughts awhirl with turbulent emotions. More than anything, though, I wanted to see Ice and resolved to head up to her cell before I did anything else.

As if by magic, an arm captured me and pulled me into yet another of the doorways that stood silently in the long hallway. My hormones surged and a smile split my lips before the chilling feel of metal pressed up against my neck froze my blood in its veins.

"Hello, little whore," a sing-song voice sounded very close to my ear, "didja miss me?"

Psycho!!, my mind screamed as I tried desperately to control my breathing. Keep calm, Angel. You can figure a way out of this. Just keep calm and don’t react to anything she says until you can use it to your advantage. The words of Montana and Critter and Ice played through my mind in a soothing mantra, calming my heart-rate slightly. "What do you want, Cassandra."

A tinkling laugh sounded behind me. "And here I thought you had all the brains in the relationship, tramp. Isn’t it obvious what I want?"

"Can you just . . .explain it to me? So I know for sure?" I tried to sound as vacant and pitiful as I could, knowing that sometimes that worked on people like Cassandra.

I could feel my plan working when her sigh brushed against the short hair framing my ear. Her grip twisted on the knife just the slightest bit and I readied myself for action. "Oh, alright," she said in a tone reserved for teaching the profoundly mentally disabled. "It’s simple, really. You cuckolded Ice away from me, and so you must die. Is that easy enough for you to understand?"

"Yes, I think I’ve got it now."

"Do you? Good." I could feel her smile against the skin of my cheek as she brought her head down next to mine. "Any last requests?"

"Just one."

"Yes?"

Stamping down on her foot as hard as I could, I brought my hands up hard, fingers stiffened to thrust between her arm and my neck. Prying her away, I brought her arm down with all my strength. "Get your damn knife the hell away from my neck!!"

I could tell she was surprised, because the maneuver, never practiced against a real opponent intent on severing my head from my shoulders, worked perfectly. After a split-second, though, I could feel her start to respond, stabilizing her grip on the knife and turning its lethal edge inward.

There was the muted sound of cloth parting and then I felt a warm trickle run down my left thigh. Though I couldn’t feel anything, I knew I’d been cut. Looking down, I saw the orange of my jumpsuit quickly darken to a rust as my blood seeped from the slice in my flesh.

Determined not to give her another chance, I brought my other hand down on her wrist, twisting for all I was worth. We both grunted. The knife came free, spinning through the small room where I had been taken.

Her reflexes cat-quick, Cassandra dove for the knife right as it skittered across the cement floor. I was just a half step behind her. As she grabbed the knife, my foot came down once again, this time trapping both weapon and flesh beneath my shoe.

During the rush for the knife, the door slammed close behind us, and so Cassandra’s scream of frustration, and I hoped, pain, was unheard by the prison in general. Psycho struggled like a fish on a line, trying to pull both the knife and her hand free, but I was having none of it. "Let me go, you bitch!"

"Let go of the knife and I’ll raise my foot, Cassandra."

"Like hell I will!" Turning her head, she opened her mouth wide and the next thing I felt was my wounded thigh, the same leg that was trapping Cassandra, being bitten into. Hard.

I opened my mouth wide, but panted through the pain, slapping her head as hard as I could to get her to disengage. She shook her head like a terrier, growling as her jaws spasmed shut. The pain was so intense, I almost fainted.

My leg weakened, then jittered. Shouting in triumph, Cassandra pulled the knife free. Her shout freed her teeth from my thigh and, gritting my own teeth so hard I nearly bit off my own tongue, I jammed my foot back down as hard as I could, the abused muscles literally screaming out their own agony. I could hear the sickening crunch of small bones breaking and my stomach did a lazy flip-flop, making me thank God that I’d been too busy to eat dinner. "Let it go, Cassandra!"

She literally howled this time, her voice raising in pitch so high that I was forced to slap my hands over my ears and wonder if any glass that happened to be in this little room would shatter from her voice alone.

"Let . . . it . . .go!" God help me, I actually twisted my foot, grinding her hand further beneath the hard sole of my prison shoe.

She turned to bite me once again and I knew I couldn’t stand another one. So, putting all my weight on my injured leg, the one that had Cassandra’s hand trapped against the rough cement floor, I brought up my free leg and kneed her in the head as hard as I could. My leg screamed out in agony at the same time Cassandra screamed in reality, slumping onto her back, trapped only by my foot still on her hand.

Quickly, I lifted my leg, then bent down and retrieved the knife, holding it almost as one would hold a gun, in a two-handed grip, the tip pointed at her head. "Alright now," I said, trying to keep the waver from my hands as well as my voice. "You’re going to listen to me Cassandra."

Inhaling deeply, she pursed her lips and spat at me. Though I tried to dodge, it landed right on my midsection, causing my stomach to do another slow roll. "That’s what I think of your talking, whore." She wiped her heavily bleeding nose with the back of her hand, her dark eyes glittering with hatred.

"Think whatever you want, Cassandra. But I’m the one with the knife here."

"Not for long," she muttered. "You don’t even know how to hold it, let alone use it as a weapon."

"I didn’t know how to use a baseball bat as a weapon either, but my husband’s dead anyway. Check the obituaries. It’s in there."

That silenced her for a short period as she thought about what I’d said. "So spit it out already," she finally said grudgingly.

"Fine." I knew I had to make this convincing. "I don’t really care what you think happened between Ice and me. Fact is, I’m getting out soon, on appeal. After that, she’s all yours again. So . . . .how about we make a little deal?"

"And what kind of deal would you make, little girl," she said, sarcasm dripping from her words.

"Only this. You walk away like nothing ever happened and I don’t rat you out to Ice. Because if she ever finds out what you did to me, you can pretty much rule out living long enough to ever make that dream of yours a reality."

She simply looked up at me from her place on the floor, her chocolate eyes wide. I could have sworn I saw just the tiniest shard of respect there. Still . . . . "You wouldn’t rat."

"Wouldn’t I? What’s to stop me, hmm?"

"The prison code."

"The prison code," I repeated. "As in, the prison I’m leaving soon? That prison code?"

I could tell I had unbalanced her. I decided to move in for the figurative kill. "Besides," I said, smiling, "it’s not as if I can hide this from Ice, you know. The cut I might be able to explain away, but the bite mark? That’d be a little difficult, don’t you think? And since I’ve never lied to her before . . . ." My voice trailed off teasingly, letting her finish the thought herself.

Of course, I was lying, through my proverbial teeth. There wasn’t a chance in hell that I would ever let Ice get close enough to my naked thigh to see what Cassandra had done to it. I would never make good on my threat, but Cassandra didn’t need to know that. It was my one and only card to play, aside from, of course, the knife I held in my hands. If Ice ever found out what happened, Cassandra would be so much blood on the wall. Of that I was sure.

The tiny room was bathed in silence as Cassandra stared at me, calculating. "You’re a tough little bitch, I’ll give you that."

Some type of perverse pleasure filled me at her words, though I struggled not to let it show. I was already enjoying this little dominance/submission act way too much and that was scaring me more than the thought of what Ice would do if she ever found out about this little adventure. "Well?" I asked, prodding her into making some type of decision. "Do we have a deal?"

"And if I refuse to go along with this little delusion of grandeur you’re having here?"

"I parade you though the jail at knife point. Right up to Ice’s cell."

She looked at me, then at the knife. The very tip of her tongue darted out to smooth her lips. She smiled. "Do you really think you could do that? To me?"

I hardened my gaze. "Try me."

I could see the muscles of her throat move as she swallowed, the flickering of light and shadow over the ivory column of her neck. "Alright," she said softly. "I’ll go along with your little deal." Her lips curved upward in a faux smile. "For now." She held up a hand. "But when your injuries heal and it’s your word against mine," her smile broadened, "well . . .don’t think this is over."

"Believe me, I don’t."

"Good. As long as we understand one another." Her white teeth flashing, Cassandra hopped nimbly to her feet, making a half-hearted grab for the knife, an attempt which I easily avoided, as she did so. Throwing back her head, and cradling her broken hand against her chest, she laughed, long and loud. Then, grasping the doorknob with her good hand, she opened the portal and stepped back out into the hallway, turning her head and giving me a malicious, knowing wink before she disappeared from my sight.

As she left, I stood there, frozen, well aware, suddenly, of the mistake I’d just made. It was a sure bet that the guards had discovered her escape by now. They were, no doubt, combing the prison for her. And when they found her, all she had to do was turn the tables on me, stating that I’d accosted her and threatened her with a knife, and I’d be in the hole for God knew how long. My chances at a new trial would go up like so much smoke from a forest fire. And she’d get away with it, too. I was the one with the knife. My fingerprints were all over it. So what if I was the one bleeding? I already had more than enough experience with how being injured defending oneself could lead to all sorts of nasty accusations. After all, I was an inmate, wasn’t I?

The knife hanging limply in one hand, I listened carefully through the door, which I’d closed after Cassandra left, my ear pressed up against the rough, splintered wood.

After a few moments of silence, I heard the sounds of running feet and shouting that told me that the guards had found Cassandra. I held my breath, my palms sweating, my leg throbbing like a rotted tooth in some ghoulishly grinning death’s head mask. Plainly put, I was scared. My bladder was sending out an urgent summons which I crossed my legs against receiving.

Cassandra’s high-pitched cackle filled the air and I almost screamed. The knife dropped from my clenched fist, clattering against the cold floor. The rich iron-copper taste of blood filled my mouth as I bit my lips against the noise forming in the back of my throat.

"I was just taking a walk, ladies. Can’t a girl have a little freedom around here?" Psycho’s laugh filled the air once again, getting dimmer to my hearing as she was, no doubt, led back to her cell.

I waited in absolute, terror-filled silence for the footsteps I was sure were coming for me. Minutes went by during which entire worlds were born, thrived, and reduced to their component atoms. My throat clicked as I swallowed. I counted to one thousand in my head several times, slowly, like I used to do when we would play touch football during recess at school. "One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi," I breathed against the door.

Then I counted once more, for good measure.

The expected footsteps never came. Then, my bladder shouted out a warning too harsh to be ignored. If I didn’t leave my hiding spot right that second, blood on my uniform wouldn’t be the only stain I’d have to explain away.

I gripped the knob with a trembling hand and turned it as slowly as it was possible to do so, wincing at the telltale ‘click’ that disengaged the lock. Opening it the tiniest sliver, I peered down the hallway. Empty silence greeted my gaze.

Taking in a deep breath, I slowly, silently pulled the door open wide enough to slip through, taking one last cautionary look around before exposing myself. The hallway was as empty as it had been a second ago. I slipped out, turning left and making my way, limping, back toward the safe confines of the library. Not surprisingly, the need to empty my bladder disappeared as soon as I was safely inside.

Slipping into and being instantly calmed by the familiar surroundings, I flipped the lights on and made my way to the far corner behind Corinne’s always-messy desk. On the shelf behind her hotplate, teakettle, teabags and assorted mugs lay a fairly large box emblazoned with a red cross on its white plastic finish. She’d put it there after the last riot and it was fairly well stocked with the requisite bandages, tape, scissors, hydrogen peroxide, alcohol swabs and quite a few drugs more commonly seen in hospitals, pharmacies and, in some cases, on the mean streets than in a prison library. There were even syringes to inject some of the more potent, and highly illegal, drugs.

Secreting myself in the shadows, I quickly stripped down to my underwear, letting the jumpsuit puddle down around my ankles as I took my first good look at the wound Cassandra had given me.

It was, to be blunt, ugly. The cut itself wasn’t that deep. It had already stopped bleeding, for the most part. But the bite mark was a different story altogether. There, on my thigh, outlined in vivid, angry red, was the perfect imprint of Cassandra’s front teeth, upper and lower. The puncture wounds looked like a dentist’s mold in reverse.

"Jesus." I whispered the oath as I gingerly fingered the lividity, watching it blanch a sickly yellowed white before turning back to red when the pressure was removed. The punctures bled sluggishly and I supposed that was one of the few good things about this whole experience. I tried to think back to when I’d received my last tetanus shot, well knowing that human bites were more dangerous than dog bites could ever be. Then I remembered that I’d received one in the Emergency Room after I’d been beaten by Peter, which, of course, put it well within the ten year limit of the vaccine’s protection.

Reaching into the kit, I grabbed the bottle of peroxide, twisted it open, and upended it, allowing the liquid to flow unhindered onto my thigh. The peroxide hissed and bubbled as it seeped into the wounds and I hissed right along with it, wincing against the stinging in my leg.

Then I grabbed a rolled bandage and blotted off the excess liquid, careful not to touch the wound. "Ok, Angel, what next? You cleaned the wound. You probably should bandage it, right?" My whispered words sounded loud in the emptiness of the library.

Agreeing with myself, I opened a sterile gauze pad, placed it on top of the wound, and wrapped a rolled bandage around my thigh several times before grabbing a roll of tape and securing the wrapping.

Then I pulled my jumpsuit back over the whole deal, wincing at the bloodstain which liberally coated one thigh. I’d have to figure out a way to disguise that when I walked back to my cell for the night.

Knowing that infection would more than likely set in no matter how well I had cleaned the bite marks, I pawed through Corinne’s little pill factory, looking for antibiotics. When I was a young girl, I’d stepped on a nail and the doctor had given me Keflex. I figured that would be good for bite punctures as well, and when I saw a bottle labeled with that name, I grabbed it, slipping it into the front of my jumpsuit with another roll of bandages and some sterile gauze pads and zipping back up.

As I was closing up the first-aid kit, the warning buzzer for lights out sounded. Looking around quickly, I picked up the largest book I could find and held it awkwardly against my leg, hoping to cover the blood stain just long enough to get back to my cell. It wasn’t great, as disguises go, but it would have to do. Hopefully, I wouldn’t pass too many people in the hallways.

I managed to make it back to my cell without passing anyone who thought to give me much more than a quick glance. Once there, I stripped out of my bloodied uniform, tossed it in the laundry bin, and slid in between the cool sheets with a sense of utter relief. Then, remembering, I hobbled over to the sink and swallowed two antibiotic pills before returning to bed.

Sleep came quickly to me that night.

*  *  *

The next day was Saturday, and as soon as the in-cell headcount was completed, the sounds of guards opening the cell doors, keys rattling loudly in ancient locks, woke me from a sleep plagued by nightmares.

The sheets were sweat-soaked and tangled around me, and as I struggled to get them loose, a shadow crossed into the cell. I looked up to see Ice standing there, an almost apologetic half-smile gracing her flawless features.

As much as I wanted to see her last night, that’s as much as I didn’t want to see her this morning. There was no way I could let her know what had happened to me, and if she got close enough, that was exactly what was going to happen. With, I was quite sure, disastrous results.

Ice’s piercing eyes narrowed as I reached up to wipe my stringy, damp hair away from my forehead. I could feel the heat gusting off my skin like a furnace and willed myself not to tremble. "Are you alright?" she asked, taking one step into my cell.

"Yes! Yes, I’m . . . ."

Her eyes narrowed still further, till they were glittering blue slits, peeking from beneath lowered, elegant brows.

"No. I’m not alright. I don’t feel too well."

And that was the absolute truth, as far as that went. My leg felt swollen and tight, like an overcooked sausage. Its continual throbbing matched the headache thumping sickly behind my eyes. I’d also managed to forget that when I was young, Keflex had made me violently ill, killing all the good bacteria in my digestive tract and giving me a form of colitis that made me beg God to just kill me and end my misery.

The night before, those same prayers winged their way Heavenward.

Ice took another step forward. "What’s wrong?"

Oh boy. She would have to ask me the one question I didn’t have the answer to. Well, not the false one I needed to give her. Quick, Angel. Think. Something. Anything. "Cramps," I said finally.

Her eyes widened in understanding, then narrowed again. "You’re a little early, aren’t you?"

Oh shit. "Um . . .yeah. I am. I think it’s stress." I attempted a weak smile which I knew fell flat. "You know, with my case and all."

"Are you sure that’s all there is? You look pretty feverish to me."

"Sometimes that happens," I responded, trying to get my muddled mind to think quickly. "When they’re really bad like this."

Another step and she was almost at my bedside. "I could give you a massage. Sometimes loosening those muscles helps."

I sat up quickly, stifling a groan and pulling the sheet up to my chin. "No! No, that’s ok. See . . .when I’m in a lot of pain like this, I don’t like to be touched." C’mon, Ice. Get the hint already, please? Lying to you like this is killing me.

Ice pulled back slowly, her face expressionless. "Alright." She crossed her arms over her chest, disbelief showing clearly on her face. "Is there anything I can do?"

"No. Wait . . .yes. There is. Um . . .sometimes milk makes me feel a little better. Is there any way you could go down to the cafeteria or the commissary and pick some up for me?" I was going on the most desperate hope that the milk would help coat my stomach so I could at least somewhat tolerate the antibiotic I needed to have.

She smiled slightly. "Yeah. I can do that."

I contained my sigh of relief. Two birds with one stone. Temporarily at least. "Great. Thank you."

She nodded, that calculating expression still in her eyes, then turned and left the cell. When she was gone, I slumped back against the wall. "Damn you, Psycho. Damn you and damn your crazy obsessions. Damn you for making me lie like this. Why can’t you just leave us alone?"

Blinking my tears back, I lifted the sheet and quickly unwrapped the bandage covering my thigh. The area around the bite marks was reddish-purple, swollen, and hot to the touch. The wounds themselves were weeping a cloudy yellow fluid which I took to be infection. At least the knife wound seemed to be healing without problems. So far.

Ice returned just as I was putting the finishing touches on my bandage. Quickly dropping the sheet over my body, I managed a smile as she walked into the cell bearing three half-pint cartons of milk. She handed me one as she set the other two down on the nightstand. Opening the carton, I downed the entire contents in a couple of gulps. It was cold, smooth and refreshing, especially to my dehydrated body. "God, that’s good," I said, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

Smiling, Ice leaned down slightly and wiped up a trace of milk from my upper lip with her thumb. "Ya look better without the moustache," she pronounced, joking.

I managed a weak laugh that was interrupted by a jaw-popping yawn. "God, I guess I’m more tired than I thought."

"You do look pretty wiped out," she agreed, reaching down and brushing the hair from my eyes. "You’re still pretty warm, too. You aren’t getting sick again, are you?"

Snuggling down under the sheet once again, I gave her my best convincing look, which probably wasn’t all that convincing, to tell the truth. "No, I feel fine. Just in pain from these damn cramps. I should be good to go by tomorrow, or at the latest, Monday." Which was, of course, yet another lie in a speech full of them. While I had hopes that the infection would be gone by the new week’s beginning, I would definitely not be good to go. Especially not the type of ‘going’ that Ice’s close presence was conjuring visions of deep within the recesses of my muddled brain.

I tensed as she grabbed the sheet, but relaxed when she simply pulled it tighter under my chin before bending down to place a kiss on my forehead. "Alright then. I have to take care of some things with Critter and Pony. I’ll try to come back this evening and send someone to check up on you periodically, alright?"

"No. That’s ok. I’ll be fine. Really. The way I feel, I’ll probably just sleep straight through to tomorrow morning anyway." I yawned again to make my story convincing.

Crooking me a smile as she straightened, she fiddled with my sheet for a brief second more before backing away. "I’ll be back here tonight to check in on you. And I’ll be sending some of the Amazons up during the day just to make sure you don’t need anything."

I gave her an overly-dramatic sigh. "Oh alright, Ms. Warden wannabe."

She threw back her own mock-hurt expression in return. "Fine. Just for that, I’ll send Critter up here every hour with a thermometer and some lube to take your temperature . . .the right way." Her eyes were positively sparkling with glee.

I gulped. "I’ll be good," I squeaked.

Winking, she gave me one of her full-on smiles, leaving me dazzled. "I know you will be. Sweet dreams, my Angel. Feel better soon."

Pain? What pain?

PART 15

MIRACULOUSLY, I SUPPOSE, I managed to make it through the rest of Saturday and all of Sunday without any major incidents. The milk did its job, allowing me to keep down the antibiotics which, in turn, did their job in decreasing the swelling, redness and pain in my leg so that, by the time Monday morning rolled around, bite and knife wounds were healing nicely and I was able to once again dress in my uniform without an appreciable bulge showing.

Still, after the cell doors had been opened for the day, I waited an additional few minutes to be sure Ice was safely down at the auto shop before venturing forth to start my Monday. The woman had a sixth sense about things, and I knew this weekend had pushed my credibility to the limit, if she had even bought my act at all, and the jury was still out on that particular count, to use an apt analogy.

After a solitary breakfast, I made my way down to the library. The tension I’d missed by playing ‘possum all weekend returned with a vengeance. I’m sure it had never really left, but the more or less peaceful island of my solitary cell kept me in calm waters over the weekend.

As I walked, I counted no less than fifteen separate incidents, mostly arguments between guards, inmates and guards, and inmates. Thankfully, none of the ones I saw denigrated into out and out physical confrontations. While I felt much better, I wasn’t yet ready to test my body’s healing by trying to get between two angry women with hurting on their mind.

As I slipped into the sanctuary of the library, I did so with a sigh of relief. Corinne greeted me with a smile. She bustled over to the table and sat down next to me, her hands folded on the scarred wood, her expression expectant. "So?"

I looked at her, confused. "So . . .what?"

"How do you feel?"

"Fine?"

She smiled. "Good. That’s good."

I narrowed my eyes at her. "What’s going on, Corinne?"

Her own eyes went wide. "Whatever do you mean, Angel?"

"Alright," I spat. "Out with it. Why is everyone in this damn prison acting like they’re in need of some serious laxative therapy and why are you sitting there like you just ate the canary."

"Actually, I noticed that the natives were getting a little restless too, now that you mention it," Corinne commented, adjusting her glasses. "Not sure why, though."

"You?" I asked, shocked at the admission. "The woman who knows when someone’s gonna sneeze before they do it? The great Corinne, Oracle of the Bog?"

She frowned at me. "I’m hardly perfection personified, Angel."

I laughed. "I’m going to have to write that one down."

Folding her meaty arms across her abundant chest, Corinne gave me her best affronted glare. "Fine. If you don’t want to hear the good news, which, let me tell you, I kept safe from the ravaging hordes of inquisitive little noses just for you, then you can trot your little fanny right out of this little library of mine."

Having, by this time, known Corinne more than four years, I could usually tell when her hurt was real or feigned. By the look in her eye, I knew she was leading me on, as was usually the case with her. Still, I decided to do the honorable thing and give in. Besides, I really wanted to know what the good news was. "Please, Corinne," I began, with as much faux-docility in my voice and manner as I could manage without laughing, "I’m very sorry if I offended you with my attitude. Please say you forgive me?"

"Oooo. You’re good, Angel."

I smirked. "Thank you. Now, what’s the news? Or do you want me on my knees, begging."

"Don’t tempt me, child. Just seeing you in that position would almost make getting torn into five equal pieces by Ice worth the pain." Her dark eyes were filled with mirth.

"Corinne? The news? Please?"

Grinning at me, she reached through her shawl and into the folds of her jumpsuit, returning with a piece of paper in her hand. "Early Saturday morning, Phyllis came looking for you about a phone call. Ice had been up to see you already and told us you were a bit under the weather, so I asked Phyllis if she could take a message. She agreed, and a short time later, came back with this." She held the paper tauntingly, the printed area for her eyes only.

Groaning in frustration, I threw my hands up in the air. "Come on, Corinne!"

She saw my groan and raised me an over-dramatic sigh. "Oh, fine. Be that way. Here." Slamming the note face down, she pushed it across the table to me.

"Thank you," I responded with forced politeness as I picked up the paper and turned it over. Printed across the blank tableau in Corinne’s bold, distinctive hand, were three simple words. "We did it!"

Cocking my head in confusion, I looked back up at my friend who was trying unsuccessfully to hold back a grin. "Who did what?" I asked. "Corinne, who’s this message from?"

Corinne let her smile show through. "Your lawyer, Angel. It was Donita on the phone. She didn’t give out any more information than that, but Phyllis said that she told her to make sure you called her at her office when you were feeling up to it."

"And that would be right now!" Grinning like a madwoman, I jumped to my feet, the printed note crumpled in my hands. With a whooping yell that almost startled Corinne into a heart attack, I left the library at a run.

*  *  *

When I returned, my color was high, my chest was laboring, and my eyes were wet with happy tears. I nearly bowled Corinne over as I wrapped her portly form in a huge bear-hug, sending her glasses skittering off her nose to hang on the silver chain she kept around her neck. I planted a big kiss on her dry, weathered cheek, then released her, stepping away, laughing.

"Well, I can only hope to be the bearer of more good news in the future," she said, bemusedly touching her cheek and smiling dazedly at me.

"I feel great!" Throwing my arms out, I twirled around the library, missing the assembled furniture and patrons only by luck. "She did it!"

My friend gave me an infinitely patient smile usually reserved for two-year-olds who have hidden mommy’s wallet and don’t possess the requisite verbal skills to tell her where it might be. "I think we’ve all gotten that bit by now, Angel. The question here is, what is ‘it’?"

"Donita talked to the judge on Friday evening. After seeing the evidence, he’s agreed to overturn the verdict!"

"Heaven bless the persistent," Corinne breathed, clasping her hands over her breast. "Angel, that’s wonderful news!"

I was grinning so hard, I thought my face would shatter. "I know. God, I’m so excited!"

"So, when ya bein’ sprung?" one of the inmates asked from her place near the stacks.

"Well, my lawyer and the judge talked to the DA, but he refuses to drop the charges. He thinks that despite everything, he still has a case against me."

"What about bond?" asked a second prisoner.

"Donita and the DA couldn’t agree on a figure. I told her it was alright, though. I don’t mind being here till a new trial." I shrugged. "I don’t have anywhere else to go anyway."

"Have they set a trial date?" Corinne asked.

"Donita says it’ll probably be in a month or two. They’ve got a pretty heavy caseload over there, but she’s throwing around words like ‘deliberate jury tampering’, ‘perjurious eye-witnesses’, ‘unjust incarceration’ and ‘lawsuit’. She’s pretty sure my turn will come soon."

This time it was Corinne who enveloped me in a full-body hug. Totally giddy, I willingly sunk into the soft roundness of her frame, taking in her scent of ink and paper and tea. "I must be dreaming," I whispered.

"No you’re not, sweet Angel." Releasing me, Corinne gently cupped my cheeks, then turned my head, planting on kiss to either side of my face and one full on my lips. Then she smiled and stepped away. "This is real. Enjoy the feeling. God knows, you deserve it."

"I just can’t believe it’s happening. I don’t think it’s really set in yet. God." I looked wildly around. "I need to see Ice. I need to tell her the news."

Corinne stepped forward once again, putting a restraining hand on my arm. "That’s not the best of ideas right now."

A thrill of fear skittered down my spine. "Why not?"

"Digger came looking for you when you were off talking to Donita just now. Apparently, Ice got into another row with the Warden."

"Oh no. What was it about?"

"Digger didn’t know. All she said was that there was a whole lot of shouting. She thought it might have had something to do with a job of some sort, but she wasn’t sure."

"Did she get sent to the hole?" Even my heart stopped as I waited for the answer.

"No. Back down to the auto-shop, I’d expect. Digger said she’d never seen Ice as angry as she was when she came out of the office. Said she almost pushed another inmate through the wall on her way out."

"I’d better go talk to her."

"It’s probably best if you wait, Angel. Give her a chance to cool down."

Before I could argue any further, a scream sounded from outside the library.

Jumping to my feet once again, I dashed out of the library, following the sound of the scream into the prison square. Halfway to the center of the square, I stopped and followed the crowd’s gaze upwards. "Oh shit," I half-whispered, shouldering my way through the crowd.

There, on the second floor, poised equidistant between Pony to the left and Phyllis on the right, was an inmate I’d never seen before straddling the iron railing. Almost directly behind the young woman, her face pressed hard up against the bars of door enclosing the segregation unit, was Psycho, grinning maliciously.

The crowd parted suddenly and I skid to a stop next to Critter, who was standing almost directly beneath the catwalk, her neck craned at a tendon-stretching angle as she looked almost straight up. I took a step back so as to more easily appraise the situation.

The woman looked to be my age or maybe a little younger, with a plump, well-rounded figure, lank blonde hair and thick glasses. Her round face was doughy-white and shiny with sweat. Her gray eyes were magnified behind the lenses of her glasses, giving her an absolutely terrified expression.

I watched as Pony took a careful step forward. The woman flung out an arm, almost toppling over the rail. "Don’t move! I’ll jump! I swear it! Not one step closer!"

Psycho’s cackling laugh sounded. "Oh please jump, little fish. You’d absolutely make my day. Why, if you tried hard enough, I bet you could even manage to break an ankle or two on your way down . . .from the second floor."

"Shut up!" the woman screamed, releasing her grip and slamming her hands over her ears. Her body wobbled once again and she skittered quickly for a handhold, still straddling the iron bars. "Just shut up!!"

Cassandra just continued to laugh, rattling the bars of her cage just to frighten the girl some more, which she did.

"What’s her name?" I shouted to Critter to be heard over Psycho’s howling laughter.

My friend turned to me. "I don’t know. I’ve never seen her before."

"Shit." I looked up at Pony, who shrugged. Phyllis also looked down at me, her expression fixed, intent. After what seemed like an hour, at least, Cassandra’s laughter wound down and I saw my opportunity. "What’s your name?" I shouted up to the girl on the rail.

Startled, she looked down at me, and the crowd gathered in the square, as if seeing us all for the first time. She tightened her grip on the railing, her lips clamped into a small line on her face.

I gave her my warmest smile. "C’mon. You can tell me. What’s your name? Mine’s Angel."

"I . . .my . . .my name’s Iris," she half-whispered.

"Speak up, dear!" Psycho’s jeering, insanely gleeful voice echoed through the silent square. "If you’re going to put on a show, you need to let all of your audience hear your lines."

"It’s alright, Iris," I said, warmly. "I heard you. Can you tell me why you’re up there?"

"Yes, tell us all, fishie! Tell us all what your little problem is. We’d so much like to hear it."

Iris turned her head back toward Psycho. "Shut up!" she screamed. "Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Shutupshutupshutupshutup! SHUT! UP!"

As Cassandra howled in laughter once again, Pony made a move toward her cell. Iris caught the motion and shifted, overcompensating and sliding from the top rail.

The entire crowd sucked in a breath.

The girl managed to catch herself at the last moment and quickly yanked her body back onto the railing, still straddling it with one foot on the lowest rung. "Stay back!" she yelled to Pony.

Pony came to an abrupt stop as Cassandra opened her mouth once again. "Keep it shut, Psycho!"

"You’re gonna meet your maker for that one, Horsey-Girl," Cassandra snarled, rattling her cage once again.

"Remind me to piss my panties later, Psycho. For now, just shut the fuck up why don’t you."

"Make me, bitch."

Pony’s intent lunge was interrupted by yet another scream from Iris. She froze once again, mere feet from both Cassandra and the girl. Letting out a breath, she backed away slowly, her empty hands raised. "Alright," she murmured soothingly. "Alright. I’m not gonna hurt you. See?"

"Iris," I said, directing the terrified woman’s attention back to me. "Please, why do you want to do this? There must be something we can do."

"She’s the reason!" Iris screamed, pointing a shaking hand toward Psycho. "It’s all her fault!"

Cassandra howled again.

"Two weeks trapped inside with that . . .that . . .that monster! She wouldn’t let me sleep! She wouldn’t let me eat! Threatening me every minute of every day!" Tears streamed down her full face, magnifying her eyes even more. "And every night . . .every night she’d send that damned awful disgusting rat of hers into my cell!"

As I listened to the hysterical woman, I could see, from the corner of my eye, the truly evil grin that spread across Psycho’s face. When I saw her duck away from the door, I reached out and grabbed Critter, yanking her backward against me. "Go get Ice," I hissed into her ear.

"Wha--?"

"Go get Ice. Now. She should be down in the auto shop. Hurry."

Critter nodded once, then pulled away, sprinting through the square and down the hallway leading to the shops. I turned my head away from her just as another piercing scream rent the air.

I didn’t have to be at ground zero to know that Heracles had just put in an appearance.

Iris jumped so that her feet were balanced, almost like a surfer’s, on the top bar of the railing. Her body swayed violently to the left and right as she tried to keep her balance, all the while staring at the floor to her left and screaming without pause. "Get it away from me! Oh dear God, get it away from me!!!"

Cassandra’s vibrant voice could easily be heart through the panicked screaming. "Oh yes, little Heracles. Bite her. That’s it. Bite her legs off, Heracles. Suck her eyes out! Attack! Attack!!" The woman was positively braying with insane laughter as Heracles skittered back and forth at the very edge of the catwalk, his long whiskers twitching with animal excitement.

Screaming, Iris lost her balance, her feet slipping off the railing and plunging over the outside. She managed to catch the top rail under her elbows and locked on tight, kicking her how free legs as the inquisitive rat came closer to explore this new prize.

From my vantage point down below, I knew that, in that very instant, was the time to strike. But I could also see that both Pony and Phyllis were frozen to their spots, watching instead of acting. I wanted to scream at them to break their paralysis, but just as I opened my mouth, Iris managed to hook one flailing leg over the lowest rung and pull herself back onto the rail, still screaming in terror.

Phyllis removed her baton and raised it high over her head, her eyes fixed on Heracles. "Call him back, Cassandra!" she shouted. "I’ll kill him if you don’t!"

That threat cut Psycho’s laugh off immediately. "You wouldn’t dare, piggy," she sneered.

"Just try me, Cassandra. Call him back now!"

There was several moments of a tense standoff before Psycho finally sighed. "Oh alright. This prison is such a bore." She whistled. "Come here, little Heracles. Come back to mommy, won’t you?"

Apparently, however, Heracles was too fond of his newfound freedom because he studiously ignored the pleas of his mistress, preferring instead to continue pacing beneath the screaming woman above him, his brown, beady eyes seeming to check her out from every angle.

"Heracles! You naughty boy! Come back in here this instant!"

A flash of orange sparked across the periphery of my vision and, when I turned my head, I saw Ice as she bounded up the stairs four at a time, her hair streaming behind her in an inky cloud.

Everyone’s focus turned to her. Even Iris stopped her screaming.

Cassandra smiled with what looked to be relief. "Oh, Ice, there you are. Would you be a dear and get my little Heracles back for me? He doesn’t seem to want to listen to his mommy today."

Arriving on the catwalk, Ice casually crossed her arms and smirked, eyebrow lifted, in the direction of Cassandra. "Seems like your little ‘pet’ has developed an attitude problem."

Psycho’s smile grew larger. "Oh, we have one more thing in common, then, don’t we."

Ice simply stared at her. My muscles tightened as a sense of foreboding washed over me.

"It seems that your little pet has developed an attitude problem of her very own. Isn’t that right, Angel." Her words echoed, like a death knell, through the square.

Ice looked down at me, her gaze inquisitive. I stood frozen to my spot on the floor.

Cassandra laughed. "You mean you didn’t tell her, Angel? You actually kept your word?? Oh, isn’t that rich!"

"Spit it out, Cassandra," Ice ordered. "What are you talking about."

I wanted to scream, shout, fall down on my knees in a grand mal seizure . . .anything to stop this topic in its embryonic stage. For a brief second, I even found myself praying that Iris, the person who started this whole thing, would just jump so nothing else could be said.

My prayer went unanswered. Iris seemed as riveted to these new turn of events as everyone else was.

"I can’t believe she didn’t tell you of our little adventure, Ice!"

"Cassandra . . . ."

"Oh, alright. If it’ll get my sweet little Heracles back, I’ll tell you." She stuck her skinny arms through the bars, linking her hands together casually. "Let’s see. Friday, I think it was, I was just sick of this new fish and her incessant whining. So, I decided to take a stroll. Nothing much, really. Just a chance to stretch my legs, see what was happening, that kind of thing."

"I assume there’s a point in here somewhere?"

"Oh there is. There is. Never fear. You see, I just happened, for some strange reason, to find myself outside the library very close to lights out. Now, locked in my miserable cell all day like I am, I’ve been deprived of the great pleasure of seeing this remarkable bastion of lower learning in the flesh, so to speak. And I did so want the opportunity to meet the great Corinne." She sighed dramatically. "But, alas, it was near closing time and our dear librarian had already made her tottering way back to her cell, I’m afraid."

Then she clapped her hands together as an expression of almost beatific joy overspread her fair features. "But I wasn’t disappointed. Oh no. Because instead of the great Corinne, I got her wonderful assistant, Angel."

Ice’s expression became stony. Cassandra laughed. The inmates and guards, Iris included, all turned to stare at me. I wanted to run. I wanted to hide. But I couldn’t. My body was refusing my mind’s commands. I remained frozen, landlocked in a sea of misery.

"So I invited her into one of the paint closets. You know, just to chat." She shrugged.

"What happened." Ice’s voice was completely devoid of all emotion. I knew right then just how angry she was.

Cassandra scowled. "The little bitch disarmed me!"

Some of the inmates started to laugh. There was a smattering of applause as well. Cassandra snarled, loudly.

"And?"

Her insane good humor restored, Psycho smiled once again. "Well, I didn’t give up without a fight. Managed to slice her leg open before she could take my knife away. But it wasn’t over there. Oh goodness, no. I went after my pretty little blade and she actually stepped on my hand!" Scowling, she held up the appendage in question. I noticed with equal parts satisfaction and guilt that her hand was swollen and bruised. "You really should spank her for her impertinence, Ice," she said in a sly undertone which, nevertheless, carried to all ears.

There was some snickering over that particular comment. Ice, however, remained unmoved.

"Anyway, like any good psychotic, I went with my best option."

"Meaning?"

"I bit her."

"You did what?!"

"I bit her. Right on one of those luscious thighs of hers." She trailed off, opening her eyes wide in a show of mock surprise. "You mean she didn’t show you? You didn’t see it when the two of you were rutting like a couple of crazed weasels? I know I left a mark. I could even taste the hot tang of her blood through the material of her uniform." Rolling her eyes, she ran a tongue across her front teeth, body writhing as if in ecstasy.

Ice’s hands clenched slowly. I could easily see the corded muscles and tendons of her neck protrude. I thought for sure she would rush the bars holding Cassandra inside the segregation unit. But she didn’t. She just stood there, staring. "What happened next." Her voice was so soft, I had to strain to hear it.

"We made a deal."

"And that was?"

"I wouldn’t fight her for the knife she now held at my neck, and in return, she wouldn’t tell you about what happened between us."

Oh, please look at me, Ice. Please. Look down here and see how sorry I am. Please.

But she didn’t hear me. And even if, by some miracle, she had, I knew right then that she would never have listened. I had never seen her as angry as she was right then. I felt as if I had lost my entire world.

"Why would she make that kind of deal?" Ice asked, almost rhetorically.

But Cassandra, as always, was ready with an answer. "Isn’t it obvious, dear Ice? It’s because she knows that you and I are two of a kind. The unredeemable. She knew that if she told you what had happened, you’d come over here and try to kill me without a second thought! And that’s how it should be! It’s who we are!"

She cocked her head, a look that frighteningly resembled compassion shining from her eyes. "Oh come now, Ice. You don’t think she really believes all that goody-goody tripe she spouts at you every day, do you? About your soul having worth? Of course not! She knows you’ll never be anything more than you are right now. A cold blooded murderer." She grinned. "Like me! That’s why we belong together, you and I. Because I’ll never lie to you, Ice. I know who you are."

I could see Ice shaking her head slowly, though tears had blurred my vision. I wanted to scream out. To negate Cassandra’s words. But my throat wouldn’t open enough to let the words come out.

"That she hid her injuries from you proves my point, Ice. Her words are just lip service. After all, you’re a good bodyguard." She leered. "And a wonderful lover." She shrugged. "And if she has to lie to get you to feel good about yourself, well, it’s not a bad return on her investment."

Through my wavery vision, I could see Ice’s whole body as it started to shake, as if in the grip of some palsy. It broke me from my terror-induced paralysis. Gathering up my strength, I sprinted for the stairs. Two bodies closed ranks to prohibit my passage. Looking up, I saw Critter and Sonny standing before me, their arms crossed over their chests, their expressions as stony as Ice’s had been.

"It’s not that way!" I screamed. "That’s not why I did it!"

All heads turned to me, but in that moment, I didn’t care. In some way, my actions had betrayed the woman I loved more than my own life. I needed to talk to her; needed to explain what was going through my mind when I made the decisions I did to keep what had happened from her. I did believe in the goodness in her heart. It wasn’t lip service. None of it was. I spoke from a belief in her that was as deep as the bedrock of the earth.

Or did I? Were Psycho’s words in some way true? No. No, they couldn’t be.

"Ice! Please! Listen to me! Please!!!"

In the split second that my scream diverted all attention, Ice moved quickly, grabbing Iris and tossing her into the arms of a surprised Phyllis. Then I watched as she bent down and retrieved Heracles, likewise tossing him through the bars to an ecstatic Psycho.

Then she bounded across the catwalk and down the stairs, jumping over the railing before she got down to the first riser and running back down the hallway to the auto shop. I turned to run after her, only to be stopped yet again by twin arms to my elbows.

"Let me go!" I shouted, struggling to break free.

"Go back to the library, Angel," Sonny said.

"No! I have to go after her! Psycho’s lying! Can’t you see? I need to explain it to her! Please! Please, I’m begging you!"

Critter’s face softened infinitesimally. "Go back to the library, Angel. Ice is too angry to hear anything you’d try to tell her right now. Let her calm down a little."

I looked over at Sonny, who nodded, reluctantly, it seemed.

"Are you sure?" I asked, sniffing back my sobs.

My friend smiled slightly. "Yeah. I’m sure. Just let her calm down. I think she’ll realize who it was who told her these things pretty quick. After all, it’s obvious Psycho has her own agenda, especially when it comes to Ice. Just give her a little time and I’m sure she’ll be ready to listen to whatever you have to tell her." The expression on Critter’s face let me know that I had better have a damn good excuse, too.

I looked over their shoulders and down the long, empty hallway, willing with all my being for Ice to appear. When that didn’t happen, I finally nodded. "Alright. I’ll wait. Though if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather go to my cell. I don’t think I can face Corinne right now."

Both women nodded and released their grips on me, parting to allow me to walk up the stairs and into my cell.

I never did see Ice again that day. Nor did anyone else I asked, or even begged. It was as if she had disappeared from the planet.

I spent the evening before lock-down in a total panic, half-expecting the alarms indicating an escape to sound.

But they didn’t.

I spent the evening pacing the tiny confines of my cell, wearing down the path from my cell to Ice’s, scaring the guards as I popped into their spaces to beg for information on Ice’s whereabouts, and vomiting in the toilet.

I went to my knees, praying to God to let me find her and explain my side of the story.

He didn’t listen.

It was well into the darkest part of the morning when my grief-induced exhaustion finally caught up to me. I fell asleep on a pillow drenched with tears of sorrow and shame.

PART 16

I WAS DREAMING.

I knew it. But that knowledge didn’t help. The guilt I felt came with me into my subconscious mind, where it settled in to roost.

My dreams were filled with courtroom scenes. In them, I was always in this enormous witness box, sitting in an impossibly huge chair, looking up at a judge’s bench that seemed to be as tall as a skyscraper. Corinne, for some reason, was always the judge and sported a fancy white wig that I once read English judges still wear. She said only one word, and that oft-repeated.

Guilty!

Guilty!

Guilty!

And in a line that stretched from just in front of my chair to as far as I could see, were my accusers, each clad in fancy dress costumes.

The first to confront me were my parents who were, for whatever convoluted psychological reasons, dressed as King Louis XIV and Marie Antoinette. They carried large gavels which they banged repeatedly on the humongous arms of my chair, doling out my crimes of being a horrible daughter and a heart-wrenching disappointment to the family.

Guilty!

Next came my grade-school classmates, bearing accusations ranging from being the teacher’s pet (which I was) to being a milk-money thief (which I wasn’t).

Guilty!

Then came friends from high school, with their own accusations which ran together like wet paint in the rain.

Guilty!

Peter followed next. Unlike the others, however, he wore no fancy dress. My husband, removed by death, was completely naked. His skin held death’s pallor and lividity. His head was oddly shaped and blood ran from both ears in a sort of beard of gore. He stank of formaldehyde and grain alcohol. He leaned over toward me, his fetid, putrid breath buffeting my face and hair.

When he started to speak, he used the same words he had used on the night he tried to rape me. His voice and body language where overwhelmingly aggressive, and for a moment, I was actually in that position again. I could feel my dream hand reaching down, searching for the weapon that wasn’t there anymore.

"This isn’t happening!" my dream self screamed.

Guilty!

"You’re not real! You can’t hurt me anymore!"

Guilty!

"You’re dead! Don’t you understand? You’re dead! I killed you!!"

Guilty! Guilty!

"Please, Peter! Stop this! I don’t want to hurt you! Please, stop! I don’t want to hurt you anymore! Please! Just . . .stay . . .dead!!!"

Silence.

The kind that makes you want to scream just to fill it up with something.

The kind that makes you know exactly how it feels to be buried under six feet of heavy earth.

I closed my eyes tight, rubbing at them and trying to wake myself up. When I opened them back up again, Peter was gone. The line was gone. Corinne was gone. The entire room was an empty morass of white except for myself, my overlarge chair, and . . .

Ice.

Clad as she was on our anniversary, in blue silks, a rose in her hand.

Unlike the others, however, she didn’t accuse. She didn’t demean. She didn’t demand an accounting of me. She merely looked at me, holding out that one perfect, blood-red bloom.

But her eyes. God, they were so empty. Like doll’s eyes, almost. Worse even than when she had come back from her time in isolation.

For the first time during this dream, I cried. I reached out to accept the rose, but it was too far away. "Forgive me, Ice," I sobbed, my fingers straining. "Oh God, please forgive me. I didn’t do it to hurt you. Please believe me. I love you, Ice! I love you!"

Finally, stretching as far as I could, the very tips of my fingers brushed against hers as I retrieved the rose from her grasp. The moment our fingers touched, she crumpled to the floor, as silent as the world around me.

I woke up screaming.

When I opened my eyes, the difference between my dream world and my living reality was so great that I felt a brief moment of intense claustrophobia. The chipped and peeling walls seemed to me living things, closing in on me, wanting to crush the life and breath from my body.

I wondered, for a brief moment, if I was still dreaming.

I pinched myself, then winced at the resulting pain. When I looked up again, the walls had regained their normally placid nature. I breathed out a long sigh of relief, wiping the tears mixed with sweat from my face.

Twisting in my bed, I looked at the ever-humming clock. It read nearly eleven in the morning. I was struck with an almost overwhelming urge to get out of bed right now! Listening to my body’s instincts, I jumped from the bed and threw on my uniform, pausing only long enough to run a quick brush through my hair. My nerves were tied in tight knots but I couldn’t tell if it was just the aftermath of my nightmare or something more urgent.

I let my feet carry me at their own will as I left my cell behind and descended, once again, into the depths of this Hell called the Bog. At first, I headed in my customary direction, toward the library, when I was overcome with the need to get out into the fresh air.

Running down the hallway now, I slammed open the door to the outside, almost knocking an inmate to the ground in my haste. The sky was the deep gray of an approaching storm and I wrapped my arms around myself as the gusting breeze pricked gooseflesh up on my arms.

The inmates moved sluggishly and without purpose, like a colony of ants benumbed by winter’s biting chill. Even the Amazons seemed listless at their appointed place. I looked around quickly, then once again, my heart not ceasing in its frenetic pacing.

Something was wrong. I didn’t know what, but I knew that the tension in my body continued to build in incremental segments.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw, suddenly, Ice standing by the fence overlooking the parking lot. A strong sense of deja-vu washed over me, edging out the tension. As if still dreaming, I felt myself cross the yard in slow, measured steps, watching as more of the outside world became revealed to my sight.

I walked as quietly as I could, not wanting to alert her to my presence just yet.

A gust of wind whipped past again, musically rattling the chain-link fence and blowing Ice’s hair wildly around her shoulders and back.

I stopped several feet away from her, peering past the corner of the prison and into the lot beyond. Like last time, the warden stood conversing with Cavallo, the latter all spit-shined and polished and greasy, cap-toothed smiles. The warden returned the grin, smirking in the way of evil men pulling something over on unknowing innocents. They reached out to shake hands.

Only this time, when the gesture was done, Cavallo didn’t slip into his car. As if knowing he had an observer, he turned his head slowly, looking directly at Ice, his eyes shining chips of obsidian. The dark smile grew fixed on his boyishly handsome face.

Another squall flattened the grass in the yard, almost pushing me into the fence. Grabbing the billowing edges of his jacket, Cavallo turned his body in the direction of his head and began to walk toward Ice and the fence. After a moment, Morrison followed suit, striding quickly to catch up to his guest.

I shifted my gaze back and forth between the duo and Ice. The long lines of her body fairly radiated a lethal energy and spring-coiled tension. I resisted taking a step closer, instead contenting myself with controlling my breathing so that I might have a chance to hear the words sure to be spoken.

Cavallo came to a stop right in front of the fence. Leaning forward casually, he hooked a hand through the chain links, just inches away from Ice’s own grip. His oily smile broadened, a look of false camaraderie on his face. "If it isn’t the infamous Morgan Steele. How you doin’, Morgan? Get fucked by any big bull-dykes lately?" His twinkling eyes fairly radiated good humor.

"Cavallo," she greeted quietly, her voice overly controlled.

"I must say, though, you’re looking good. Orange agrees with you." Leering, he raked his eyes over her body, from head to toe and back up again. Then he cocked his head toward the sky. "Kinda sad though. You being all cooped up in this tiny little box while the world just continues to spin out here." A smirk curled his full lips as his eyes met hers once again. "Sorry to hear about Josephina’s little ‘accident’."

From my position to the side, I could see Ice’s profile and the way her lips pulled back from her teeth in a feral snarl.

Cavallo laughed. "Don’t have to worry about her getting lonely or anything, though. Her dear husband’s gonna be joining her in the next couple of days." His chest puffed out like a proud rooster’s. "Yes, indeed. The old man’s gonna be taking a long ride and I . . . well, let’s just say I’ll be left to pick up the pieces." His smirk became more pronounced. "It’s too bad you screwed up, Morgan." He leered at her again. "I just might have had a . . .position . . .for you in my new family."

The mobster pumped his hips twice against the fence, laughing at his obscene parody.

Ice’s control broke. Quick as a viper, she released her grip on the fence, only to clamp it down over Cavallo’s own fingers which were threaded through the links. His laugh turned into a screech, which turned into a howl of pain as Ice’s enormous strength literally cut his fingers into the thin metal bands. His blood began to paint the metal in ribbons of red.

"Release that man, Ms. Steele!" Morrison commanded, stepping up to the fence and trying, fruitlessly, to pry Ice’s fingers from Cavallo.

"You’ve got a big mouth, Joey," Ice snarled. "Somebody’s gonna shut it for ya one day. Permanently."

I could see that Cavallo badly wanted to respond. Unfortunately for him, he was too busy screaming.

Morrison took over that particular task. "It’s the hole for you, Ms. Steele. Ninety days, this time, for threatening civilians. I suggest you let him go right now before you spend the rest of your miserable life down there."

Ice ignored him. "You made a real big mistake, Joey-boy. Letting Warden Pious over there do your dirty work for ya." She shook her head in condescension. "You know that if you want something done right, you’ve got to do it yourself, don’t ya."

By the look in his eyes, I could tell that Cavallo knew exactly what Ice was referring to. If he didn’t before, he knew beyond a doubt that Ice was well aware who had set her up. There was fright in his eyes, shining through the pain like a beacon.

"Step away from the fence, inmate!" came the bullhorn-amplified voice of one of the tower guards.

I looked up and saw four of them, their high powered rifles aimed directly at Ice’s head.

As if she hadn’t heard, Ice increased the pressure of her fingers. "Just remember, Joey. Paybacks are a real bitch."

"Step away from the fence, inmate, or you’ll be shot! Release the civilian and step away. Now!"

With one last squeeze, and a scream from Cavallo, Ice released her grip and held up her empty hands, grinning. Taking two careful, deliberate steps back from the fence, she winked at the mobster, then turned.

Our gazes locked as she completed her turn and the world began to spin in slow motion. From the corner of my eye, I could see Cavallo reach beneath his coat with his good, right hand.

"Ice!" I launched myself at her, aiming for her legs. "Nooooo!"

Her eyes widened in question.

The sound of a gun firing, oddly flat in the turbulent air.

The question turned to shock as a bloom of red stained the small, burned hole that suddenly appeared in the upper left chest of her jumpsuit. She looked down, then back at me.

Then her eyes went as empty as they were in my dream and she crumpled to the ground silently.

I landed on top of her, screaming.

I pulled myself away quickly, slapping at my tears as I turned her over onto her back. "Oh God, no. Ice, no. Please. Oh God."

Blood pumped out of the exit wound in slow, sluggish bursts. But that meant that she was still alive. Pressing one hand over the hole in her chest, I used my free one to stroke the hair back from her face. "Oh God, please wake up, Ice. Please don’t die on me. Please. Don’t do this to me. Please. Oh God. Oh God."

I was panicking, and I knew it. But I couldn’t seem to stop. Blood welled up in the spaces between my fingers, painting me with its heated vibrancy. "Don’t you die on me, Morgan Steele. Don’t you dare die on me!"

The sound of running footsteps caused me to look up. The pale, scared faces of Sonny, Pony and Critter stared down at me.

"Oh fuck!" Pony grunted, squatting beside me and pushing her own hand down on top of mine in an attempt to stem the bleeding.

"Get an ambulance!" I screamed, not even feeling the pressure of Pony’s hand against my own. "Now!!"

Nodding abruptly, Sonny turned and sped away, running back toward the prison in a furious burst. The shocked crowd parted easily to allow her passage.

"Are they gone?" I asked Pony, my rearward view blocked by her muscled body.

"Who?" Pony asked distractedly, her face grim as she increased the pressure on my hand.

"The warden and . . .the shooter."

My friend looked over her shoulder, still blocking my view of the fence and the area beyond it. "A car’s peelin’ rubber outta the parking lot," she grunted, returning her full attention to her task of slowing the bleeding pumping out of my lover with every beat of her heart.

"Thank God."

"What are you thankin’ God for? That might be Ice’s killer getting away!"

"She won’t die. I know it. She can’t."

"I wish I had your faith, Angel."

"You don’t need it. I have faith enough for all of us."

More prisoners came up do join us, crowding around and blocking what little light there was. Critter jumped to her feet and pushed the women back as several other Amazons wove their way through the massing women, surrounding us in a protective circle.

Some of the other inmates began to grumble. A clattering sound was heard and I looked up just in time to see a fist-sized rock bounce off the guard tower and land against the fence. Two more rocks flew past me, crashing against the metal frame of the tower.

"What’s happening?"

Grunting, Pony pulled Critter down and slapped her hand against mine. "These idiots were just looking for a reason to riot. Looks like they found one."

"But the guards didn’t shoot her!"

"That doesn’t matter. Just keep that pressure on. I’ll see what I can do."

That wasn’t a hard order to follow. If the atom bomb was getting ready to land on me, I wouldn’t have moved. Critter looked down at Ice’s marble-white face. "Is she . . . ."

"For now," I said, trailing my trembling fingers over my lover’s still lips. "Please hang on, Ice," I whispered. "I’m so sorry. Please hang on. Just a little longer, alright?"

Pony took some of the Amazons guarding us with her and I was now able to see more of the yard. The inmates reminded me of angry wasps, clad in orange. Their faces were angry, their postures tense, ready to explode with the least provocation. Isolated knots of violence flared up, only to die quickly. The crowd’s mood and actions mirrored the fitful breeze surrounding us perfectly.

The only thing keeping me in once piece was the feel of Ice’s broad chest moving rhythmically beneath my hand. She looked so peaceful, lying there. If I didn’t look down at my gore-coated hands, I could almost believe that she’d just fallen asleep in the yard. "Please wake up, Ice," I whispered, brushing back the windblown tendrils of her hair. "Please don’t leave me like this, alright? I love you. And I know you love me. So . . .just wake up. Please."

The sound of the door slamming open echoed through the yard, and I watched as very nearly the entire contingent of guards marched into the yard, batons in hand, grim expressions on their faces. Sandra broke from the ranks when she saw Critter, Ice and me, running toward us at a sprint.

"Who did this," she demanded, coming to a full stop and crouching next to me.

I looked at Critter, who looked back at me and shrugged.

"Come on, Angel. Who did this? Was it one of my guards?"

"No. No, it wasn’t one of the guards."

"It wasn’t an inmate . . . ."

"No, not an inmate either."

Her chest caved with her relieved sigh. "Then who? Who was it, Angel?"

It may have been the dire situation, but this time, I didn’t hesitate. Ice had asked to be given the chance to handle Cavallo on her own, and as long as she was alive, I was going to keep my word and give her that chance. I returned Sandra’s stare directly. "I don’t know, Sandra. I wasn’t standing close enough to be properly introduced."

Her expression showed her shock at my words. "But . . . ."

I used my free hand to clamp down on her wrist. "It’s not important now, Sandra. None of this is important. What is important is keeping her alive. So . . .quit with the questions and find out where the hell that damned ambulance is, alright?"

Her eyes the size of saucers, the head guard jumped to her feet, and turned back toward the building just as the door slammed open once again. Three paramedics ran out into the yard, pushing a stretcher over the broken ground.

Within seconds, they were upon us, with their dented orange boxes and airs of polite, detached, professionalism. Pony and I were pushed out of the way and Ice was quickly loaded aboard the stretcher and buckled in.

When they raised the stretcher to its full height, I jumped to my feet, grabbing one of the rails. "Take me with you."

Sandra grabbed me from behind. "You know they can’t do that, Angel."

Pulling away from her grip, I turned on her, holding my wrists up. "Sure they can. Handcuff me. Shackle my legs. Send a couple guards with me to make sure I don’t try to jump out of the back of the ambulance. Just please, Sandra, let me go with her. She has no one else."

The head guard turned to one of the paramedics and my heart blazed with hope. "You taking her to County?"

"Yeah. It’s got a good trauma team. They should be able to fix her up just fine."

Sandra nodded. "We’ll be in touch by phone then." Reaching down, she gently released my grip on the stretcher, then tapped the medic on the shoulder to send him on his way.

"Wait!" I yelled, struggling to free myself from Sandra’s confining grip. "You can’t do this! Sandra, please! Let me go with her!"

Pulling me into a strong embrace, Sandra lowered her head to whisper in my ear. "You can’t go with her, Angel. You know that. You need to be strong, both for Ice and for the rest of us. These women are about one bad second away from exploding into a full-bore riot. If they see you collapse out here . . . ."

I knew she was right, and in that moment, I felt a red flare of hatred for her because of it. How could she expect me to give one care about the inmates or the guards or the potential for a riot? How dare she expect me to pretend like nothing was wrong while my heart was slowly dismembering itself?

But her embrace was warm and full and tender. And from within it, I was able to find the strength to pull myself back together, if only temporarily, if only to show the false face of confidence to the outside world.

Finally, I nodded and pulled away, wiping the tears from my face with relatively steady hands. "I’m alright. I’ll be alright."

Sandra smiled. "I know you will be. Ice is a strong woman. She’ll pull through fine. You’ll see. And when she does," cocking her head, she captured my eyes with her own, "the three of us are going to sit down and have a little talk."

*  *  *

The rest of the day became an eternal sea of wait and worry. I spent most of it near the guards’ room, jumping in anticipation and terror every time the phone rang. The Amazons came by regularly for updates, but aside from the fact that Ice had been taken in for emergency surgery, there wasn’t anything else to tell during those long, frightening, empty hours.

Then came the phone call I’d been waiting for. I knew it before Sandra even picked up the receiver. The certainty stole through my guts like a hurricane. I could tell she sensed the same thing because her eyes were deeply concerned, and her hand a little shaky as she picked up the receiver and cradled it against her head, clearing her throat. "Rainwater, Pierce here."

Her face remained carefully neutral as she listened to whatever was being said to her over the phone. This, of course, drove me almost to the breaking point and I actively resisted the urge to tug on her shirtsleeve like some preschooler trying to get her mother’s attention.

After several, non-informative minutes, Sandra finally gave her thanks to whomever was on the other end of the line, then hung up the phone.

"Well?" My heart was thundering so quickly in my chest that I could hear it in my ears. I didn’t want to hear what she had to say almost as much as I did.

Putting her hand on my shoulder, the head guard smiled. "She’s in recovery."

I almost slid down the wall in relief. "How is she?"

"Resting comfortably at the moment, the doctor said. The surgery went well. The wound wasn’t as bad as they had first thought. They had to do a little vascular repair, and she has some muscle damage to her chest which, the surgeon said, might give her some problems with her left arm, but otherwise, she came through it just fine."

"Oh, thank you God." I felt dizzy with relief. "Did she wake up at all?"

"Yeah. She was pretty groggy, but he said that she knew her name and all that stuff. They’re pretty positive about her full recovery."

"God, this is such great news!" Without thinking, I caught up a very surprised Sandra in an embrace and pressed a kiss to her cheek. "I’ve got to go tell the others. Thanks!"

As I darted out of the room, I turned to look over my shoulder, smiling inwardly when I saw the intimidating head of the guards standing there dumbstruck, a finger resting on her cheek where I’d placed the kiss.

PART 17

ICE ESCAPED TODAY.

No, not from the Bog, though, from what I’ve learned in the past eighteen hours, I think that might have been her plan all along. Rather, she escaped from the hospital where she’d been taken after the shooting almost a week ago.

I sit here, alone in my cell, writing, as my friends cluster around an illegal black and white portable television down in the library, watching the live local coverage of the manhunt that’s gone on since word of the escape became known. The prison is ringed by uniformed police officers, all waiting for Ice to come back and murder the warden.

I know I’ll never see her again. I know that as certainly as I know my own name. The police aren’t looking to recapture her. They’re looking to kill her. And, wounded and hunted as she is, there isn’t much in me that has faith that she’ll foil them.

I started writing this entire story on the day she was shot as a way, I suppose, of keeping her close to me during the time we were apart. I’ve always enjoyed writing, and it seemed a good way to pass the time. I never knew it would be all I’d ever have; these words, these memories. They seem so inadequate somehow, given what I’ve lost today.

But, if words on a page are all the universe deems me worthy of, then I’ll continue through to the end, wherever that may lead me. I’m crying as I write this, as I’m sure you’ve already guessed. The words before me are blurred with tears, but if I can somehow write through them, these tears, perhaps I’ll be able to forget, just for a little while, that empty place where my heart used to be.

Know this, however, before continuing any further. Morgan Steele was (is, I have to believe she’s still alive out there, somewhere) a good person. If you have learned nothing else in the reading of these pages, know that she well earned her redemption.

*  *  *

Around one a.m. this morning, I was awakened from a sound sleep by two guards, males who I hadn’t seen before, grabbing me and pulling me from my bed. Cuffing my wrists together, they led me through the mostly silent prison and into the warden’s office. Morrison looked worse than I felt. His eyes were puffy and bloodshot, his normally perfect hair was a mass of cowlicks and tangles, and his suit, normally impeccable, was wrinkled and ill-fitting.

"Where is she," he growled as soon as the guards had closed the door behind me.

He might as well have been asking me for the secret of life. "Where is who?"

"You know damn well who. Where is she!?!" Spittle flew in an unattractive spray from his snarling lips to land on the otherwise pristine surface of his mahogany desk.

Groggy and frightened though I was, I struggled to keep what little composure I had. "Sir, respectfully, it’s one o’clock in the morning. I’ve been asleep for a few hours. I have no idea who or what you’re talking about."

His fist slammed down on the desk, rattling the frame of a portrait showing him shaking hands with a well known Right-Wing religious political figure who’s name I won’t mention. I stiffened as the guards’ hands clamped even harder over my aching biceps. "That bitch, Steele! For the last time, where is she?!?"

"In the hospital!" I shouted out when it looked like he was going to come over the desk at me.

"She’s not in the hospital! If she was in the fucking hospital, do you think I would have pulled you into my office in the fucking middle of the night to ask you where the fuck she is?"

As I stared at the man, his eyes fairly bugging out of his head, I was struck with the sudden certainty that he was insane. Totally, completely, and without reservation. As insane as Cassandra, if not moreso.

And then it hit me. Ice was gone. She’d escaped. Part of me screamed out in joy while another sobbed in grief.

One of the guards shook me, and I realized that Morrison was waiting for an answer. "I’m . . .sorry. I can’t help you. I don’t know where she is if she’s not in the hospital."

This time, he did come across the desk at me, grabbing the front of my jumpsuit in his fist. "You’re lying, bitch! She fucking planned this escape and I know you helped her!"

Stunned, I shook my head, trying to make sense of my whirling thoughts. "Sir," I said finally, trying hard not to show him how truly frightened I was, "she was shot in the back. I really don’t know how that could have been planned. But if it was, Sir, I assure you that I knew nothing about it. I thought she was dead when she hit the ground. If all that was just a setup for an escape, it’s news to me."

I could tell by the look in his eyes that he suddenly knew I knew more than he thought, at least as far as the shooting went. Suddenly, I was faced with the overwhelming temptation to tell him exactly what I knew, just to see him squirm. And, perhaps, if the men holding me had been police officers instead of jailers who might, or might not, be in his back pocket, I might just have done so. Instead, I contented myself with letting the knowledge shine in my eyes.

After a moment, he backed off, releasing me and sliding back across the desk and into his chair. "Get her the fuck outta here," he said, slumping down in his seat.

And suddenly, I could see it. The man was enraged, yes. But more than that, he was absolutely terrified. I could see it easily, now that I knew what to look for. The area around his bulging eyes was white and a line of sweat beaded at his upper lip and hairline. I smirked slightly as the burly guards pulled me out of the office, watching as Morrison reached into his suit pocket for a handkerchief.

There are no windows in my cell, but when I was finally uncuffed and left alone, I sat on my cot, looking at the blank ceiling and imagining a canopy of stars overhead. "Ice," I whispered, "I know you’re out there. I just don’t know where. Please, be safe. I love you. And as much as I want to see you, please, please, just . . .stay away. Please."

Tears came, then, and I let them fall, knowing deep in my heart that the last picture I’d have of her would be the one of her wounded and unconscious, lying on the cold ground of the yard.

The next several hours were spent in a fruitless search for sleep. Finally giving that particular activity up as a lost cause, I got up and put on a fresh uniform, determined to start the day and face, head-on, whatever news it would bring me.

I waited patiently by my cell door, waiting to be sprung for the day. But when the time for release came and went without a sign of the guards, I began to get worried. Full lock down during daylight hours was a very rare thing in the Bog. So rare, in fact, that the only other time I could remember it happening was for the first few hours after the riot had taken place which had resulted in Derby’s death.

Pressing my head against the bars of my cell, I looked down the catwalk, seeing nothing but the arms of my fellow inmates as they awaited release. Muttered conversations, invectives and questions began to fill the prison in sporadic bursts. I was obviously not the only one who wondered what was going on, though I had a feeling that I might just know a bit more than most. I didn’t think it mere coincidence that this aberration of normal prison procedure came the morning after Ice had supposedly escaped from the hospital (and, at that point, despite the warden’s behavior, I still wasn’t sure what happened, if anything).

The sound of a voice who’s owner could only be Morrison suddenly echoed through the prison, silencing all other talk. Though individual words couldn’t be heard, I could tell the man was in an insane rage. The sounds of a cell being turned out filled the air with destruction. I didn’t have to think very hard to know which cell was being ‘examined’.

Scant moments later, running feet resolved into the form of Sandra as she hastily shoved her key into the lock in my cell door, opened it, and grabbed my arm. "Come with me," she ordered, pulling me out of my cell and down the catwalk.

"Wait! But . . . ." Hard as I tried, I couldn’t break free of her grip. "Where are . . . ?"

"The warden is about to blow his top. I’m getting you somewhere safe, for the moment. We need to talk."

Deciding that in this case, discretion was the better part of valor, I kept my mouth shut and allowed her to lead me down the steps and through the hallways to the empty visitors’ room. She sat me down in one of the chairs, then pulled out another and straddled it, fixing me with a ‘no-nonsense’ look.

I stared back, determined not to give an inch until I had to.

The silence between us grew oppressive.

"What’s going on here, Angel?" she asked, finally.

"Could you be a little more specific?" I knew very well what she was trying to get at, of course, but I wasn’t about to be bullied into anything.

She sighed, rubbing her forehead. "You know Ice escaped last night." It wasn’t a question.

"So the warden tells me, yes."

Her eyebrows rose into her hairline. "The warden?"

"Yeah. His goon squad dragged me out of bed at one this morning to give me that little bulletin. He didn’t seem very happy about it."

"So . . .you didn’t know about this beforehand."

I slammed my hand down on the table, startling her. "Of course I didn’t! I haven’t had any contact with her since she was shot. You know that, Sandra!"

She looked at me for a long moment, and then nodded, apparently convinced of my sincerity. She took in another breath, then let it out slowly. "Angel," she asked softly, "who shot Ice?"

At that moment, I wanted, almost more than anything, to tell her. Wanted to share this terrible burden of knowing with her. But I couldn’t. For a thousand different reasons, not the least of which was that if something ever happened to Cavallo, whether Ice was involved or not, she would be the prime suspect if I told Sandra. As far as I knew, only four people—myself, Ice, Morrison and Cavallo himself—knew who shot Ice. And it was a sure bet that the latter three wouldn’t tell anyone. Sandra, however, would be duty-bound to notify the police. And I couldn’t allow that to happen.

"Who, Angel?"

I looked her dead in the eye. "I can’t tell you that, Sandra."

"Can’t? Or won’t."

I said nothing.

"I could put you in the hole for not answering me," she warned.

"Yes," I agreed, not breaking eye contact. "You could."

"And you’re willing to risk that?"

"I am."

We stared at one another for a long time in that small, silent room. I could almost see the arguments running behind Sandra’s dark eyes, each one pondered carefully before being discarded as useless against me. "She would have done it sooner or later, you know." Her voice was very quiet, and somewhat sad.

"Excuse me?"

"Escaped. If it hadn’t been from the hospital, it would have been from here. Do you know anything about that?"

"No." And again, I was telling the truth. In all the time I’d known Ice, the topic of escape had never come up in conversation. "Why do you think so?"

She smiled a little. "It’s what the warden was screaming about. They turned out her cell."

"And?"

"She was apparently working on a tunnel before she was shot. I can only imagine that was why she was so adamant against going to the hospital that night after the fire."

"A tunnel?" I asked, confused. "From the eighth floor?" The thought was ludicrous.

"Well, I can’t get into the details, obviously, but let’s just say that there was a rather large hole around the commode in her cell. One that had been carefully carved out."

I shook my head in disbelief. "Sandra, I’ve been in Ice’s cell more times than I can count, and I’ve never seen a hole, there or anywhere else. Are you sure it didn’t just conveniently . . .appear?"

"Positive. I was there when the warden ‘discovered’ it."

"But . . .how?"

"That I can’t say. Trust me, though, it was quite damning."

I managed a weak smile. "That’s ok. I think I’d rather not know." I honestly didn’t know what to think. If you had asked me yesterday if I thought Ice would be a person who would try to escape, I would have laughed in your face. Now? I just didn’t know what to think anymore.

My reverie was interrupted by a hand on my arm. "This line of questioning isn’t over, Angel," Sandra said, her voice and expression set in stone. "I’ll give you a little bit of time to think about why you feel the need to protect Ice’s shooter, but when we talk again, I’m gonna want some answers. Do you understand me?"

"I understand."

"Good. Let’s go then."

By the time she escorted me from the visitors’ room, lock-down had been lifted and the inmates were swarming through the prison. I could tell that the grapevine was in good working order by the looks almost all of the inmates gave me as they passed.

Sandra released her hold on my arm. "Remember what I said, Angel," she murmured close to my ear.

"I will."

With a nod, she was gone; swallowed up by an orange tide.

*  *  *

And so here I sit in my cell, with a caged bulb and a stack of cheap paper for company. It’s almost time for lights out, and since no one has come to give me any updates in the past several hours, I can only guess that Ice is still out there, somewhere.

They now know, though; Corinne and the Amazons. I told them some of my secrets. I think Ice would forgive me that, wherever she is. They deserved to know why she was shot and what kind of pressure she was under just trying to exist in this rat warren day after day. But more than that, I told them because I couldn’t stand to see the faint sheen of disappointment in their eyes. And a kind of hurt. That Ice had left them without even saying goodbye.

They expect me to lose it, I think. To just fracture into a million pieces. And though there have been times today when I felt about one step away from doing just that, I seem to have developed this inner core of strength that I never knew I had. I think it’s the only thing that’s keeping me going. That and the hope that Ice is still out there, alive if not safe.

I want to hate her, you know. For putting me through this. For putting us all through this. I want to. But I can’t. That same strength that won’t let me just fall to pieces won’t let me hate her either.

I keep waiting for the anger to come, but it seems content to bide its time. Maybe one day, when I’m far away from this place and the memories it invokes in me, maybe then I’ll be able to just scream at her to a barren wall. Maybe someday.

The lights have just flickered. It’s time to put this away in my little safe space and settle down for the night and wait and wonder if sleep will decide to take me with him when he leaves.

And then, maybe, I can see her again in my dreams.

*  *  *

When the cells were opened in the morning, I was greeted by a grim-faced Pony. "You need to come and see this, Angel."

My guts instantly tightened as my heart sped up. "What is it?" God, no. Please don’t let it be Ice. Please.

"It’s better if you see it. C’mon."

I followed at Pony’s heels as she led me down the stairs and through the prison to the library. It was a Saturday, a day where, with the warden’s absence, the rules were relaxed, slightly. The television, which had been hidden in the deepest corners of the library yesterday, sat out in plain view in the middle of one of the tables, Corinne and the Amazons gathered around it as if by a campfire.

They all turned grim faces to me as Corinne and Critter parted to admit a chair, which they directed me to.

"What’s going on?"

Corinne gestured to the flickering screen. "Watch."

The picture dissolved from a commercial to a newsroom, where an attractive woman was seated, staring earnestly into the cameras. "Recapping our top story of the morning, Joseph Cavallo, linked to the Briacci Mafioso family, was found gunned down early this morning outside of this restaurant in what the police are calling a gangland style shooting."

The view then switched to the outside of a popular Italian restaurant which was adorned with yellow police tape and literally crawling with officers of the law. The anchor continued in voiceover. "Details of the shooting are sketchy at the moment, but a police spokesman states that two witness inside the restaurant have said that they saw three figures step out from the shadows to the west and advance on Mr. Cavallo as he was exiting his car, which was parked at the curb in front of the restaurant. Mr. Cavallo was observed to be reaching into his pocket for what police are guardedly saying was his gun when he was shot down in front of his car. The three figures then left the scene and were observed driving westbound in a dark-colored sedan. No further information on the shooting is available at this time."

"Jesus," I hissed. "Do you think Ice . . . ."

"Shh," Corinne interrupted me. "There’s more. Listen."

The scene switched back to the anchor desk. "In related news, when Mr. Cavallo’s car was searched in the aftermath of the shooting, paperwork was discovered that linked him to a stolen-car ring that was headed up by this man," and here, a picture was inset into the upper left hand corner of the screen. I gasped, "Reverend William Morrison, warden of the Rainwater Women’s Correctional Facility and a well-known supporter of State Senator Robert Gaelan among other noted political figures. Reverend Morrison was arrested at his home early this morning and taken into police custody for questioning. More information on this developing story as it becomes available. And now, here’s our own Ken D’Julio with this morning’s weather."

As the screen switched over to the weather map, I sunk back into my chair, letting go a long-held breath. "Holy shit."

"You can say that again," Corinne said, her tone a touch smug. "Looks like Ice bagged herself two birds with one stone, so to speak."

I turned to her. "Do you really think she did it?"

Corinne snorted. "Does an ursine mammal defecate in the buckwheat? Of course she did it."

"I’m not so sure," I replied, though without much conviction.

"What do you mean, Angel?" Sonny asked from her position across the table. "After everything you told us yesterday, you don’t think she did it? After what Cavallo did to her?"

"She did it alright," Critter chimed in, nodding her head sagely.

I could feel my anger rise, and my body rose right along with it, sending my chair clattering against another table as I stood. "You think so, huh? You all think she just went out there with a couple of partners and blew him away, is that right?"

Pony shrugged. "Sure. She owed him."

The rest nodded their agreement.

I barked out a laugh, shaking my head in disgust. "You know, you guys sound just like what I imagine her jurors must have sounded like when they were deliberating. Only I have more respect for them. Because at least they waited until her trial to convict her."

Fixing each and every one of them with a stern glare, I turned and left the library at a quick walk, not needing to look back to see the shocked faces I’d left behind.

*  *  *

It’s been almost three months since I’ve last looked at these words I’ve written. So much has changed, yet so much more remains the same.

Ice is still among the missing. The latest jailhouse poll is betting that she’s dead. I’m betting against those odds, as are most of the women who knew her well, or at least as well as anyone could know her.

But I must confess that there are times, mostly deep in the night, when I wonder. Because if she is, by some small miracle, still out there, somewhere, she’s made no attempt to contact me whatsoever. And believe me when I tell you that it is possible to get word like that through to me with none being the wiser. It’s been done before.

And so sometimes, when the pain in my heart is flaring up like the supernova of some distant sun, I wonder. Because at those times, it’s easier to imagine her dead then uncaring. And it’s at those times when the tears I hold inside come bursting forth, an unstoppable force.

The anger hit, much sooner that I though it would. When I made it back to my cell that long-ago morning, it hit with a vengeance. I tore my cell up in an orgy of anger. I ranted. I raved. I punched. I kicked. I threw. I screamed.

I was angry at the Amazons for believing that Ice, when it came right down to it, was an unchangeable, and therefore unredeemable, person. I was angry at myself for harboring, deep in my heart, those same beliefs. But mostly, I was angry with Ice; for giving up, for giving in, for taking what seemed to me to be the easy road.

I think I might have hated her a little too, in those dark moments of rage. If I only knew why she had chosen the path she did, perhaps it would have been easier for me to deal with her loss. But I didn’t. And it was killing me inside.

One of the images that helps me through those times of rage and desolation is of her last day here with us.

She turned away from the fence, you see.

She didn’t have to. When she had Cassandra up against the bars, even the threat of a horrid beating from the warden and guards didn’t make her back down.

This time, when the circumstances were equally bad, she turned away. Not because the guards had their guns aimed at her. Ice wasn’t afraid to die. In fact, I think she craved it, sometimes. No, she turned away for her own reasons. And I pin all of my remaining hope on the thought that she turned away because she finally had a dream of her own to hold onto.

Even her escape and the death of Cavallo can’t tear that image from my mind, nor the hope from my heart. Because, you see, I think that that dream had something to do with me.

The prison has changed as well. The warden, and I say this with no small amount of glee, went down in flames. With Cavallo’s death and Morrison’s arrest, there was no longer a reason to keep my secret, and so I told Sandra everything that I knew. And, of course, she did what I’d known she would. She went to the police with my information.

The police, in turn, came to me and asked me many pointed questions, all of which I answered truthfully and to the best of my ability. They’ve added the charge of attempted murder to the rest of Morrison’s long list of misdeeds. I hope he gets put away for a long, long time.

The riot which seemed so immanent fizzled out with word of Ice’s escape. I don’t know why, really. Maybe she took some of this place’s spirit, such as it is, with her when she left. It’s an uneasy sort of truce, but a truce nonetheless.

Which is good, in a way, because the Amazons are, for all intents and purposes, leaderless. No one wants the job, least of all me, who everyone looked to to pick up the pieces. Though it shames me to admit this, I just can’t drag up the strength to do it.

My life has once again been reduced to a simple day-to-day existence. It’s all I have the will for anymore.

Yes, I still fight when the cause is right, either by word or deed. But it lacks that sense of . . .I suppose magic is the best word I can use to describe how it felt when Ice was still here. The sense of being part of a team that fought the good fight seems to have vanished with her. We’re still the Amazons and we’re all still friends, but it’s as if our ship has suddenly become untethered and we’re drifting at the mercy of the sea.

That’s not a good place to be in, especially given what this gang represents. I can only hope that we can all hang in there until someone steps forward to claim the mantle of leadership once again.

As for me, well, if the gods are kind, it may be the last day I sit in this cell that is no longer a home for me. Donita kept her promise, and tomorrow, I’m scheduled to be transferred to the county jail to await the beginning of my trial, which starts the day after.

She’s brought some beautiful clothes for me to wear. She says I’m innocent and should look the part, instead of coming to court in the guise of a convicted killer. It’s amazing how much the styles have changed in the five years I’ve been here. I wonder what else has changed?

I suppose it’s best to keep that question tucked away for now. I’m nervous enough having to go up in front of the public to rehash the events leading to the death of my husband five years ago. I haven’t been able to eat anything substantial (even if the cafeteria served something that could be called that) in the past couple of days, and sleep seems more like a distant memory than a living reality.

Donita has already informed me that I’m going up on the stand. What if they don’t believe me? It’s been five years. My emotions, when I think about the killing, aren’t the same as they were then. What if they think I’m lying and that I have no remorse for what I’ve done?

Donita’s coached me well, playing the DA’s role and, frankly, scaring the living crap out of me several times with her lines of questioning. But she assures me that I’m ready. That I can take on the world.

I just wish I believed her.

PART 18

WELL, DONITA KEPT her word. Here I am, in a tiny, cramped cell in the county jail, scribbling on a bright yellow legal pad that she was nice enough to give me. The court was recessed today after opening arguments, as she said it would be.

I wasn’t surprised by the prosecution’s angle, having heard it, almost verbatim, five years ago. In the DA’s eyes, I’m still a jealous, possessive harpy who couldn’t stand the fact that my husband wanted a little time with the boys after work.

Donita was simply brilliant. Her opening arguments were clear, concise and to the point without a wasted word or over-dramatization. She was the consummate professional and appeared magnificently prepared. The jury, which this time was a nice mix of women and men (my previous jury had only the two women sitting on it), seemed to me to eat up her words, and a few times, I thought I caught them looking at me with compassion in their eyes. At least, I hope that’s what it was.

Nothing to do now but stare at the walls and wait to see if I can sleep tonight.

Fear and time make strange bedfellows.

It’s been five long years since I last graced this place, and the fear is still here. Only it seems to have changed direction. Five years ago, I was afraid that I was going to go to jail. Now I’m afraid I’m not going to get out. And, conversely, I’m also afraid that I am going to get out.

Was it just such a short time ago that I asked Ice why she didn’t just up and move away after she was released from prison the first time? Could I actually have been that naïve, that condescending? Just the possibility of that happening with me causes my stomach to jump rope inside me.

My family has disowned me. All of my friends are prison inmates. The degrees I’ve earned are about as useless as the paper they’re printed on. I have no home, no job and no money.

And yet . . .and yet, I still have that sometimes damning sense of optimism about everything. The same sense that sat here next to me five long years ago when I was battling for what I thought was my life. The same sense that tells me, despite everything, that Ice is still alive out there.

What I’ve discovered, you see, is that, no matter how much we might not want it to sometimes, life does go on. The world keeps on spinning. And if we’re really lucky, we learn something along the way.

I’ve learned that love, and companionship, and a simple sense of belonging can be found even in the deepest pits of one woman’s hell. I’ve learned that sometimes good things happen when you least expect them. I’ve learned that freedom isn’t something that can be taken away; only given up. And I’ve learned that no matter what happens to me in this life, I have the strength to overcome, adapt, and even to thrive, despite, or perhaps because of, the adversity thrown in my path.

Would I be the same woman I am now, with the same strength of purpose, if those events five years ago had concluded differently? Perhaps. Perhaps, one day, I would have been able to find this strength on my own; the strength to leave a loveless marriage and a husband who saw me more as chattel than partner. Perhaps.

But without the love and guidance of Pony, Montana, Critter, Sonny, Corinne and, most of all, Ice, I might never have truly realized what I was capable of. I love them all, very much, and will always carry them in my heart, no matter what the outcome of this latest trial.

Enough philosophizing for one evening. Time to lay down and see if my insomnia has become a permanent condition.

*  *  *

I had a dream.

It started out like the one just months before, with the huge courtroom and all my accusers (the embodiment of my guilt, I told myself rationally) dressed, literally, to kill.

But this time, when each person stepped forward, preparing to place the yoke of guilt around my neck like some blackened albatross, I found myself responding differently. I accepted responsibility for those things I might have done wrong, but refused the weight of their anger for things that could not be changed.

Perhaps I could have been a better daughter, a better friend, a better wife. Looking back on my life from this new perspective of maturity and experience, perhaps I would have made different choices back then.

But the words I had spoken with such conviction to Ice on those long ago days finally bore fruit in my own mind. The actions I’d taken, the choices I’d made, came from within the soul of a good woman. I accepted responsibility for them. I owned them. And I long past paid my debts for them.

Finally, after a lifetime of living under my own soul’s oppression, I put paid to my guilt and let it go. And when I did that, all of the figures who had come to accuse simply vanished in a clean-scented mist.

It was an incredibly freeing feeling.

The mist coalesced into a shape of shifting colors. The outline became more distinct, finally resolving itself into Ice. Her face and form were covered in a shimmering radiance and her hair was blown back from her brow by a non-existent breeze. She smiled, and it lit up the room.

"Ice!" I screamed in my dream, almost delirious with joy. I ran toward her, only to be stopped by her upraised hands. "What?" I asked. "What is it?"

"I need to ask your forgiveness, Angel," she replied, her voice rivaling the best Beethoven concerto in its utter beauty to me.

"Forgiveness? For what?"

"For leaving you. For not saying goodbye. For not giving an explanation."

I knew that there were a lot of questions I needed answered. But some part of me also knew that this was just a dream and I wasn’t about to ruin it with conversation. "Yes," I said, knowing that even without explanation, without words, I had forgiven her, just as I knew, by the love in her eyes, that, in this dreamspace at least, she had forgiven me.

She opened her radiant arms and I flew into them, feeling all the burdens of my heart tumble out of me as she enclosed me within her warm and loving embrace. It might only have been a dream, but the body in my arms was warm and solid, every curve and line remembered, every scent the same as the last time we’d embraced.

I started crying, begging whomever would listen to just grant that I would never wake up.

A hand clasped onto my shoulder from the back, as if trying to pull me away from Ice. I tried to hold on tighter, but as I did, Ice’s form became insubstantial again. I felt my arms go right through her. "No! Come back! Don’t leave me again!"

"Angel," a voice sounded in my head.

"Please, Ice! Come back!"

"Angel," the voice repeated.

"What!!?" I snarled, turning my head.

Donita, very much in the land of reality, stepped back, her dark eyes blinking in surprise. "Sorry to wake you," she said, softly. "You need to get ready. The jury’s just come back. The verdict is in."

"The ver . . . ." I sat straight up on the meager jailhouse cot, raking a hand through my hair and attempting to blink the sleep out of my eyes. "Already? What time is it?"

My lawyer looked down at her gold wristwatch. "A little after eleven."

"The case just went to the jury at ten. This isn’t good, is it."

Smiling, she gave my shoulder a little squeeze. "Not all quick decisions favor the prosecution, Angel. Let’s just go in there like we own the place." Her smile broadened. "I have a feeling you’re gonna like what you hear."

*  *  *

I’m free.

As I sit on a wooden bench outside of the courtroom, waiting for Donita to finish up her discussions with the judge (she is filing a civil suit on my behalf for wrongful imprisonment) I look down at that phrase I’ve just written as if reading it over and over and over again will cause it to sink in.

It’s such a small word, a minor word, and yet what it represents . . . . God, it represents the world!

As I sit here, I’m looking at a young gentleman with what looks to be his girlfriend. They just came out of traffic court, (the nice security guard told me that much—it’s amazing how much differently you’re treated when you’re sitting on this side of the bars. I’d almost forgotten that.) and they’re heading for the door.

And it just hit me. I can do that too. I can just get up off this rickety, scarred bench, walk those few feet down that highly polished floor, open the glass door, and step into the sunshine beyond. I could just pick a direction and start walking and not stop until my legs gave out. No bars or fence to hold me in; to keep me back; to keep me from people and people from me.

I’m free.

I can’t seem to write or think or say it enough. Free to do what I want, where I want, when I want and with whom I want.

What, where, when and with whom I’m going to do these nebulous things is a question I’ve neither asked, nor answered myself yet. It’s back there, simmering, but I’m gonna leave it there for awhile. I don’t want to spend my first few minutes of freedom frozen in terror like a deer in the headlights of an onrushing semi.

Donita, bless her huge heart, has offered to put me up until I can get back on my feet again. I didn’t answer her right away. I couldn’t. I need to exist in the moment right now. The possibility of a future is suddenly too overwhelming for me to consider.

She smiled in understanding and slipped a business card into the breast pocket of my woolen blazer. She knows I’ll call her once I come down off this cloud I find myself on. I know I will too.

After all, where else can I go?

*  *  *

Donita gave me a lift back to the Bog so that I could collect my personal belongings and say goodbye to my friends, who were really my family.

How do you say goodbye to people you’ve shared every waking moment with for the past five years? How do you thank them for giving you their love, their support, their friendship? How to you express your undying gratitude for the many times they’ve saved your life and even your soul? What words can you possibly use to cover the enormity of your feelings for them?

I found myself in the strangest position. It was almost surreal. I was allowed to stay in the visitors’ room while my belongings were gathered from the prison to be brought to me. The door into the prison itself was locked against me and a guard stood at my side, for my protection, no less.

Whereas before I was barred from getting out of the Bog, now I was barred from stepping into it.

The door to the prison side opened and Sandra stepped through, her face wreathed in a smile, and her hands filled with a cloth sack bearing my worldly possessions. Placing the bag on the table, she opened her arms, and I ran into them, hugging her hard and starting to cry.

"Angel," she whispered, her own voice heavy with tears, "I’m so proud of you. I knew you’d beat this. We all did."

"Thank you Sandra," I blubbered, holding her strong body close. "For everything you’ve done for me. You helped make this place livable and I’ll never forget that. You’re a wonderful person."

Squeezing me one last time, she stepped away, drying her tears on the sleeve of her uniform. "You made this place better for everyone just by being here, Angel. Thank you. It won’t be the same without you. I wish you only the best of luck in your life. I know you’ll do yourself proud. With a heart like yours, how could not?"

Clearing her throat, she gave me a watery smile. "We seem to have quite a lot of inmates who’ve requested a visitor’s pass for today. Coincidentally, they’ve all requested to see the same visitor. Mind if I show them in?"

Wiping my own tears away, I managed a smile. "Of course not. I’d like to see them."

"Alright then." Grinning, she opened the door.

The sound of cheering, shouts and clapping filled the central square as women streamed through the doorway and into the visitors’ room. I could hear the sounds of my name being chanted with a tenor and an excitement almost rivaled Ice’s entrance into the prison five years ago.

A giddy smile broke over my face as my friends came inside, hugging and kissing me. There were a lot of tears and a lot of laughter, just how I imagined a real goodbye to family and friends might feel. It warmed me right down to my toes.

Pony, Sonny and Critter gathered around me in a tight circle, our heads bowed inward, tears streaming down our faces. Pony and Critter were both due for parole hearings within the next several months, and I had good feelings about each of them and told them so.

When we finally broke apart, I looked at each one individually.

"Pony, if you hadn’t been there when Mouse was trying to rearrange my face, I don’t know what I would have done. Thanks for being there for me and introducing me to the Amazons. Thanks for teaching me how to fight and how to stand up for myself. I won’t ever forget you." Leaning in, I gave her a light kiss on the lips.

Everyone in the room burst out into laughter as Pony’s face turned a fiery red. "Awww, damn," was all she could say.

I turned slightly. "And Sonny, thanks for everything you’ve done for me. Especially helping me build back my strength after my little flu problems. You’ve been a good friend." Grinning, I hugged and kissed her as well.

Returning my smile, she punched me lightly on the arm. "You’ve taught us a lot too, Angel. Good luck out there, alright?"

Nodding, I turned to Critter, my closest friend among the Amazons. We both started crying again, and embraced one another tightly. "You’re the best, Critter," I whispered in her ear.

"So are you, Angel," she whispered back. "I won’t ever forget you. You made this an okay place to be."

Holding the hug a moment longer, we then pulled away and kissed. Reaching up, I brushed the tears from her eyes. "Knock ‘em dead at your parole hearing."

She laughed through her tears. "If I do that, I’ll never get outta here."

From her place in one corner, Sandra cleared her throat, looking faintly chagrined. "Alright, guys, it’s time to get back out there."

There were a few grumbles of good-natured protesting, but then my friends began to file back into the prison, each one touching me and wishing me goodbye and good luck as they passed.

Soon, the door closed with a muted click, leaving the guard and one other person left behind.

Corinne.

Seeing her standing there, her face a curious tableau of loss and pride, I, for the first time, broke down completely, running into her arms and hugging her soft body tightly to me.

It was only with this woman, who was more of a mother to me than my own would ever be, that I could feel safe enough to let the fears of my future out of their tightly locked closet. Like a small, lost child, I sobbed on her shoulder. Even the sweet fragrance of her sachet, which will forever signal ‘home’ to me, failed to comfort me. "Oh, Corinne," I sobbed, "what am I gonna do? I feel so lost. This is my home. You are my family. I don’t know if I can make it out there."

"Nonsense," she murmured back, sniffing away her own tears. "You’ll thrive out there, Angel. You’re one of the strongest people it’s ever been my privilege to know. You’ll do just fine. All you have to do is believe in yourself."

"But how do I do that? I don’t know if I have the strength . . . ."

Pushing me away, she gripped my shoulders in an almost painful grip. "You listen to me, Angel. You have the strength of twenty people. You brought a hope and a joy to a place which, before you came, had none. We might have taught you how to exist here in the Bog. But you . . .you taught us how to live."

"But . . . ."

"No ‘buts’, Angel. You did what you did to a bunch of hardened criminals with little hope for a future. You taught me how to feel again, something I thought could never happen. For the first time in a long time, I look forward to getting up in the morning. You did that. No one else. You." She touched my chest with her finger. "That heart of yours is as big as the whole world out there. It’s been caged long enough. It’s time to go out there and show everyone else what you’ve shown us. What you’ve shown me."

Taking off her glasses, she wiped at her eyes. "I think I’ll unlearn this crying thing, though, if you don’t mind," she grumbled, polishing her glasses before balancing them on her nose once again.

Reaching down, she picked something hidden on the chair behind her, and held it out to me. It was the tiny bonsai that Ice had made for me for our anniversary. A fresh yellow ribbon adorned its trunk. "Here."

As I took it, fresh sobs starting again, she handed me something else. It was the book I’d given to Ice, also on our anniversary.

"But how?" I managed to choke out, setting the tree down and opening up the cover. Inside was the photograph of Ice and her family. "Oh god," I sobbed. "Oh god. Corinne, I miss her so much. How am I going to do this without her?" I pressed both the book and the photo close to my body, hugging it to me and rocking.

Stepping up to me, she placed gentle hands on my cheeks. "My sweet little Angel, if there’s one thing above all that you’ve taught me, it’s to always have hope. Carry it with you now. It’ll give you the strength you need."

Looking deep into her eyes, I swore I could detect the faintest shimmer of some hidden knowledge deep within her gaze. My heart leapt into my throat, but when I opened my mouth to give voice to my question, she placed a finger over my lips. "Always have hope, Angel," she whispered.

Taking her finger away, she leaned forward and kissed me warmly, lingering a bit. Then she pulled away. "I love you, Angel."

Turing away quickly, she stepped to the door and opened it.

"Corinne! Wait!"

She turned back, tears liberally streaming down her cheeks.

Walking back over to her, I kissed her soundly. "I love you too. Never forget that. Ever."

Smiling, she touched her lips, then cupped my cheek. "I won’t, sweet Angel. Ever."

With a small, sad little wave, she turned once again and stepped through the door and out of my life.

The door closed and I stood there for a long moment, touching the cool metal with my palm as if I could imprint everything that had happened to me somewhere deep inside where I’d never forget it. I leaned my forehead against the door. "Goodbye," I whispered.

Behind me, the guard cleared her throat softly. "Should I call a cab for you?" she asked.

After a moment, I turned to her, a brightly false smile affixed to my face. "Thanks for the offer, but I think I’m gonna walk."

"Alright then. Just be careful, alright? Lotta crazies out there."

That statement broke my somber mood and I brayed out my laughter. Just yesterday, I was one of those crazies. And now, I was being cautioned against them.

As someone I’m sure much wiser than me has been known to say, what a difference a day makes, huh?

Giving the guard a quirky grin, I waved my fingers, grasped the door to the outside, inhaled deeply, and took my first step out of the Bog, a free woman forevermore.

EPILOGUE

I’M WRITING THIS beneath the flickering lamp of a hotel room that saw ‘new’ two decades ago and ‘clean’ only shortly after that. But the door has a lock that I can open any time I want and the bed is the most comfortable I’ve slept on in years.

That bed is calling to me longingly, and I’ll go, willingly and joyously, just as soon as I get this pressure of words out of my head and on to this paper.

Walking out that door and into the fresh air was the hardest, and conversely, the easiest thing I’ve ever had to do. As I began to take my first steps into freedom, the Bog seemed intent on pulling me back, as if it had sunk invisible talons into my spine. My legs became almost leaden with the strain I was under. The prison seemed to whisper to me on a current of wind; promising to hold me and keep me safe if only I would look back.

But I didn’t look back. It was a promise I’d made to myself and one I was determined to keep. Looking back would only make things harder and I knew that. So I didn’t.

And because I didn’t, my next steps, and the ones following that, became easier as the weight I didn’t know I carried was lifted off my shoulders to be tossed into the drifting spring breeze.

The first sound I truly remember hearing as a free woman was the tether of the American flag slapping forlornly against its metal pole. It was a lonely, desolate sound, and seemed like a bad omen until I recognized the sound of birdsong playing a melodic counterpoint to the ‘ting ting’ of the rope against metal.

The noise of passing cars, fairly uncommon this far out, drew my attention to the road. How the styles had changed in just five years. I hadn’t really noticed it on the drive to and from court, being so wrapped up in my own emotional struggle.

I looked at that road, pitted and pot-holed by winter’s icy reign, curving gently over the breast of a small hill, and wondered where it led. My future was on that road, somewhere, unfettered by the constant metal specter of chains and cuffs and bars and fences. It was as broad as my imagination and as narrow as my fears.

Freedom’s Siren call was infinitely sweeter than the Bog’s brutal cacophony, and so, with a lightness to my step, I walked into that future, alone, afraid, but carrying with me the hope that things would turn out well for me in this new life I was being urged to make for myself.

When my legs began to tire, I headed to a small park, interspersed with walkways and drive-paths, and settled on a wooden bench to watch the sun set over the small pond dug there. A flock of ducks had obviously chosen to make this quiet, out of the way place their spring nesting grounds, and I watched as, tame and winter lean, they were fed by giggling children holding out crusts of stale bread.

Innocent, joyful laughter filled the air around me and I felt a bubble of happiness well up from inside me. The bench’s warmth seeped into my body through my clothes and I leaned back to watch the activity going on around me, just another woman taking a brief interlude from an otherwise stressful day.

Young couples passed by, their hands intertwined, their faces wreathed with the smiles of young love, a smile which had seemed permanently etched into the lines of my own face such a short time ago. I was hit with a pang of jealous longing so strong that my breath seemed to have taken leave of my lungs as I sat there, watching them pass slowly by, their interest only in one another.

When I could breathe again, I noticed that a young mother had come to sit beside me, watching her two youngsters chase the ducks and each other while she worked at her knitting, her hands moving quickly with casual skill. We conversed briefly about nothing of importance and I felt myself gradually begin to relax once again.

When she left, carefully grasping her children by their grubby hands and leading them back to their no-doubt safe and comfortable little lives, I contented myself with watching the play of light on the gently rippling water. I allowed my mind to go mercifully blank for a long stretch of moments, existing only in this moment of perfect peace and solitude, unencumbered with thoughts of future or past.

Gradually, with some subliminal sense that had been honed to a razor’s edge in the Bog, I became aware that I was being observed. Looking casually, first to the left, then to the right, I saw nothing out of the ordinary. Still, the hairs at the back of my neck stood at stiff attention and a warning tingle caressed the nerves of my spine.

As nonchalantly as I could, I turned to look over my right shoulder. There, beneath a grand oak cloaked in the first vibrant green of spring, a man stood straddling a motorcycle. He was clad, from head to foot, in black leather with red and white piping running down the sides of his jacket and leather pants. His black helmet had a mirrored visor that reflected the fiery orange blaze of the setting sun back at me. It was impossible to tell if he was my observer, but his head seemed to be inclined in my direction and my heart sped up in an autonomic reaction.

Just as casually, I returned my gaze back to the pond before me, considering my options. When you’ve been in prison for awhile, you begin to listen to your body’s signals. And my body was warning me that something bad was going to happen if I didn’t either prepare to run or prepare to fight.

Was it just jailhouse paranoia? The kind that presupposes a killer behind every locked door? Was this something I was going to have to deal with every day of this new life I was going to forge for myself? Would every stranger’s glance spark this adrenaline rush within me?

My peaceful solitude broken, I concentrated on my breathing, determined to wait this particular test out. After all, people were allowed to look at the sunset in a park without having sinister motivations. I was living in the real world now, and jumping at every shadow just wasn’t going to be an option for long. Not if I wanted to retain some tattered shred of sanity.

Hearing the motorcycle come to life behind me, I let out a relieved breath, congratulating myself for not bolting from something that obviously was turning out to be nothing.

But then, instead of moving away, the motorcycle appeared to be getting closer, its tires crunching over the remains of last autumn’s bounty strewn over the newly luxuriant grass. My heart leapt into my throat again, and my hands, of their own volition, curled into tight fists, ready to defend me if need be. I could feel my spine stiffening as my muscles clenched in an instinctive ‘fight or flight’ response.

The cycle purred closer and I blinked rapidly, my eyes suddenly dry. "Alright, Angel," I whispered to myself. "Don’t panic. Whatever you do, don’t panic. If he’s after you, and you don’t know that he is, he won’t dare do anything in broad daylight with all these people around, alright? Just keep calm. He probably just wants a closer look at the pond or something. He has as much right to be here as you do."

The motorcycle braked to a smooth stop right beside my bench and it took everything I had in me not to just jump up and start to run. Visions of Morrison calmly ordering my execution from the comfort of his prison cell ran through my head tauntingly.

The engine was turned off and I could hear the kickstand as it was lowered to the ground. I prevented my head from turning only with the greatest strength of will, keeping my gaze focused on the play of light over the rippling water. Stay calm. Stay calm. Stay calm.

I could hear the light crunch of gravel as the man got off his motorcycle. Then nothing but the quietly ticking engine and the seemingly far off sounds of children at play.

Why doesn’t he do something? Why is he just standing there?

Because, the darkly paranoid part of my mind supplied, he’s just waiting for the opportunity to kill you without all these witnesses seeing it.

That’s nonsense, my more rational thoughts proclaimed. He’s looking at the water, same as you are.

He could see the water just fine from where he was. Run now, Angel, while you still might have a chance.

Stay calm. Nothing’s happened yet. Start running now, and you’ll never stop. You’ll be looking over your shoulder forever and screaming every time a dog tips over a trash can.

I was so wrapped up in my internal argument that I didn’t even notice when the stranger walked closer to where I sat, stopping less than two feet to my right, just beyond where the bench ended. Knowing that I was betraying my terror more by not looking, I turned my head fully in his direction, summoning up a smile from somewhere.

My image was reflected back at me from the mirrored visor, showing my smile for the false thing that it was. My eyes were wide with barely controlled panic. My heart sped up even more as a sweat broke out over my forehead, stinging my eyes.

He stared at me for so long that I finally just wanted to scream at him to just kill me and get it over with so that I could have some peace.

His gloved hand came up then, and in my panic, I swore I saw a gun. My own hands raised, palm out, in pure reflex, before I noticed that his hand was empty and he was merely reaching for the visor of his helmet.

He moved the faceplate up slowly and I can remember thanking God that at least I would see the face of my killer before I died. Not great, as prayers of thanks go, but it was something to focus my panicked thoughts on.

I couldn’t see much of his face. It appeared to be covered with a black hood of some sort, covering all features but the eyes.

I blinked.

The eyes.

I blinked again, bringing my hand up to shade against the nearly horizontal rays of sunlight shining in my face.

One step, and the sun was effectively blocked by a long body, leaving me free to stare into those beautiful, mesmerizing, magnificent, blue eyes. Blue as the hottest part of a candle’s flame. Blue as the center of a perfect block of . . . .

"Ice?" I whispered, the tears already starting to fall.

Their shape changed to a smile’s almond as they warmed, their color deepening.

"Ice?" I repeated in a voice thick with tears. "Is that you?"

A black-gloved hand reached down, and without thinking, I grasped it. I was pulled up with an ease I well remembered and my shout was suddenly muffled against her chest as the feel and scent of sun-warmed leather encompassed me as much as her arms did, folding themselves around my body in a tight embrace.

My words came out like a flood of water over a shattered dam. "Oh my God. I thought you were dead! I thought they’d killed you! How did you get here? What happened to you?"

Further questions were lost in my sobs and she tightened her embrace, rocking me gently. Beneath the heavy leather, I could hear her own heart racing and I could feel the tightness in her chest that told me she was trying to control tears of her own.

Gradually, she released her tight hold of me, urging me out to arm’s length and gazing intently at me, as if needing to memorize my features again. Her stare was so loving, so intense, that I felt a blush rise to my cheeks.

Laughing weakly in embarrassment, I brushed the tears from my eyes, standing as a soldier might during a parade review. From the corner of my eye, I noticed some curious stares we were getting from passers by. I looked back at Ice, nervous once again. "You shouldn’t be here," I said in a low-pitched whisper which I hoped would carry through her hood and helmet. "The police are still looking for you. It’s not safe for you here. They . . .they could have sent someone to tail me." I knew I was sounding like a paranoid idiot, but my fears were real.

Her eyes warmed in a smile once again as she slowly shook her head. Then, for the first time, she spoke, her voice slightly muffled, but exactly as I’d remembered it. "I’ve been following you all afternoon."

My eyebrow creased in puzzlement. "You have? But, I didn’t . . . ."

Shaking her head again, her eyes still smiling, she gently took my hand and led me over to her motorcycle, which was of a style I’d never seen before outside of the motorcycle races my father sometimes watched on television. It wasn’t a touring bike, like some of the Harleys and Hondas that I’d seen outside the bars near my apartment in Pittsburgh. This motorcycle seemed to be built for speed and not so much for comfort.

Releasing my hand, she went over to the other side of the bike and picked up a second helmet which had been attached to the back of the molded seat, holding it out to me, her eyes full of questions.

Questions of my own, a million of them, flitted through my mind, but I could no more refuse that helmet than I could refuse to breathe.

Accepting the helmet, I pulled it over my head. It was a snug fit, the foam inserts dragging harshly over my ears. I kept the visor up, watching as she rounded the bike again and grabbed my sack of personal articles. The bag wasn’t that big, containing as it did only a couple articles of clothing and Ice’s book. It had two loops, which I slipped over my arms as Ice handed it to me, settling it comfortably on my back.

Picking up the bonsai, she walked back to the bike and lifted the seat, exposing a tiny carry space. She placed the tree almost reverently within, then closed the seat back up and swung her leg over the bike, straddling it once again.

Breathing deeply, I climbed in back of her, never having ridden a motorcycle before. The bike was built for the driver to lean forward, almost resting on the gas tank.

Once I was more or less settled, she took my hands and clasped them across her abdomen. "Hang on," was all she said before she kick started the engine.

And hang on I did.

*  *  *

We rode north, and north, and north, mainly through back country roads, but sometimes on lightly, and not-so-lightly, traveled highways. I spent most of the evening laying almost directly on top of Ice as she leaned over the cycle’s gas tank, the handlebars at her chin, racing to beat the devil.

The miles flew by, my surroundings almost mystical, bathed in the diminishing glow of twilight spring. My terror with this new mode of travel almost caused me to dump the bike as my body rebelled against the gravity of the tight turns Ice was making at incredible speeds. Only her unparalleled strength kept us upright and moving.

Finally, I just gave up and gave in, laying my heavy head against her back and closing my eyes against the onrushing wind which buffeted my helmet. I felt my body relax and meld itself to hers, almost becoming one with it as we continued down the road and into the future.

After hours and hours of riding, my body stiff and sore and aching, my hands blocks of ice chapped by the early spring wind, we finally pulled to a quiet stop in a graveled lot outside of a rundown motel.

It took almost all that I had just to release my death grip on Ice’s waist and straighten my cramped and aching back. She slipped off the bike with her usual seamless grace and then turned and helped me from my perch, releasing me as she dug into her pocket for a single key.

After retrieving the bonsai from beneath the seat, she led me over to a battered door and slipped her key in the lock. The handle turned easily and she ushered me inside.

The room was warm, small, and lit by a single lamp hanging over a battle-scarred table off to one side. A double bed took up most of the remaining space. A knapsack sat atop the tattered, threadbare quilt and I lowered my own sack of belongings to lay beside it. Then I unsnapped my chinstrap with cold-numbed fingers, sliding the confining helmet from my head and shaking my hair free.

From beside me, Ice copied my actions, pulling off helmet and hood and releasing her hair in tumbling midnight waves, running a negligent hand through it to settle the strands into some type of order. My heart doubled its pace at the simple beauty of the unconscious act.

She turned to me then, and smiled, and I fell in love all over again, tumbling headlong into a precipice I thought denied to me forever. Tears sprang to my eyes, and though I wanted nothing more than to be engulfed by her tender strength and powerful love, I needed one question answered; one above all others.

"Why?" That one simple word covered a hundred emotions, a hundred further questions. Why then? Why now? Why this?

Her smile grew tender as she stripped off her gloves and led me to the bed to sit beside her. My body groaned out its thanks for the soft padding beneath it.

"It was something I had to do," she said softly, looking at the table in front of us.

"I don’t understand."

"I know."

"Then explain. Please. I thought I’d lost you."

"I know that, too." Her voice was faintly choked as she turned back to me, reaching out and grasping my hand, and pulling it into her lap. She kept her gaze focused on it, her thumb playing lightly over my knuckles, warming my chilled flesh with her touch. She cleared her throat. "When . . .I was in the hospital, recovering from my wounds, the warden . . .paid me a little visit. He told me that if anyone ever found out who was behind the shooting, or why Cavallo was even there in the first place, he’d make sure that you’d never see your appeal."

Her words, so softly spoken, froze me completely. "My God," I breathed.

"I knew right then that I could never go back. I needed to . . .take care of things so that his threat would never become a reality." She looked up at me, briefly, before looking down at our joined hands once again. "I was chained to the bed by a cuff around my ankle. But they put the cuff around a weak strut." She shrugged. "It wasn’t that difficult to take care of that problem. Then, it was just a matter of waiting for the right opportunity." She took in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. "When it came, I ran."

"Where did you go?"

That quirky little half smile lifted the corner of her mouth. "I got a gun, from an old . . .friend. Then I went to Cavallo’s house." Her smile widened, went almost savage. "It was payback time."

I moaned softly and her eyes darted up to mine again, before looking down once more, her long lashes lowered. "Yeah. Well, I made may way over to his house and took out a couple of his ‘bodyguards’."

"Did you kill them?"

"Nah. They never even knew I was there. Just put ‘em to sleep for awhile. He was upstairs in his bed. Alone." She laughed dryly. "Could never even pay for a woman. Anyway, I walked in there, right up to his bed. I put the gun to his temple, thinking about what he did to Josephine, to Salvatore, to me. About what he, through Morrison, was gonna do to you."

Her hand left mine and curled into a tight fist. "I wanted to kill him so badly I could taste it. My finger was on the trigger—just a hair’s worth of pressure and it would have gone off, ending everything."

She tilted her head up toward the ceiling, her jaw working as she dragged her hands through her hair. "I couldn’t do it," she whispered, harshly. "I wanted to, God, so badly. I wanted to end his miserable, stinking little life." She sighed, shaking her head. "But I couldn’t."

"Why?"

"As I was standing there, watching him sleep, I thought about you." And here, her eyes came to rest, for the first time, on my face. She smiled slightly. "About that time when I had Cassandra’s life in my hands. I remembered you telling me not to give up on my dreams, how she wasn’t worth it. And I realized that if I went back to that person I used to be, the one who killed to get rid of my problems, that’s exactly what I would have done." Tears sparkled in her eyes. "My dreams might not be much, but they were all I had. And I couldn’t give them up. Not for him."

"Oh, Ice . . . ."

I reached out, and she took my hand in an almost desperate grip, holding it up to her chest. I could feel her heart thundering through the thin fabric of her simple cotton T-shirt.

"So, I walked away. I left him there, never knowing how close he came to never waking up at all. As I was leaving his house, I saw a notepad by the downstairs phone. The name of one of Salvatore’s favorite meeting spots, an Italian restaurant in Pittsburgh, was written on the pad, together with a time and Sal’s name written beneath. I knew it was a set-up, and I almost went back upstairs to finish the job."

"But you didn’t."

"No. I decided to give Sal a warning. I went over to his place; didn’t even know if he’d be in." She smiled crookedly again. "His guards weren’t surprised to see me, for some reason. I guess wind of my escape had gotten out by then. But they let me by without much trouble."

"Was he glad to see you?"

"Not really. I was heat he couldn’t afford. So I gave him my information, extended my condolences over Josephina’s death, and left. I can’t say he was sorry to see me go. And I wasn’t sorry to leave. I realized, right then, that that wasn’t a life I wanted to live anymore."

"What did you do?"

"Got on my bike and came out here. A couple of friends of mine own it." Her gaze encompassed the tiny room. "It’s not exactly the Ritz, but it’s safe enough, especially for someone like me."

"They had roadblocks set up all over looking for you. How in the world did you get past them?"

She smiled. "I think, at the time, they were more worried about who was coming in to town than who was going out. I knew Morrison would panic once he got word of my disappearance. I imagine a sizable chunk of the police force was guarding the Bog."

"They were. It looked like a policemen’s convention."

Ice laughed softly. "I also figured that Morrison wouldn’t dare to do anything to you with that much official business loitering around. He was hung by his own fears. I knew, too, that Salvatore would most likely take care of Cavallo if Cavallo tried to follow through on his planned hit. And if Cavallo fell, Morrison would fall with him."

"How did you know that?"

Her grin turned smug. "Who do you think planted those papers in his car?"

I gasped. "You didn’t."

Both eyebrows raised. "Oh, I did."

Shaking my head, I let out a short laugh. "I don’t know why I’m surprised."

"Anyway," she continued, "I hung out here and kept an eye on everything. I’m sure Cavallo knew I’d escaped before he went to try and take out Briacci. I have no idea what, other than ego, made him do it. But he got what he deserved, and so did Morrison."

Her smile became sad. "So, all I had left was to watch over you. I’ll admit I went out and got pretty drunk when I heard you were granted the re-trial."

"But how? Donita?" My temper flared. "Damn her! I . . . ."

"No. It wasn’t Donita. I’d never get her involved in something like this."

"Then who?"

Her silence gave me its own answer.

"Corinne," I said with growing certainty. "It was Corinne, wasn’t it."

Ice nodded, slowly.

I bolted from the bed, my hands fisted in anger. "God damn it! I can’t believe she would hide something like that from me!"

She held up her own hands. "Don’t blame her, Angel. I asked her to keep things quiet."

I turned on her. "But why?!? Ice, I thought you were dead! Do you know what I went through? Do you have any idea at all?!?!?"

Her gaze dropped back to the bed. "Yes," she said softly. "But it was the only thing I could do."

"But why?" I asked again. "Why couldn’t you just let me know that you were, at least, alive? What would that have done except ease my pain?" I was so angry, I was shaking.

"I wanted to, Angel. More than anything. But I couldn’t. This was your chance to get what you deserved: your freedom. And if you knew that I was out there, somewhere, and that came out somehow, they could charge you with aiding and abetting a fugitive, and that chance would have been lost."

She met my eyes again, her own searing with the intensity of her convictions. "Your freedom is worth more than anything in the world, Angel. I did what I did because I had to do it. I don’t expect you to understand, or forgive, my actions."

As I stared at her, my anger began to dissipate. Her actions were borne out of a deep love for me. That much I knew. And if I couldn’t forgive the pain she’d caused, at least I could understand it and accept it as her truth. Loosening my fists, I returned to sit next to her on the bed, clasping her hand as she used the other to tenderly stroke my hair.

I smiled up at her. "So, ya spied on me, huh?" I asked, butting her shoulder with my head.

She crooked a grin back at me. "Somethin’ like that, yeah. And when Corinne called me with the verdict, I hopped on my bike and drove down there as fast as I could. I got there about a half hour before you stepped out of the Bog for the last time."

Her eyes closed. "Seeing you again, it made my heart crawl up in my throat. I love you so much." Pausing, she wiped the lone tear which had escaped from beneath her lashes. "I wasn’t going to talk to you, you know. I just wanted to see you one more time, make sure you got away safely. I would have made sure you had somewhere to stay until you were on your feet again. I suspect Donita offered."

I nodded. "Why wouldn’t you have said anything?" I couldn’t quite hide the hurt in my voice, and felt her stiffen beside me.

"Angel, you’re a free woman now. An innocent woman. You can go anywhere; do anything in this life that you want to. I couldn’t pull you back into my life, living on the run, always looking over your shoulder to wait for some police officer or simple citizen to recognize me."

She sighed. "But then, when I saw you in the park, when I saw the sunlight play across your hair, I couldn’t . . . . I couldn’t leave without telling you I loved you, without saying goodbye to you. You deserved that, at least. And then, when I had you in my arms, I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t let you go. No matter how much I wanted to, I just couldn’t. I know it isn’t fair to you, and I’m not asking you to be with me. I just know that I needed to say more than goodbye. I needed to explain things. I needed . . .I needed you not to hate me."

The look in her eyes, so lost, so infinitely sad, broke my heart into shattered fragments.

"Oh, Ice. I could never hate you. Don’t you know that by now?"

Her eyes were suddenly shy, and I caught a glimpse of the girl in that long ago photo. "I haven’t been loved unconditionally for a long time," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I think I forgot what that was like. But your freedom . . . ."

Reaching up, I clasped her face between my hands, directing her to meet my eyes. "Ice, freedom means having the choice to decide what to do with your life. And that choice was made a long time ago. Being with you is where I want to be."

"But . . . ."

"No buts. My freedom has given me this choice, and I’m not backing down from it. You don’t have to understand it. You just have to accept it. Or not. And that is your freedom."

"I can’t let you give up your chance at a new life because of me, Angel. It’s not that I don’t appreciate the sentiment, because believe me, I do."

I could feel my eyes narrow. "So, what you’re telling me is that I’m only as free as you’ll allow me to be, is that it?"

"Damn it, Angel! If you stay with me, you’ll only be putting yourself into yet another prison! Can’t you see that?"

Yes, she was angry. But this time . . .this time, I wasn’t afraid.

"Ice, the only prison I’d be going back to is the one you’d put me in by refusing to let me make my own decisions over what I want my life to be. There wouldn’t be any bars except for the ones around my heart. That’s a place I don’t ever want to go to. It would be a thousand times worse than the Bog could ever be." I grasped her hand and held it tightly, bringing our joined hands upward so she could plainly see them. "My life is with you, Morgan Steele. It has been since the first day I saw you. That won’t ever change, whether you let me stay with you or not."

For the first time since I’d known her, Ice looked frightened. It wasn’t a panic fright, to be sure, but she was scared. "I . . .can’t . . ."

I put my fingers over her lips. "Maybe not," I whispered. "But I can."

Leaning forward, I replaced my fingers with my lips, claiming her with all the love in my soul. After a moment, she responded, sinking her fingers into my hair and drawing me closer against her, to be engulfed by the scent of spices and leather. I was intoxicated.

Reaching behind me, I tossed my sack and Ice’s duffel from the bed, then, wrapping my arms around her shoulders, pulled her down to lay beside me, never breaking contact with her lips, which had opened under my tender probing, allowing me to explore to my heart’s content.

My hands worked with a sure dexterity on the unfamiliar zippers and buttons and buckles of her leather protection, needing beyond anything to feel the solid, living warmth of her.

She moaned at the first touch of my fingers on her skin and I let the full strength of my love and passion for this remarkable woman take me over. I went willingly into the light of my newfound freedom.

*  *  *

And so here I sit, writing while my lover sleeps bare feet away, her hair shining in the feeble light of the lamp above me. Her head is turned away from me, but I know without seeing that there is a smile on her lips. A smile I put there. That thought fills me with joy.

And in a moment, I’ll go back to lay beside her, and nestle up against the long length of her strong body and fall asleep to the music of her heart beneath my ear.

In just a moment.

We’ve decided to head out for Canada in the morning. To attempt to make a life on the land that gave me so much joy as a child. Getting over the boarder might prove difficult, but Ice is confident that we’ll make it.

The chance to share this dream place with her is all I could want in this world.

Some of you may be asking yourself why I would risk everything to live my life with a fugitive, always wondering when the other shoe is going to drop.

And to those questions, I can only give the answer my heart tells me is true. That if, by chance, that other shoe does drop, tomorrow or fifty years from now, I’ll know that I lived my life the way I wanted to. I made my own choices in this world and was happy with them. I loved, and was loved by, the other half of my soul. I wanted for nothing.

And truly, what else can you ask of the hand life deals you?

END

Well, folks, that concludes REDEMPTION. I thank everyone who has read this far for following along with me on this sometimes rocky journey. Thanks to the many people to took time out from their busy lives to drop me a line and let me know how the story was going for them. I was touched, gratified and overwhelmed by your responses. And thanks once again (a bard can really never say this enough) to my betas, particularly Mike and Candace, for all their help, support, loyalty, and love <g>. Final thanks goes out, once again, to Mary D, whose unwavering support, as well as threats when I said I wasn’t going to bring Ice back <weg> will always be well and happily remembered.

So…who wants to see how Ice and Angel are doing up Canada way, huh? ;)

Sue
9/6/99

RETRIBUTION

Disclaimers

The characters in this novel are of my own creation. That’s right, this is an ‘uber’ story. It’s also a sequel to my novel, Redemption. You really will want to read that first before tackling this one. Some may bear a resemblance to characters we know and love who are owned by PacRen and Universal Studios.

Violence and Naughty Language Disclaimer: Yup, both. Not as much of either as in Redemption (I’m saving that up for "Restitution"), but there is some of each here.

Subtext Disclaimer: Yup, there’s that too. This piece deals with the love and physical expression of that love between two adult females. There are some graphic scenes located within this piece, but I have tried to make them as tasteful as possible so as to not offend anyone’s sensibilities. Let me know if I’ve succeeded.

Dedication: There are so many people to thank for this effort. First is Candace, who once again was there to read this novel in its entirety all in little AIM blocks of 50 characters or less. Her nightly feedback was sorely needed and gratefully received. Thanks also to MaryD and Lunacy for providing much needed and invaluable beta assistance. And, finally, a huge debt thanks to the self-proclaimed "Quillies" for reading the beta version of this and giving insightful feedback as well as putting up with and calming a bard’s emotional roller-coaster of emotions. Thanks, guys!!

Feedback: As always, is most welcome. It not only makes this ‘job’ of writing (which is really a love) much easier, it also makes me better at it. And that is my goal. To become the best writer I can be. If the spirit moves you, you may reach me at SwordnQuil@aol.com  with any questions, concerns or comments.

Final Thought: Retribution is the second in what will eventually become a trilogy. Redemption, obviously, was first. Then Retribution, and finally Restitution. Thanks to everyone who gives up a little of their time to come along on this journey with me. I can only hope that I’ll never let you down.

Final Disclaimer: As with Redemption, this story will be posted in blocks of thirty or so pages per night. It is fully completed, down to the last punctuation mark, so I won’t leave you hanging.  Promise.

RETRIBUTION

PART 1

IT WAS COLD. So cold.

And dark, like the bottom of a newly dug grave.

My whole body was numb; my heart, encased in a block of ice which promised never to thaw.

I could feel the rain around me, pelting down in almost horizontal sheets of stinging fire, driven on by the frenzy of an unholy wind.

A wooden shutter, torn askew by the power of the storm, slammed repeatedly against the weathered wooden siding, sounding a death-knell which rose even over the howling of the wind and the wailing of sirens. Sirens which, like the fog, crept closer and closer, not on cat’s feet, but on dragon’s bloody claws.

Lightening drew its spiky graph onto the sky, imprinting itself on my retinas.

Thunder cracked and rolled, pulling an inane thought to the forefront of my brain. God’s bowling with the angels again, my father’s voice said from somewhere beyond the grave.

And still I waited, blind and frozen like some immortal statue. Waited for the wind to cease its unending fury. Waited for the rain to part its opaque curtain.

Waited for a vision my eyes could not see. A vision my soul could not forget.

As if drawn into the clearing by the force of my unvoiced plea, still more cars came, their churning tires flinging muddy fans into the air. Their powerful headlights broke through the cloak of mist, illuminating the scene I wished so desperately to see from my frozen perch on the porch of the home I’d helped to build.

A home, a dream, that I would willingly leave, never stopping once to look back upon it, if only someone would take these scales from my eyes.

If only.

She stood there straight and tall, backlit by the artificial lighting; my lover, my heart, my soul. Proud back unbowed, head held high, eyes blazing fire.

Proud, yes. But helpless.

Not against the arms which held her, nor the cuffs which bound her strong arms, nor even the guns that pointed at every vulnerable spot in an otherwise invulnerable body.

No, not that. Never that.

Helpless, instead, against the weight of a past which had, once again, come home to roost.

Helpless against the weight of a love she had sold her very soul to nurture and cherish.

The look in her eyes is something I’ll take with me to the grave. A grave that, God willing, will not be long in coming.

Anger at her past for intruding. Rage at the arms which held her, at the guns which nudged her with their hollow silver noses. Sorrow, that the chance we had had ended much too soon.

And love.

Always love.

Her full lips parted, and I strained to hear her words over the storm’s redoubled fury. But even they were taken from me, just as surely as she would be, drawn away into the mist from which only endings came.

But still, I watched as those lips formed words only my heart could hear.

I love you.

And then a word came which shattered my soul.

Goodbye.

"No!" I screamed , bolting up and grabbing at my chest as the breath gusted from my lungs. My heart beat rapidly against fingers which trembled from the intensity of emotion welling up in me.

I blinked my eyes once, and then again, my pupils dilating to accept the feeble light from the window. Managing to relax the panic-induced lock of my muscles, I turned my head slightly, taking in the warm familiarity of the room around me. Oh, thank god. It’s just a dream. Just a dream.

Nestled, sleep-warm, beside me, the object of my terrified thoughts mumbled, yawned, and stretched slightly, pale eyes blinking fuzzily open. "Are you ok?"

A smile rose unbidden to my face as I lowered my hand to stroke sleep-tousled hair. "Yes," I whispered. "It was just a dream."

Burrowing closer, she lifted a hand and lay it against my thigh, resting her forehead against my hip. She cleared her throat. "Wanna talk about it?"

I reveled in the warmth of the simple contact and slowly shook my head. "No. I’m fine." I didn’t have the heart to tell her that this same dream, which had haunted my sleep for the last year or more, had become nearly a nightly occurrence, tearing at my soul bit by merciless bit and leaving me drained and aching every morning. "Just go back to sleep, love. I know how tired you are."

Blue eyes narrowed, their gaze sharpening as she inspected my expression.

Consciously softening my face, I reached out and gently grasped her hand, my thumb tenderly rubbing against the harshly chapped flesh so stained with oil from her labors that it seemed it would never be clean again. Blinking back fresh tears, I somehow managed to keep my expression unguarded and relaxed.

She saw right through my attempt, and pulled her hand away from mine, reaching up to capture a tear on her finger. "Why are you crying?"

The answer to that was easy. "Because I love you."

She looked as if she were about to argue the point, but the weight of many nights of little or no sleep caught up to her and she yawned once again. "Love you too," she mumbled, her heavy eyelids already drifting down over her stunning eyes. "My angel."

I caught her hand once again as it drifted down from my face and brought it to my lips as I gave my tears permission to fall. "I love you, Morgan," I whispered around her warm flesh. "More than you will ever know."

Placing her hand back into my lap, I turned my gaze to the rain-speckled window, watching with idle interest as fat raindrops heralded yet another mid-summer storm. My vision trebled with my tears as I thought back over the rapidly fleeing remnants of my nightmare, wondering for perhaps the thousandth time if it was just a subconscious reaction to stress, as my dreams often were, or if it served to portend something infinitely more ominous.

Pushing the thoughts as down deep as possible, I leaned my head back against the wall and gazed out at the winter landscape, allowing my mind to go where it would. It chose a simpler time, where the scope of our world was narrowed down to just one word.

Survival.

*  *  *

I stooped behind Ice’s broad back, desperately needing to pee, my muscles stiffened by the cold, mountain air and the need to stay absolutely still, my teeth chattering away like castanets in the hands of an insane Spaniard.

The sun was setting to the west, stealing the last feeble warmth from the early spring sky, and the wind redoubled its efforts to slip inside the painfully thin jacket I’d donned that morning.

Ice had sold her bike to a friend of hers earlier, leaving her with a small wad of cash which, when added to my own pitiful sum, didn’t amount to much. We’d made a quick trip to the local thrift store to stock up on meager supplies, painfully aware that the money we had would be all we had to live on until God knew when.

We’d walked from there, carefully keeping off the main roads, even when the urge to hook an easy ride from a passing trucker seemed almost overwhelming, especially given the screaming of my irritated and quickly blistering feet.

It was hours later before we finally made it to what Ice pronounced as the border. I didn’t ask her how she knew, a map most definitely not being one of our meager purchases. It wouldn’t have done me any good anyway. Ice was never the most talkative woman in the world, and I was sure her mind was occupied with far weightier matters than my simple, if nagging, curiosity.

At least that’s what I told myself when my fifth question in a row was answered by a low grunt and a gesture to ‘hush’.

So, I kept quiet and contented myself with memorizing our route as best I could, my mind’s eye already in some warm room somewhere jotting down the day’s adventures in the journal I was determined to keep writing in.

If I had expected some grand pronouncement, a sign, perhaps, announcing that we were leaving the ‘land of the brave’ and entering the ‘home of the Canucks’, I was sorely disappointed. The stretch of thickly wooded forest was much the same as the hundreds of others we’d passed on our journey to freedom.

But when Ice suddenly halted and pulled me down behind a thick hedgerow, I realized that we were probably close to our destination.

And so we waited as the sun blazed out its last in a riot of color. We waited as the moon rose and the stars came out to watch over us, no doubt wondering, as I most surely did, exactly what it was that we were waiting for.

All I knew was that the stillness, the waiting, and the cold were not doing kind things to my bladder, and I was at the point where we either moved, and quickly, or I was going to do something I hadn’t done since I was two.

To take my mind off my rather urgent need, I turned my thoughts to other things. Like this wonderful feeling called ‘freedom’ and what it meant to me, even this far out in the middle of nowhere. I was still in that blissful honeymoon phase, I think, where even the most annoying of circumstances seemed to be viewed through a pair of those proverbial rose-colored glasses.

Everything around me seemed so impossibly vast and open without the constant specter of bars to mar the view and remind me where my place was at any given moment. To remind me that society considered me beneath contempt; unfit to make even the smallest decision for myself.

Even such a mundane task as needing to pee took on a whole new meaning when one realized that you could simply ...well ...do it, without having to ask permission from anyone but your own body.

I was shaken out of my quiet thoughts by what appeared to me to be oncoming headlights. I stiffened, placing a hand on Ice’s back and peered over her shoulder, determined to face what was coming, be it friend or foe, with as much courage as was mine to possess.

Moments later, my suspicions were confirmed as several pick-up trucks, blazing with lights, bounced over the rugged terrain and into my view. I could easily hear the shouts of drunken men over the roar of the engines. Several large deer were tied down to the hoods of the trucks.

The trucks pulled to a stop some yards from our hiding place, and one of the men jumped out, resplendent in his ‘hunter orange’ vest and cap. He drunkenly weaved his way over to a tree quite near us, his breath huffing out in frosty plumes, and proceeded to do what I’d been needing to for the past several hours.

I turned my head away in disgust, leaning it against Ice’s back. I nearly jumped out of my skin as her voice rumbled through her chest and into my ear. "Better put that away before somebody hurts you with it," she said in a menacing voice.

The big man squeaked and spun toward our position, his round eyes the size of saucers. "Who’s there?"

"Ya got a license to be jacking deer out here, buddy?"

He paled under his thick beard, and for a second, I thought he was going to faint. Then his eyes narrowed and he took several determined steps toward us, apparently forgetting that a more sensitive part of his anatomy was left hanging, so to speak, in the breeze. "That you, Morgan?"

"Could be," came the taunting answer.

Behind her, I stiffened in surprise. These were our escorts? "Ice?" I asked, tugging at the back of her jacket.

Her head turned slowly, amused eyes meeting mine. "Yes?"

I gestured to the man still standing opposite us. "A marching band and a neon sign would probably be more subtle, you know."

She winked at me, then turned her head back around. "So, ya gonna just stand there all night with your little friend hanging out or what?"

The man’s blush was vivid, lit up as it was by the blazing lights of the trucks off to the side. He quickly reached down and attended to business, before stepping closer and reaching a hand down to pull Ice from her hiding place.

Ice raised an eyebrow and looked at the proffered hand, then back at her friend.

He cleared his throat, blushed again, and wiped his hands off on his blood-stained trousers. "Jesus, Morgan, you nearly scared the shit outta me, hiding there like that!"

Rising to her feet with a grace I envied, my partner grinned and clapped her friend on the back. "Sorry about that, Bull. Thanks for meeting us out here."

The man’s eyes widened again. "’Us?’"

Turning, Ice reached down and helped me to my feet, pulling me to stand beside her. "Us. Bull, meet Angel. Angel, this is my friend Albert. ‘Bull’ to his drunken deer jacking buddies."

This time, his blush was truly spectacular, as he reached up and snatched his cap off his head and stood, wringing it in his hands. "I’m sorry, Ma’am. I didn’t ... . Oh, God."

Grinning to ease his discomfort, I stepped forward and laid a hand on his arm. "I’m very pleased to meet you, Bull. Thank you for helping us out like this."

"Oh ...um ...it’s wasn’t anything much, Ma’am. Really. H-happy to do it."

Breaking through the man’s embarrassment in a way so typical of her, Ice clapped Bull on the shoulder once more and gestured to the waiting trucks, their drivers and passengers staring at us with open-mouthed drunkenness. "Shall we?"

After a moment, Bull dragged his eyes away from me and slapped the cap down on top of his head. "Yeah. Right this way, ladies."

And, just like that, we were in Canada.

*  *  *

After a drive that seemed like an eternity over rutted wanna-be roads that had my fillings, and the teeth they were attached to, rolling around like dice in my head, a small shanty came into sudden view, a welcoming curl of smoke rising gracefully from the brick chimney.

Gratefully escaping from a truck cab that smelled like a distillery, I hugged my arms to myself as the cold conspired against me again, and looked at the tiny shack that was, apparently, to be a rest stop on our journey.

It look sturdy enough, but much smaller than I had expected, hardly more than a crude lean-to with four walls and a roof to hold it all together.

I shrugged mentally. I could do ‘tiny’. I’d been in smaller spaces, after all. The green-painted walls of my cell came into my mind’s eye and I shivered, just slightly. No more of that, Angel. You’re free now. Start acting like it.

Mustering up a smile, I looked up at Ice, who put a careful arm around my shoulders and guided me into the cabin. Warmth from a blazing fire and the wonderful smells of grilling meat enveloped my senses immediately. My stomach, of course, growled its impatience, but the crowd around us was too boisterous to pay any notice.

Ice, of course, did notice, and quirked me a half-grin before turning and accepting a quick kiss on the cheek from a tall, handsome man with smiling dark eyes and a bushy moustache that almost covered his mouth. He waved a greeting to me as well before being pulled back to his cooking duties by the men who demanded food, and right now, if you please.

"Andre," Ice commented softly by way of introduction. "Not much of a hunter, but he cooks a mean venison steak. I think you’ll enjoy it."

I laughed. "After five years of jail food, I’d enjoy a cardboard box if it had something more than pepper on it."

My lover smiled back in wry acknowledgement as Bull once again made his presence known, gesturing around the cabin with one massive arm. "Well, this is it. It’s not much, I know. But at least it’s warm."

"And that’s more than we could ever ask for," I replied quickly, looking around the tiny shack, which was, essentially, just one large room. Bunk beds were pushed up against three of the four walls. A couch, having seen better days around the time Lincoln was President, sat off to one side. A fireplace dominated the fourth wall, with a decent sized stove and a small refrigerator completing the ensemble. A rough-hewn table sat in the center of the room, loaded down with clothing, ammunition, gun-oil, and several objects which remained mysteries to me.

At a shout from Andre, several of the men began clearing the table, grumbling drunkenly if good naturedly, while Bull walked to the only door in the cabin and pulled it open.

An unbelievably tiny room was displayed. A narrow cot sat off to one side with a window above it. A three-cornered stool, a rather pornographic lamp sitting atop it, was the only other furniture that could have fit there. Ice could have easily reached across the entire space with both arms outstretched.

Thoughts of prison came to me once again, but I pushed them away, grateful for any bit of hospitality I was given.

"It’s small, but the door closes, so you’ll have some privacy, at least."

"It’s perfect," I pronounced, walking inside and laying my backpack on the bed. "Thank you, Bull."

Blushing again, he looked down at his feet before mumbling something unintelligible and backing away into the main room.

Shaking her head in mock exasperation, Ice stepped past the retreating man and joined me in the cramped room, looking around. "Not exactly the Ritz, but it’ll do in a pinch, I suppose."

I flopped down on the bed, crossed my legs, and grinned up at her. "I’m not complaining. It’s warm, the food smells heavenly, and I get to spend all night in this tiny bed with you. What more could a girl ask for?"

She smiled that heart-stopping grin at me, then ducked down and brushed a soft, warm kiss against my lips before straightening again. "I’d give you a palace if I could, Angel."

"I don’t need a palace, Ice. I just need you."

We might have gone on for years staring into one another’s eyes if my bladder hadn’t chosen just that moment to announce its final summons. I jumped up from the bed. "Where’s the bathroom?" I asked out of the corner of my mouth, not wanting to be overheard.

"There isn’t one," Ice responded in like fashion.

My eyes, I’m sure, widened dramatically. "What?!? Then where do you ... ?"

Taking pity on my desperate condition, Ice leaned over the bed, pulling the tattered window shade out of the way. "Outhouse."

"Great." I sighed.

My bladder twinged again, and I shrugged. Oh well, any port in a storm, I suppose.

*  *  *

Dinner was a loud, boisterous, but delicious affair. We ate pressed close together, Ice on my right, Andre on my left, the rest of the men trading outrageous hunting tales that went into the realm of science fiction rather quickly.

Though grateful for the kindnesses shown me, I couldn’t help but feel slightly uncomfortable as the night wore on. After spending five years in the sole company of women, and in addition, having a bit of a sore spot when it came to drunken males, given my past history with at least one of their species, I felt myself gradually begin to close off as a means, I suppose, of self preservation. Ice was warmly supportive, but there were still places deep within me that even she couldn’t reach, and this was one of them.

Giving my hand a warm squeeze under the table, Ice turned her head and brought her lips down to brush against my ear, sending a wonderful shiver throughout my entire body. "Why don’t you bow out? Try and relax and get some sleep. I’ll be back shortly."

That sent a great deal more than a shiver though me and I concentrated on keeping my breathing steady as I whispered back. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I have a couple of things to discuss with these brutes before they all pass out. Then I’ll come back and join you. Sound good?"

I could feel my eyes closing against my will at the tickle of her warm breath against my neck. "Oh, it sounds better than good."

Though unseen, I could still feel her smile as she squeezed my hand once more before releasing it.

Taking another moment to compose myself and make sure my legs would hold my weight, I slowly pushed my chair back and rose to my feet, smiling at my hosts. "I hate to be a party-pooper, but all that walking, and the wonderful dinner, about did me in. I think it’s time I went to bed. Goodnight, guys. And thanks."

I entered the bedroom to the sounds of cheery ‘goodnights’ and closed the door with a sense of profound relief as the sturdy wood drowned out the loudest of the noises.

Running my hands through my hair, I breathed out a sigh of relief and sat down on the narrow cot, picking up my knapsack and digging out my journal and pen, thinking to put the day’s adventures down on paper.

But the words wouldn’t come right away, and, leaning back against one wall, I gazed around the tiny room, wondering at the paradox that something so reminiscent of my time in the Bog, a room no larger than my home for five years, could bring with it such a feeling of security.

There’s an old jailhouse maxim that says that an inmate spends all of his time thinking of ways to get out of prison, while an ex-convict spends all of his time thinking of ways to get back in.

While not entirely true in my case (or at least I hoped not), I couldn’t ignore the fact that there was a certain sense of security that came with being told when to get up, when to eat, what to wear, where to go, what to do, and when to sleep. Freedom meant owning up to those decisions once again, and sometimes the choices seemed too many to reach an easy decision on.

I wondered, briefly, what Ice’s thoughts were on the subject, having spent many more years behind bars than I. Then I grinned and just shook my head at my own foolishness. The woman had truly blossomed outside the prison’s imposing walls, giving me insights into her personality that could never have come if we were still trapped within the Bog’s confines.

No, Ice caged was like a wild animal in a zoo. Pretty to look at, dangerous, but dying by slow inches inside, where it counted. I doubted if she spared even one passing thought about the place we’d left behind, and if she did, words like ‘comfort’ and ‘security’ probably weren’t in her vocabulary.

Drawing my knees up to my chest, I wrapped my arms around them, rested my chin atop them, and stared blankly at an empty wall, thinking about the people, the friends, I’d left behind, never realizing when I nodded off.

*  *  *

I awoke from a hazy dream of having tea in the library with Corinne, and blinked the sleep from my eyes to take in the vision of Ice standing against the door, looking down at me with an expression of such loving tenderness that my heart swelled in pure, emotional reaction.

"Hey," she said softly, pushing herself away from the wall and coming to stand beside the cot. "Didn’t mean to wake you up."

"That’s ok," I replied, yawning and stretching the kinks from my neck and back. "I didn’t plan on falling asleep."

"You needed it."

I could feel my eyebrow raise as I stared back at her. "So do you."

She smiled slightly. "Touché."

I grinned right back at her, scoring one for myself.

Her expression turned more sober. "Sorry about dinner. I knew you were starting to get a little uncomfortable."

I gave her a nonchalant shrug. "That’s ok. They’re really nice." I couldn’t help giggling a little. "I think Bull has a crush on me."

Ice grinned. "Bull’s a mountain man. He doesn’t get to see women very often. Especially not one as beautiful as you."

I was sure the blush on my face could have lit up the room. I cleared my throat a bit awkwardly, still unused, even after all this time, to receiving compliments, especially from Ice. "Where did you meet them, anyway?"

Sitting with casual grace on the bed, Ice copied my position, drawing her knees up and resting her head on the wall next to the window ledge. "They’re friends of my father’s, actually. He used to come up here on occasion to get away from it all. Most of these guys are white collar types who like to work off their stress by getting drunk and going up against the savage, razor-toothed deer." Her lips curled in a wry smile. "Bull’s been their guide for as long as I can remember."

As I watched, her gaze became distant, and a trifle sad. "My father brought me up here sometimes. It was fun, hanging out with them. Roughing it in the wilderness." She smiled again, sadly, this time. "He wouldn’t let me handle a rifle, but then again, he wasn’t much into them himself. So he taught me to bow hunt instead." She sighed. "It was right here, in these woods, where I deliberately took the life of another creature for the first time." She looked down at her hands, squeezing them into tight fists and releasing them. "And it’s never been the same since."

Reaching out, I covered her knee with my hand and squeezed gently. Her face became more relaxed as she reached down and covered it with her own. "Anyway, they’re usually up here around this time of the year. I managed to contact Andre at his restaurant yesterday, and set this whole thing up." She blinked, then turned her head to face me. "They really are good guys. Give you the shirt of their backs. Just a little too rowdy for their own good sometimes."

I returned her tender look. "Thanks for sharing that with me. I know remembering those times is hard for you."

She shrugged. "Nah. It’s alright. You deserved to know, anyway. I didn’t tell you before because I couldn’t be sure it’d work out, and I didn’t want you to be disappointed if it didn’t."

Smiling, I grasped her hand tighter and pulled it against my chest. "You haven’t disappointed me yet, my love."

She raised an eyebrow at that, clearly disbelieving, then tugged her hand back, and me along with it. I fell across her lap in an untidy sprawl, which she immediately corrected by pulling me up to sit beside her, my head tucked down against her chest and beneath her chin. Her warm hand made slow circles on my back and I felt my eyelids grow heavy once again, my sigh of contentment ruffling the denim fabric of her shirt.

One of the buttons on said shirt, right at my eye level, seemed to be a bit constricted, so I eased its burden by releasing it from its cloth prison. The soft skin bared by my labors begged for a kiss.

I obliged, smiling as the slowly circling hand on my back hesitated briefly before continuing on its way.

Because the lone button seemed so unhappy without its mates, I decided to give it some company and liberated another, smoothing my hand inside the opening I’d made and pressing another kiss, a bit lower, against warm, fragrant flesh.

"Smooth, Angel." Her amused voice rumbled through her chest and into my ear, sending a flush of warmth through my body.

"Like butter," I replied, grinning into her chest before tracing the line of her sternum with the very tip of my tongue. My fingers reached under her bra to cup a firm breast. "Like silk."

The world spun a bit, then, and when I opened my eyes finally, I found myself straddling a taut waist, indigo eyes staring into mine with well-loved, and unmistakable, intent. Her bent knees provided a solid support for my back and I couldn’t help but cry out softly as the front of my shirt was torn open in a scattering of buttons.

I was more than grateful that I’d had the foresight to forgo a bra that morning when warm lips nuzzled into the valley of my breasts and a teasing tongue darted out to taste my suddenly sweating skin.

Her strong, beautiful hands slipped behind my back as her fingers slid down past the waistband of my jeans, pulling me closer to her body. Turning her head suddenly, she took a nipple into her mouth, and I responded sharply, thrusting against the strong, flat plane of her belly. The inseam of my jeans rode snugly against me with the move I’d made and, groaning softly, I closed my eyes as my head lolled back over her knees.

She encouraged the motion of my body, using her strong legs to help guide me in time with her suckling lips, teeth and tongue.

When she switched to my other breast, my orgasm came so quickly that I didn’t have time to even draw a breath before I stiffened and shook against her, rolling helplessly with the waves of intense passion that flowed through me, into my lover, and back again.

I barely had time to catch my spent breath before my back met a warm, slightly scratchy, woolen cover. Opening my eyes, I saw Ice above me, still gently thrusting her hips into my widely spread legs, her eyes dark and half-lidded, her hair swinging free, the smile on her face a wild, feral thing.

Ducking her head down, she captured my lips in a kiss full of fire and passionate promise. Her deft tongue glided over my teeth, then into my mouth, filling me with the taste of her. I responded in kind, lifting leaden arms to tangle in her hair and bring her closer to me.

Our twin growls sounded softly in the tiny room, spurring my arousal even higher.

Then I whimpered as her sharp teeth grasped my lower lip and she swirled her tongue over the captured flesh, each sensual move a promise of things yet to come.

She pulled away finally and smiled again, fiercely, before trailing kisses and tiny bites down my supremely sensitized flesh. Her hands reached down between our bodies, and within seconds, my jeans and underwear became a swiftly fading memory, as did hers before she lay back down to claim her spot between my legs.

The first touch of her warm, soft skin was almost enough to send me over the edge yet again and I gritted my teeth against the possibility. Chuckling softly, Ice simply smirked at me, determined to push me to my limits and beyond.

Another smoldering kiss to my already swollen lips and she began a slow glide down my body, aided, no doubt, by the ample evidence of my arousal coating her skin.

Her merciless attentions didn’t stop when she finally, after what seemed several eternities at least, arrived at what I hoped was her final destination. She nipped at the insides of both thighs while her hands contented themselves skimming lightly over my breasts, never settling in one place for more than a heartbeat and serving only to crank my excitement up yet another notch.

When I was almost beyond the point of thinking, let alone begging, one hand left my breast and, a bare, breathless second later, she filled me completely while her mouth covered me, hot and wet and oh, so very needed.

Her tongue and fingers began their slow duet, my breathless pants keeping time, her low moans adding depth to the dance.

Together we moved, one into the other, sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly, sometimes hard, sometimes achingly soft, reaching the crescendo, where I was finally emancipated, borne up on the sweetest of currents, reaching out to the sky and the sea and the stars.

Reaching out, and making them my own.

I collapsed back against the bed, completely drained, and unbelievably happy. Ice rose up slightly, then covered my body with her own, gently stroking my sweaty bangs from their tangled nest on my forehead. The look on her face was so tender and so loving that tears pricked at my eyes, gilding her in a diamond haze.

"Don’t cry," she whispered. Her face was soft and totally open.

"I can’t help it," I whispered back.

Closing my eyes, I felt the warm touch of her lips on my lids, drying my tears and replacing them with kisses. Then she lowered herself the rest of the way down and gathered me up in a tender embrace, molding our bodies along their entire lengths, one long leg thrown casually over mine.

Then she turned so that we were lying belly to belly, pulling her head away just enough to stare deeply into my eyes. Her expression was deadly serious. "I love you, Angel."

Burying my flushed face against her damp neck, I hugged her with every ounce of strength in me. "I love you too, Morgan. More than I ever thought I was capable of loving another person." I smiled, snuffling against her neck. "I just wish I could tell you how much."

"Ya just did," she murmured into my hair as she tightened her grip around my pliant body. One large hand stroked my hair until I, with the ease of going from one breath to the next, fell asleep in her warm and loving arms.

Sometimes words are overrated.

*  *  *

I sat up quickly, my heart lodged somewhere in the vicinity of my throat. Only the years spent living in one of the most dangerous places on earth, and the resulting need to keep from showing fear at all costs, kept me from screaming out my fear.

I looked around wildly, my eyes slow to adjust to the near total blackness of the tiny room. Ice’s comforting presence was nowhere to be found and I swallowed down my fear, wondering just what was going on.

The savage pounding that had awoken me sounded again, and I jumped slightly, gathering the sheet up to my chest, still staring blindly at nothing. "Ice?" I whispered soft as I could.

A warm hand to my naked back almost shot me through the ceiling, and another hand covered my mouth, muffling the wheezing gasp that came up from my lungs. Fortunately, the touch was one I knew intimately, and I nodded, signifying I was alright.

Ice removed her hand and slipped into bed beside me.

"Jesus, Ice," I whispered, "you scared the hell out of me there."

"Sorry. I didn’t mean to."

"What’s going on?"

"I don’t know."

That particular piece of information made me more nervous than all the racket still going on outside our door. "You don’t ...know?"

"Not yet. But I will." Leaning across my body, she pulled the shade slightly away from the window. The room was suddenly bathed in flashing red lights.

Leaving it’s temporary home in my throat, my heart then sunk down to my knees, convulsing rapidly as I twisted the sheet in my hands. No! Not already! We just got here! Please, we just need more time!

Releasing the shade to lay flat against the window once more, Ice relaxed slightly and leaned back against the wall. "It’s alright," she said in a low voice.

"It is?"

"Yeah. It’s just the Game Warden."

"The Game Warden?"

Yes, it seemed that I was back to being Ice’s parrot, a habit I thought I’d broken some years ago, but apparently had remained content to hide out until it was faced with a situation just like this one before jumping cheerily into the fray once again. C’mon, Angel. Try and think of something intelligent to say, huh? "Why would the game warden be here at this time of night?" While not a question Einstein might have asked, it was the best I could do under the circumstances.

"Well, normally, the local law doesn’t look too kindly on people jacking deer out of these woods. But the way the natural predators have been run off lately, the herds have grown out of control, so there really isn’t a problem, as long as you’ve got a license."

I nodded sagely. Then another question popped into my mind. "Ice?"

"Mmmm?"

"Bull does have a license, doesn’t he?"

"Yeah."

I breathed a sigh of relief.

"I hope," she muttered, half under her breath.

Oh boy.

Ice stiffened beside me.

"What?"

"They’re coming this way."

Before I could think to do anything but duck down, as if that action would somehow make me invisible to prying eyes, the door was thrown open and bright light spilled into our room, illuminating it quite thoroughly.

Dead silence.

Not able to help myself, I slowly poked my head around Ice’s broad shoulder, almost unable to prevent myself from collapsing into gales of laughter at the look on the warden’s face; a face that was currently staring at my naked lover in all her magnificent glory.

I didn’t even have to look at said naked, and magnificent, lover to know she was treating the man to one of her famous raised eyebrow stares. "Yes?" she drawled, managing to sound dangerous and sultry at the same time.

The man’s Adam’s Apple bobbed as he swallowed convulsively, his eyes round and shiny as newly minted coins.

"Is there a problem?"

Looking acutely uncomfortable, the Game Warden rocked back on his heels. "Um ...no. I ...err ...was just making sure things were ...ok ...in here."

Unable to pass up such a wonderful opening, I stuck my head out further and grinned. "They’re just fine, thanks. No problems here."

The poor man looked to be about a second from fainting. He cleared his throat, fingering his collar and loosening it from its no-doubt tight grip around his neck. "Err ...ok then. As long as there aren’t any problems."

I pretended to think about it. "Nope. Can’t think of a one. We do appreciate your checking, though. Don’t we, Ice?" I nudged my partner with a gentle elbow to the ribs.

Ice pasted on her best imitation of a sincere smile, which, to be truthful, needed a bit of work. "Indeed we do," she replied in a tone that was just a hair short of smug.

"Well, then. I guess I’ll just ...leave you two alone." Clearing his throat one last time, the beleaguered Game Warden slowly backed out of the room, pulling the door shut once he’d fully cleared the threshold.

As the room became dark once again, I gave into my insane craving and collapsed back on the bed, shaking with laughter. After a moment, Ice joined me, though her mirth, typically, was reduced to just a few wry chuckles.

As someone or other has been known to say throughout the ages, "Laughter is the best medicine." And, indeed, for me, it was, banishing all my doubts and fears into a place too deep within me to notice, at least right then.

And, for the second time that night, I fell asleep with a happy heart.

*  *  *

It often times seems that the closer you get to your final destination, the longer the trip seems to take. That was certainly the truth in my case those first weeks of early spring. We traveled for what seemed like years over rutted mountain roads, some so deeply packed with snow that I despaired of ever seeing civilization again and pictured us all frozen like statues and waiting for some summer hiker to come along and discover our bodies.

True to his word, though, Bull was an excellent guide, and never once lost that cheery--if half-embarrassed-- good nature that kept my usually natural optimism close to the surface.

We took sleep, and food, where we could find it, often taking turns navigating or driving while another slept in the cramped cab of Bull’s heavy truck. As I’ve never been one for driving in heavy snow, and Bull seemed to share Ice’s aversion to maps, I spent most of my time smashed between two large bodies, staring out into the Canadian wilderness and counting trees.

And sleeping.

A lot.

And so it was with a great sense of relief that I spied the tall church spire that marked the entrance to the little town where I had spent so many happy summers. It stood as I’d always remembered it, straight, tall, and proud; pointing the way to Heaven for those with no sense of direction, as my father would say every time it came into his view.

The cold air was biting on my face as I accepted Ice’s help and stepped down from the high cab, coming to stand in a snowdrift that reached almost to my hips. I shivered and pulled the down jacket Bull had so chivalrously offered me tight around my chest, digging my cold-numbed hands deep into the pockets.

Ice, true to her nick, stood relaxed, as if standing in drifts of snow half again her height was all in a day’s work for her. I wanted to envy her cool attitude, but upon thinking about the price she had paid for it, reconsidered my thoughts.

I’d settle for shivering any day.

Bull stepped from his side of the truck and came over to say his good-byes, smiling broadly and looking for all the world like a friendly grizzly begging for treats by the roadside.

"Are you sure you don’t want to stop, just for a couple minutes?" I asked. "I know the town doesn’t look like much, but the café’s bound to be open, and the coffee’s really good." Though at that point, they could have served turpentine in a mug and I would have pronounced it delicious, as long as it was hot.

Bull smiled, though it had a touch of sadness to it. "I’m gonna have to take a raincheck on that, if you don’t mind, Ma’am. I’ve got a bunch of hunters waiting for me back at the cabin, and my paycheck’s with ‘em."

I nodded in commiseration. Needing money was something I could certainly understand, much as I sometimes wished that that particular lesson wasn’t quite so easily learned, especially now. "Thank you, Bull. I don’t know what we would have done without your help. You’re a great person."

The resulting blush melted all the snow in a ten mile radius and, unkind though it might have been, I couldn’t keep myself from grinning, then enveloping him in a heartfelt hug. "Take care of yourself, Bull," I said, pulling away. "I mean it."

"You do the same," he replied in kind, squeezing the stuffing out of me one last time for good measure. He jerked his head toward Ice, his eyes never leaving mine. "Take care of her too, ok?"

"Promise."

After Bull and Ice had said their farewells and the big man climbed back in his truck, he waved one last time and pulled away in a plume of white exhaust. I sighed a little, watching until the truck had disappeared back into the endless forest, then pulled myself out of the deep drift and onto the moderately paved road leading into the town.

A small tendril of melancholy wove its way through my soul as I looked down the road and into the town proper. It stood there, desolate and seemingly empty. If green is the color of despair and red, rage, then gray is desolation’s hue. The whole town seemed to be painted with it, as if some suicidal artist had drawn a brush over the entire scene, preserving it forever for entombment in some museum’s misery exhibit.

Summer towns were always like this off-season, I reminded myself. Always waiting, like an inattentive man’s pining pet, for a loving touch and the summer sun to restore color and life to the land.

"You alright?" Ice’s voice came from very close beside me, and I started a bit before settling back down.

"Yeah. Just thinking." And hoping. Praying. During our long flight to freedom, I hadn’t had the time to wonder if this place that I had banked all my dreams on would, in fact, be what I needed for it to be. Seeing it like this, watching as a mournful wind whipped through the towering pines and chased faerie swirls of snow down the empty street, I wondered, for just a moment, if my dream was slowly turning into a nightmare.

Were the dreams of a lonely child enough to build an adult’s life upon? And what right did I have to drag Ice into them with me? A woman who was not here because she had no place else to go, but rather because she had made the choice to try and build a life wherever it was that I wanted to be.

It suddenly became too much responsibility for me to bear. Deep inside, the child who had always lived for the sight of this place suddenly turned away, sobbing in fear.

I almost gave in to the insane urge to run screaming after Bull’s departed truck and beg him to take us away. Far away from this place of empty promises and broken dreams.

I might have done it, too, such was my need to escape, if a long, denim-clad body hadn’t chosen that exact second to interpose itself between me and my view of the village beyond. A strong hand, reddened and chapped by wind and cold, reached out and tipped my chin so that I was staring into eyes the exact color of the sky above. "We’re in this together, Angel. No matter what."

I took only a moment to wonder at her sudden telepathic skills before opening my mouth to respond, watching as my breath plumed into the frosty air upon leaving my lungs. "I know. And that’s what scares me. What if this isn’t right for us? What if I’m just taking us away from one prison and throwing us into another? What if it’s ... ." I dropped my eyes, staring at the blurred lines in her palm. " ...not like I remember?"

"Things in life rarely are, Angel," she replied with her typical, and sometimes brutal, honesty. I looked up to see a slight, sad smile briefly curve her lips. "But if we didn’t take chances, we wouldn’t need dreams. And without dreams ... ."

As her words sunk in, I couldn’t help but return her smile, remembering the evening she told me how her own dreams, dreams of a life with me outside prison walls, had kept her from killing one of her greatest enemies. "Where would we be?" I murmured softly, finishing her phrase.

Tipping me a wink, Ice removed her hand and settled her thin jacket around her trim, well-muscled form. "Where would we be indeed." Hooking a hand round my upper arm, she carefully guided me down the ice slicked road and forward into whatever future this lonely, bleak town portended.

*  *  *

"Homey," Ice remarked dryly as she took in the sights around her with an amused half-smile.

"I think the word you’re looking for is ‘creepy’." I could feel the weight of a dozen pairs of unseen eyes on my back; waiting, assessing, judging.

Directly in front of me, the town’s only Bed and Breakfast, The Silver Pine, stood in a huge bank of snow. That name had always intrigued me when I was younger. The ‘pine’ part of the name was a given, surrounded as it was by hundreds if not thousands of the species and huddled among them like a Lilliputian in a land of Gullivers.

‘Silver’, however, was a bit of a misnomer, given that I’ve never in my life seen a silver pine tree, unless you counted those spray painted plastic deals they sell at those cut-rate department stores around Christmas time.

I got up the nerve to ask my mother one day. She smiled that infuriating smile that is the patent of mothers everywhere, patted me on the head like a none-too-bright puppy and said, "Poetic license, dear."

And, of course, left me with two questions where only one had existed before.

Despite the incongruity of its name, however, The Silver Pine was a place that I’d remembered with great fondness, not only because of the delicious cookies the owner, Mrs. Carmody, would sneak into my hand when my parents weren’t looking, but also because of the huge old rooms, the exploration of which would take up most of a rainy summer’s day.

It now looked like the hotel straight out of The Shining.

Or perhaps Psycho.

Cassandra’s girlish, malicious giggle bubbled in my mind, adding to the macabre feel of the place. "Shut up," I muttered, chasing down an attack of the shivers. "Just shut up."

"Pardon me?" Ice asked, swinging her head in my direction.

"Sorry. Just talking to myself." As usual. C’mon, Angel, snap out of it or she’s gonna think you’ve gone completely ‘round the bend, alright? "This isn’t exactly how I remembered it," I remarked, sharing my brilliant insight with my smirking lover.

"I don’t doubt that." She shrugged, seemingly unconcerned. "The season probably has a lot to do with it, though."

"Yeah, I guess you’re right." I commenced looking around, taking in the combination gas station-auto body shop. It, too, appeared to be deserted, the only sign of life being the neon "Drink Coca Cola" sign winking on and off like some enraged Cyclops’ eye.

Across from that, the small, one story schoolhouse stood, its walk shoveled and carefully salted. And, next to the school, the church, seeming all the more imposing with it’s gigantic stained glass windows displaying colors never seen except in others of its ilk, stood sternly. Churches like this didn’t invite worship. They demanded it.

The only building which displayed at least a modicum of warmth was the long, low-slung café, which also doubled as the town’s only grocery store. The windows were fogged from the inside, and ghostly light filtered out into the darkening day. "I kinda feel like I stepped into the middle of a Stephen King novel."

Snorting softly, Ice turned to face the café. "I think the natives are getting restless. Let’s go assuage their curiosity."

"Sounds good to me," I replied, craving some warmth. "I hope they still serve coffee."

Softly humming the theme from The Twilight Zone, Ice once again took my arm and escorted me to the café.

The blast of heat which came at us as I opened the door almost sent me rushing right back outside again to escape the sudden suffocation. But the smell of coffee, as tantalizing as I remembered, as well as Ice’s firm grip on my arm, spurred me onward.

The café was sparsely populated, even given it’s relatively small size, and stony faces with mistrustful eyes followed us to the counter, making me feel acutely uncomfortable. Screwing on my brightest smile, I slid onto a stool and caught the attention of the café’s waitress, a bleached-blonde with a generous figure and the stub of a slowly smoldering cigarette dangling from her garishly painted lips.

I grinned internally, thinking that if Pony were here with us, she’d be immediately smitten. She always did have a soft spot for ‘cheap and easy’.

"Two coffees, please," I said in my most friendly voice.

The haggard woman eyed us through the blue haze of smoke from her cigarette. "You got money? We don’t give hand-outs here."

"Sure we do," I replied, digging into the pocket of my jeans and coming up with several wadded bills and an odd smattering of lint-covered coins. "It’s American, though. Do you accept that here?" I asked, knowing darn well they did. Come summer, these people would be taking every Abe Lincoln, George Washington, and Andrew Jackson that came across their path.

After a moment’s contemplation, the woman nodded, then turned away to pour us two cups of steaming coffee from the glass pots sitting on the hotplate near the kitchen door. Turning once again, she slid the cups over to us indifferently, the liquid inside sloshing over the rim to pool on the cracked, cigarette-burned Formica that made up the counter top.

I shot a quick glance over to my partner, who was staring placidly into the mirror behind the counter, seemingly unconcerned about the way we were being treated.

We’re gonna have to have a little talk, Ice. After all, what good was it to have the "Beast of the Bog" sitting beside you if she refused to intimidate an incredibly rude waitress into giving better service?

Grunting and stubbing her cigarette out in a nearby ashtray, the waitress grabbed my bills and went to the cash register, returning with a few scattered Canadian coins which she tossed onto the counter.

"Give her the rest of it," came a cool, calm, and oh so deathly soft voice to my right.

The waitress spun, a sharp retort, I’m sure, on her lips. It froze unuttered as she blanched through several shades of pale before finally deciding on ‘I-think-I-just-wet-myself’ white. Looking up into the mirror, I didn’t even bother to hide my smug grin. Ahh, that’s more like it.

"Now."

"I ...don’t know what you’re talking about," the waitress replied, sounding more fearful than ferocious.

From my view in the mirror, I watched Ice’s eyes as they moved from the sign displaying the prices, toward the two coffees sitting on the counter, and back to the waitress. Her face remained completely expressionless.

To give credit where it’s due, the woman didn’t back down from my partner’s intimidating stare until Ice made as if to stand. Then she spun as if all the demons of Hell were at her heels, punched open the cash register, and gave me back the correct change in record time.

"Thank you," I said sweetly, finally sipping my hard-earned coffee.

It tasted even better than I remembered.

*  *  *

After an hour or so of enduring the coldness of strangers, I’d finally had enough. Even the hot coffee didn’t thaw the chill sitting in my belly at the eyes following my every move, as if my drink was expected somehow to materialize into a deadly weapon with which to kill them all where they sat.

I was decidedly relieved when Ice caught my eye and gave a short nod. Pushing forward a tip that was in no way deserved, I slipped from my stool and grabbed my heavy pack, slipping it over my shoulders and settling it more comfortably onto my back.

Ice did the same and, with a final, measuring look at each and every one of our watchers, letting them know in no uncertain terms that she had a very long and a very good memory, led the way to the door and our escape from the stultifying atmosphere of the café.

Though well below freezing, the chill outside seemed warmer, somehow, than what we had just endured. I stuffed my hands inside the roomy pockets of my borrowed jacket and turned to look at Ice. "Well, wasn’t that just a day at the beach."

Ice shrugged, settling her pack across her shoulders. "Guess they don’t get paid to be nice to strangers in the off-season."

"Guess not." Sighing, I turned to look back at The Silver Pine, which looked as closed and remote as it had earlier. It had been my plan to secure a room there until we could at least get the cabin started, but given my earlier thoughts, even if it had been open for business I don’t think that even a team of horses, wild or otherwise, could have dragged me in there.

Though it was just past mid-day, the sky continued to darken. A huge cloudbank slowly advanced from the west, promising yet more snow. I shivered again, then turned to look at my partner, who was standing calmly in the middle of the deserted street, returning my gaze. The heavy weight of responsibility settled itself on my shoulders once again, a feeling at definite odds with sense of blissful freedom I’d felt here as a child. Maybe what they said was right. Maybe you never really could go home again.

Smiling slightly, Ice came forward and enveloped me in a warm hug, heedless of the stares I could feel all around us. Pulling back, she looked down at me, capturing my gaze effortlessly. "C’mon. Let’s see what we have to work with, hmm?"

Though a woman of relatively few words, Ice well knew how to make the best out of what she had. She somehow managed, as always it seemed, to take my mind off my guilt and put it where it belonged.

Our future.

I hugged her to me tightly in thanks, then pulled away, turning determined eyes toward our destination, seeing the obstacles before me for what they truly were, not impossible chasms, but rather challenges to be met and exceeded.

Nodding to myself, I struck off down the road, Ice casually making her way behind me. When the buildings of the town faded into the mist, I made an abrupt right, stepping off the road and into knee deep snow. "Shortcut," I explained without turning to see my companion’s no doubt amused reaction to the sudden detour.

I felt my heart begin to grow lighter as I walked through the friendly and well loved forest surrounding me. The further I traveled down the game trail, my body instinctively knowing the way without my mind having to shout directions, the younger, it seemed, I became. The trees grew taller somehow. The snow was replaced by a fresh layer of pine needles. The smell of sap was heavy in the air. The birds chorused cheerfully as the light from the slowly setting sun slanted through the woods, warming my skin and putting a smile on my face.

If I closed my eyes, I could just hear the far-off chatter of children playing on the tiny beach down by the sparkling blue lake. I could feel the light, but important, weight of penny candies in my hand as I dodged the shadows and played tag with the sun.

I would have walked right into a deadfall, and likely broken my neck on the sharp and somehow ominous branches, if Ice hadn’t pulled me out of my dream and back into reality with a sharp tug to the back of my jacket.

"Watch yourself," Ice commented mildly as she surveyed the tangle of fallen pines, hands on her hips.

I blinked, feeling the cold, and my adult body and responsibilities, close in around me once again. But somehow, after the gift I’d just been given, neither seemed quite so harsh as before. "This ...wasn’t here before," I replied, feeling a slight blush warming cheeks gone numb with the cold.

Ice just shot me a look, doubtless choosing silence as the better part of valor, especially given my brilliant observation, before returning her attention to the large deadfall blocking our path. "Looks like a detour is in order."

"No problem. C’mon."

It only took a few minutes to return to the trail I’d been following and before I knew it, I could just see the lake past the last of the trees sheltering it. Instead of being the deep, friendly blue I remembered, however, it was landlocked and gray with ice. Great sections of it had been cleared of snow and a huge bonfire blazed near its center. A smattering of children glided back and forth on the ice, most playing what I guessed to be hockey. The sounds of their sticks hitting the ice echoed across the lake.

Making a quick left, I followed the tree-line until the first of the cottages, more like huge houses than simple shacks, came into view. I passed the first two cottages, then stopped. Even my breathing halted, as I saw with my own eyes what my heart refused to believe.

The cottage, that place where I’d spent so many wonderful summers, the place whose memories led me through the hardest years of my life, was gone.

Only a blanket of pristine snow marked its grave.

I felt tears well up; tears which even Ice’s warm and steady presence at my side failed to banish. All these years, some part of my heart still held out hope that the news of its burning had been some sort of cruel joke, played upon me by a merciless god.

It appeared that the joke was on me.

"You ok?" Ice asked after a moment, no-doubt wondering just what it was that was making me cry this time.

"It’s gone," I whispered. Then I laughed in self-deprecation. "Really stupid, I know. I shouldn’t be surprised, right? I mean, I knew it was gone. I just didn’t expect it to be so ... ."

"Empty?"

I sighed. "Yeah. Empty."

"Do you remember what it looked like?"

I turned to her. "Do I? Of course I do! I think I’ve memorized every single timber and shingle on it. The way the roof used to sag a little, right in the middle. The back entrance with the screen door that always looked like it needed a new coat of paint. The windows that always had cobwebs in them. The wooden furniture on the front porch. The tire swing. Everything."

"And can you picture it in your mind now?"

I smiled through my tears, remembering. "Yeah."

Ice returned my smile. "Good. Because it’ll look like that again. All we need is a little time and a little sweat."

I looked at the utter conviction in her eyes and, for the second time that day, believed. A grin blossomed on my face, erasing the tears. "What are we waiting for then? I’ve got the time, if you’ve got the sweat."

And, bounding away like a snowshoe hare, I scampered through the snow toward the flat rectangle of snow covered ground that would one day be the cabin I remembered.

Only better, because I would have Ice to share it with me.

*  *  *

It was close to sunset when we returned, cold and hungry, from our impromptu exploration of the area. We had spent most of the day, Ice following complacently as I cheerfully led her around to take in the sights of my former haunts: the little green dock which sat tottering on the small stretch of sand beach that the entire community in trucked in load by laborious load (and illegally, I might add just for veracity’s sake); the rushes where the summer frogs waited, loudly chirping for their mates; the tiny inlet where the water was always warm and where you could always find thousands of tiny tadpoles squirming around in the algae and water smoothed, if slightly slimy, rocks perfect for skimming.

I even prodded her up into my favorite tree, a friendly old pine with limbs just right for the shortened tread of tiny legs and a smooth crotch which nestled a child’s bottom cozily while said child watched the sailboats race around the lake in a rainbow of color.

Just as we arrived at the empty lot, the snowflakes began to spit from the sky, fat and wet with the promise of a sizable accumulation. I sighed, dejected. I was cold, soaked to the skin, hungry, and had the beginnings of a headache that promised to reach horse-felling proportions before it was through digging itself into my brain from behind my eyelids.

"Guess we might as well set up for the night, huh?" I asked in a tone which even a soon-to-be-hanged man would find disheartening.

Grunting in reply, she set her heavy pack down and started to unload our gear, which included a two-man mountain tent and three lightweight, but cold rated, sleeping bags which we had accepted from Bull over Ice’s vociferous objections.

I stood off to the side, momentarily entranced by the white snow dusting the dark fall of her hair before finally realizing that our camp wouldn’t set itself up.

I took a step in Ice’s direction before a breaking twig caused me to whirl to my right, my hands up in a defensive posture that would do exactly nothing if our evening visitor was a grizzly or something as equally deadly.

However, instead of a grizzly, or a wolf, or even a rabbit investigating the funny looking strangers intruding on its habitat, I saw a small, slight figure wrapped in a heavy parka and standing atop the short rise that separated our property from the neighboring plot of land. I raised my hand higher in a hesitant wave, hoping that whoever our silent watcher was, he wasn’t hiding something more than his hands in the pockets of his jacket.

A feminine, and slightly wavery, voice came from within the furred confines of the parka’s hood, and if I hadn’t the heavy pack still strapped to my back, I might have sagged with relief and toppled gleefully right into the snow. "Who are you?" the woman asked, making no move to come closer. "That’s private property, you know. I’ll call the police if I have to."

A disbelieving grin broke over my face as I recognized the broad Massachusetts accent that I’d so loved to try and decipher—and imitate—as a child. "Mrs. Anderson? Is that you?"

"Who are you?" the voice repeated, no more friendly for my having guessed her name.

I winced, hesitated a split-second longer than society deemed polite, then bit the proverbial bullet and opened my mouth, hoping that perhaps an avalanche from a non-existent mountain, or perhaps that woman-eating grizzly I’d envisioned, would have the foresight to swallow me up.

No such luck.

You see, back in that little slice of hell called the Bog, an inordinate amount of time—or so it seemed to me—was spent, particularly by the Amazons, in playing a little game called "Guess Angel’s real name". Oh, they knew my last name, of course. Everyone did. It was shouted by the guards at least four times a day, at headcount. More, if I’d committed an infraction or was needed somewhere.

But my first name ... . Well, I kept the door to that little secret closed tighter than Fort Knox, thank you very much. And for good reason, too, having endured more than a little teasing over it in the tender years of my youth and beyond.

What surprised me the most, though, was that Corinne, for all her long and many tentacles dipping in and out of all aspects of prison life, hadn’t found out. Thinking back on it now, though, I figure she probably knew what it was within the first several seconds of my confinement in the Bog, but had never had the need, nor perhaps the opportunity, to pull out that particular weapon to use on me. For which I was and will forever be profoundly grateful.

And as for Ice, I asked her about her seeming lack of curiosity one evening when the game was going on especially fast and furious, leaving me blushing to the roots of my hair and the tips of my toes over some of the more ...inventive ...guesses.

She’s shrugged and, in her typical blunt style, said, "If Angel’s what you want to be called, then that’s what I’ll call ya."

Simple as that.

I blinked my eyes at the softly cleared throat behind me, and realized that not only was our watcher waiting for my answer, Ice was too.

Damn.

Double damn.

"It’s Tyler, Mrs. Anderson," I said finally, probably more softly than I should have, but much more loudly, by several decibels, than I would have wished.

"Tyler?" the woman repeated. The hood of the parka cocked sideways in that birdlike little head tilt of curiosity I remembered so well. "Tyler Moore? It that really you?"

I smiled, though it probably wasn’t one of my more encouraging ones.

It must have been good enough for her, however, because she began to make her way down the hill toward us, moving with the sure-footed grace of one well accustomed to wading through deep drifts of snow.

"Don’t say it," I warned softly to the steady presence at my back. "Don’t even think it."

A beat of silence.

"Wouldn’t dream of it."

Thank you, God.

"Mary."

If I wasn’t absolutely positive, with every single fiber of my being, that Ice could turn me into fish flakes before I even thought to blink, I would have been on her faster than a wolf on a rabbit. As it was, however, I contented myself with simply turning my head and shooting her a look which, I was sure, was searing enough to melt glass, had there been any about waiting to be liquefied by my powers of intimidation.

Unfortunately, even the snow beneath us refused to so much as melt under the heat of my stare. And as for the object of my pitiful attempt at wrath, she looked just as calm and collected as ever—darn her. Couldn’t she at least try to look scared?—her face expressionless, but her eyes twinkling smugly.

You just wait, Miss High and Mighty. Paybacks are a real bitch.

That was all I had time to think before I felt myself engulfed in a hug, its strength belying the slight body of the woman embracing me. I returned the hug, though without as much vigor as I would have used to hug, say, Ice, knowing well the brittleness of elderly bones.

We both pulled away after a long moment and I felt my numb cheeks being cupped by a pair of warm, gloved hands. "By God in his mercy, child, it really is you! You’ve grown so much I hardly recognize you!"

I smiled and, of course, blushed. "Yes, well, the years have a way of doing that to you." I could barely see her face, but her smile shone through the darkness of her hood like a beacon, bathing me in the warmth of her welcome.

She laughed, a very musical and well-loved sound, before stepping away. "I wish the years would have a way of doing that to me. I wake up every morning and swear I’ve shrunk a little in the night."

Then she pulled back her hood, giving me my first glimpse of a face I remembered so well that it could have been just a day ago that I’d seen her. Her hair was a little more gray, her face a little more lined, but looking at her was like stepping back in time once again, just another step through the Twilight Zone on a day that had been filled with déjà vu.

"It’s so wonderful to see you," I said, probably looking like an absolute idiot as I stood there, snow melting on my shoulders, grinning at her.

Gently grasping my arm, she returned my smile. "It’s wonderful to see you too, sweetheart. I thought maybe I never would. Your mother’s been a bit reticent in telling me your goings on whenever we speak, which lately, hasn’t been very often at all."

While I made sure to keep the smile firmly affixed to my face, inside I was cringing.

All thoughts of paybacks flew right out of the proverbial window when Ice, obviously sensing my acute discomfort with the situation I suddenly found myself in, picked up her pack and pretended to search for something in it, making a bit more noise than she was generally wont to do.

My grin became more natural with the apparent success of the diversionary tactic. "Mrs. Anderson, I’d like you to meet my friend Morgan. Morgan, this is Mrs. Anderson, my neighbor."

"Pleased to meet you, Ma’am," Ice replied, gently shaking the older woman’s hand in greeting.

"Enough of that," she said, pumping my lover’s hand firmly. "I’ve been Ruby for going on seventy-five years, and that’s the name I’ll thank you to call me, Morgan." Turning her head, she tipped a wink at me. "The same goes for you as well, Tyler."

I firmly believe that there are times in every adult’s life when the weight of the years melt away and we find ourselves seven again, being chastised by the second grade teacher we’ve spent the entire school year developing a serious crush on.

This was one of those times.

I stood there, sure that the heat of my cheeks would set the forest ablaze, and tried desperately not to let on how small I felt beneath the weight of her gentle rebuke.

There was a moment of awkward silence before Mrs. Anderson—Ruby—released Ice’s hand and smiled at me. "Well, you’ve certainly picked the perfect season to do some visiting, Tyler. No crowds."

I laughed, put immediately at ease by the warmth of her smile. "Yeah, well the water’s probably a little cold."

"And quite hard, to boot, I’d imagine," she teased.

"That too. On the plus side, though, I probably don’t have to worry about getting a sunburn." My attempt at lighthearted conversation ground to a halt and I looked down at my hands, the smile slipping from my face like a Halloween mask after the last treat has been passed out.

While telling a lie might have been a poor way to say hello, telling the truth just might mean a permanent goodbye. Insecure about all the changes in my life as I was, the one thing I couldn’t afford was to lose someone like Ruby, who could be a desperately needed link to the townspeople as well as being a much needed friend.

"I’m ...not here just to visit," I began, hoping that my well-rehearsed speech would come out better than it sounded in my head. I avoided looking at Ice, though it was hard. I really needed her support with this. I took in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. "I needed a break, from where I was. I was tired of the violence around me," which was, in fact, true. "The beatings. The stabbings. The shootings." And here, I looked up at Ice, who closed her eyes briefly in silent acknowledgement before opening them again to meet my gaze steadily. I wanted to reach out to her, but didn’t dare.

The memory of seeing her bleeding into the ground was a wound still much too fresh to withstand a deep inspection of it. To this day, it haunts my dreams with distressing regularity, leaving me sweating and breathless each time it crawls up from the hole I’ve dug for it in my mind.

Tearing my eyes from those of my partner, I resumed looking at Ruby, who looked back, a compassionate expression on her face. I summoned up a smile from somewhere. "The memory of this place has gotten me through a lot of hard times in my life. And so I figured that if I just came back here and tried to turn the dream into a reality once again, maybe things would start making sense again."

I sighed again. I could feel my shoulders slump beneath the weight of the need I had to make the words I’d just spoken come to fruition. "I don’t know if it’s just wishful thinking on my part, but I do know that I have to try."

Ruby smiled and placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. "You always were a dreamer, Tyler. From the first time I saw you, sitting on that porch swing staring into the sunset. It used to drive your mother to distraction. She never really understood you, I don’t think. But I always believed that if someone could dream so sweetly and so well, they deserved a chance to have those dreams come true. And if living here is all it takes to make that dream of yours come true, then I’ll help in any way I can."

Tears stung my eyes as a little part of my heart fell in love all over again with the woman who’d been a young, friendless girl’s only confidant all those years ago. "Thank you," I whispered with all the sincerity in my heart.

"You’re welcome," she replied in kind, smiling tenderly at me, maybe remembering, as I did, how it was between us all those years ago.

Removing her hand from my shoulder, Ruby turned and fixed Ice with an inquisitive stare. "And you? You don’t seem the dreaming type, Morgan."

Ice smiled, and I could see just the faintest touch of danger in the white gleam of her teeth. "I might be."

From the corner of my eye, I could see Ruby react, stiffening just slightly before nodding. "Yes. You just might be, at that."

Then she turned, and looked down, eyes widening in surprise. "Surely you aren’t planning on spending the night camping out here in the cold, are you?"

I sighed. "That wasn’t my first choice, no. I had planned to grab a room at The Silver Pine, but it’s closed for the season." I could feel my cheeks heating again and I looked up at her with what I’m sure was a child-like expression on my face. "Guess I should have figured that, huh?"

Ruby shook her head in negation. "Not really. Margaret Carmody kept that place open the year around. She did good business, even in the middle of the winter, what with all the hunters around here. But when she passed on, her niece took over. Pleasant woman, but a little ...," she paused, obviously searching for the right word, "eccentric is, I suppose, the best way to put it."

I laughed. "Crazy, huh?"

"As a bedbug," Ruby replied primly.

"I’m sorry to hear that Mrs. Carmody died. She was a very sweet person."

"Indeed she was." She looked down at our gear, then back up at me, a no-nonsense expression on her face. "Now, I suggest you pack all of those supplies back up again and come with me. You’ll stay with me in my home until the cabin gets rebuilt."

Swallowing hard, I chanced a look in Ice’s direction. Sure enough, my lover was staring at Ruby, her eyes narrowed to the barest of slits. I could almost feel her simmering anger from where I stood.

This wasn’t good.

"Is there a problem?" Ruby asked, looking from Ice, to me, and back again, obviously noting that we weren’t jumping at her rather enforced invitation.

"Um, no. No problem at all. Right, I ...Morgan?"

My mother’s voice chose exactly that moment to shuffle through my consciousness. When in doubt, beg.

And so I did. Not with words, no. But given the choice between sleeping in a tiny, cold tent and sleeping in a nice, warm house, in a nice, warm bed, well, it wasn’t difficult to come to a decision.

The only thing that remained was to convince my proud partner, for whom the receipt of any type of charity was seen as a major character weakness. Even if said charity could help save us from an early death, or, at the very least, the loss of several appendages from frostbite.

If I sound a bit melodramatic, you have to remember that I was really really cold. And really really tired. And that headache had gone past what my father always called the ‘hosskick’ stage. It now resembled the stomp of a mule, and a feisty one at that.

I continued to look at Ice, putting every ounce of pleading into my expression, hoping against hope it would work.

After a time which seemed like an eternity but was in reality only a matter of a few short seconds, I saw her expression soften slightly and her shoulders slump. A wry smile curved her lips and I thought I saw her eyes roll, but by then it was too dark to be sure.

Carefully concealing the joy in my small victory, I turned to Ruby and gave what I hoped was a gracious nod—graciousness having been pretty much pounded out of me during my stay in prison to the point where I wasn’t even sure if I could act gracious, let alone look that way. "If you’re sure it won’t be too much trouble, Ruby, we’d be happy to accept your invitation."

"Good. Then it’s settled. Gather your things and follow me."

PART 2

THE INSIDE OF Ruby’s home was exactly as I’d remembered; warm, comforting, smelling of cedar and freshly burned wood. I sighed happily, my tension melting like the snow on my clothes as she led us over to the massive stone fireplace that dominated one wall of the living room.

Smells have always had the power to relax or invigorate me, even as a small child. I can remember, on cold winter mornings, going into the bathroom and uncapping a bottle of suntan oil, fingering the sand that still clung to the neck, and taking in the scent, my mind instantly transported back to a sunny day at the beach and swearing that if I could just listen hard enough, I’d be able to hear the crashing of the waves and the high-pitched screech of the seagulls as they wheeled over the sand, looking for a handout through beady brown eyes.

Just as a certain song might bring back memories of a sadly ended love affair, or the sight of the sunlight slanting through the trees a certain way might cause you to remember a wonderful day, the smell of Ruby’s home, with its merrily blazing fire, made me feel happy and young and free in a way nothing else ever could.

"Warm yourselves by the fire while I get you some dry clothes. You’ll fit nicely into one of my robes, Tyler. You," Ruby paused, looking at my tall companion, "I think I have one of Jack’s old robes stored away somewhere. Stay right here. I’ll be back in a flash."

As she strode away with that brisk walk that had always been hers, I looked over at Ice, who was warming her hands in the fire’s friendly heat and rubbing them briskly. "Sorry," I offered softly, not particularly sorry at all, but needing to say something to break the tension I felt between us.

She returned my look, her eyes shadowed with secrets, and shrugged. "’s alright." Then she turned her gaze back to the fire, seemingly absorbed in its flickering images.

Meaning, I could tell, that it wasn’t ‘alright’ at all. Meaning that I’d stepped over yet another invisible boundary that she put up to protect herself from the outside world. Meaning that as well as I thought I knew her, I came to find, yet again, that I didn’t really know her at all.

Oh, Corinne, I wish you were here right now. I sure could use some of your advice.

Though I missed the friends I’d made in the Bog, and thought of them often, there was no one I missed as much as Corinne, whose motherly affection, gentle flirtation, and sage, if sarcastic, advice had never failed to put me at ease, almost always giving me the answers I sought.

Corinne, however, was still safely ensconced in the Bog, and probably would be until the day she breathed her last. That thought twisted my guts inside me into a painful knot, the feeling at jarring odds with the warmth and security surrounding me.

Plus, there was still Ice to deal with.

That particular problem would have to wait, however, because the sounds of Ruby’s staccato footsteps resonated on the wood floors of the hallway, coming closer at a brisk pace.

Ruby Anderson did everything quickly. Reading. Eating. Talking. I remember spending wondrous rainy day hours watching her knit, the needles flying so fast that I swore I could see sparks when they struck together. Scarves fit for giants would flow, like multi-colored waterfalls, from those needles in what seemed to be a matter of seconds.

She was a wonder to behold.

She came into the room, smiling and bearing two plush robes. Handing one to each of us, she placed a hand on my shoulder. "You remember where the bathroom is, Tyler. Take Morgan with you and get out of those wet clothes. Bring them back with you and we’ll put them up on these quilt racks by the fire. I’ll go make us some coffee."

With that, she was gone, rapidly retreating into the kitchen as I stared after her dumbly. After a moment, I turned back to Ice. "C’mon. Let’s go get dry."

She followed after me without hesitation or complaint, and for that, I was profoundly relieved.

Ruby’s bathroom was a typical example of genus grandmotherus. Little soaps you didn’t dare use lest you ruin their cunningly crafted shapes, the tastefully disguised denture cup (and for this, I was grateful. My own grandmother used to store her dentures in the tissue box. Great for avoiding looking at someone’s teeth sitting in a Polydent bath. Bad if you had allergies.). Tiny little washcloths that matched tiny little hand towels that matched bath towels, rugs, toilet tank covers, and the shower curtain, all done up in that "Antique Rose" color that, it seems, only women over the age of sixty five are moved to buy.

I stripped down to my birthday suit in no time flat, and was briskly rubbing my cold-numbed body with a thick, fluffy—not to mention rose—bath towel when I noticed Ice uncharacteristically fumble with the buttons on her cotton shirt.

While I had had the relative luxury of a thick down jacket to protect me somewhat from the elements, Ice had made due with her denim jacket and little else. She was soaked to the skin, and while the vision of her standing so close to me, her shirt plastered against her magnificent body, caused my hormones to jump up and start clapping, the more rational and clinical part of my mind worried about the pneumonia my dark lover was sure to catch if she didn’t divest herself of her clothing immediately.

"Let me help you with that," I urged softly, dropping my towel and reaching for her shirt.

Scowling, she stepped back so quickly that she almost backed into the tub as she turned a shoulder away from me, not relinquishing the fumbling hold she had on her shirt. "I’ll take care of it."

As I may have told you before, one of the most unwelcome gifts my father ever gave me was his penchant for sarcasm. It was a lesson of his that I learned well, and often, and, as his was wont to do, it came out at the worst times imaginable.

Like now.

"Sure you’ll take care of it, Ice," I replied, my voice positively dripping with ridicule. "At the rate you’re going, it’ll be summer before you even get half of your buttons undone. Just let me help you, alright?"

Her teeth flashed, but it wasn’t a smile she was offering me. Or maybe it was. Just not the kind you associate with the happier emotions. "I said I’d handle it."

I blinked, then backed up a step in unconscious reaction.

Sometimes, with Ice, it’s so easy to forget exactly who I’m dealing with. Her absolute devotion, her utter tenderness with me causes me to sometimes overlook the dangerous, wild woman that lay beneath the trappings of civility she’d learned to pull on, like a coat, in order to survive in what we call society.

But then there are times, like this one, where it all comes back to me, with the rushing speed of a southbound freight, just who, and what, this woman I love with all my heart truly is.

A cold blooded killer.

A hot blooded lover.

An icy reserve.

A loving tenderness.

Ice is all of those things and so many more. A contradiction wrapped up in an enigma, as someone somewhere has been known to say.

I finally let out a long held breath and forced myself to meet her icy gaze, pushing my fear down deep where she couldn’t sense it. "I’m sorry I pushed you," I began softly. "I’m sorry I made this decision for both of us."

Frustrated by the lack of emotion in her eyes, I clenched my fists and slammed them down on my thighs. "Damnit, Ice! I’m cold, wet, tired and hungry. And I really wasn’t wanting to face the prospect of spending a cold, wet, tired and hungry night outside. Not when the answer to all of those problems was standing not three feet from me and being kind enough to offer up her home to us."

I sighed, still not able to break through the thick wall thrown up in my path. "Look. I know how much you hate charity. I also know that Ruby can be a bit of a martinet at times. But she’s a good woman with a good heart and I couldn’t see any reason to turn down what she was so generously offering."

Bending down, I gathered up my wet clothing, clutching it to my chest and wincing at the chill of the fabric against my naked skin. "I can understand how uncomfortable this makes you. If you really want to spend the night in our tent, then let’s go. I’ll think up some excuse to tell her."

My peace said, I spun from her and took a step toward the door, not even caring that I was still completely naked save for my clothes pressed up against the front of my body.

"Wait."

I stopped, but didn’t turn, knowing instinctively that whatever my partner had to say, she would be more comfortable expressing it without having to look at me directly.

"This ...really means a lot to you, doesn’t it."

The hesitation in her voice drew me back around and I took in the almost lost expression on her face, my heart breaking, just a little. "Yes. It does."

She closed her eyes for a long moment, and when they reopened, the stone wall was gone and in its place stood the woman I loved. "Alright, then. If it’s what you want, we’ll stay."

I nodded, unable to keep the smile from overspreading my face. "Thank you."

Saying nothing, she returned my nod. Her fingers had apparently warmed up enough during our small argument, because she removed her shirt without much trouble, her other clothes following quickly. Taking the towel I offered her, she dried her body thoroughly, then put on the old robe and belted it securely, hiding her wonderful body from my appreciative gaze once again.

Then, reaching out, she gently removed the wet clothes from my hand and replaced them with a thick, terrycloth robe, which I gratefully slid over my shoulders and belted closed. Then I simply stood there, arms loose at my sides, still unsure where we stood after all this.

As if reading my mind, she reached out and clasped my right hand, squeezing it tightly and bestowing upon me the tiniest hint of a smile. "G’wan now. Let’s get you warmed up, hmm?"

Tugging, I brought Ice’s hand up to my lips, a smile in my eyes. "I love you too, Ice."

Maybe we were ok, after all.

*  *  *

I rolled in the bed once again, kicking at the covers which wound themselves around my legs like some earthbound octopus, and punched the pillow lying complacently beneath my head. The sigh that gusted from my lungs would have been nominated for an Academy Award, had anyone but the walls been around to hear it.

Flipping to my back again, I put one arm up across my forehead and stared at the ceiling with morose eyes.

I wasn’t having fun.

Oh, the visit had gone well enough, with Ruby and I catching up on old times while she filled me full of the local gossip. Or as much gossip as a town this size could have, anyway.

Which wasn’t much.

For her part, Ice seemed content to sit silently, sipping her coffee, and taking in the sights of the tastefully decorated den in which we were sitting. When Ruby saw her gaze land upon some of the trophies that decorated the large fireplace mantel, she launched into the story of her husband, Jack, dead many years, and how they had met and married.

I didn’t remember much about her husband, but what I did remember, I liked. Jack Anderson had been a golf pro way back when. No one of special note, really, but he won enough tournaments to, as Ruby was prone to say, ‘pay the rent in style’.

They had met when he competed in a tournament which her company was sponsoring. Her knowledge of golf was nil; she likened it to watching the grass grow or the chickens molt. But the big, strapping man with the easy grin and the handsome face assured her interest in the sport for good.

Theirs was a whirlwind courtship, played out on the shores of Nantucket, her home. And when he asked her to marry him, she said yes without a second thought, and made her life with him in the very house in which we were sitting; a house he had built with his own hands.

Having heard that particular tale a time or ten in my life, I allowed my thoughts to wander, and before I realized it, was being shaken awake by a warm hand and looked upon by Ruby’s twinkling eyes.

After a suitable period of utter mortification, my small, if unintentional, bit of rudeness was brushed off as just being one of those things, and Ice and I were led to our rooms.

And therein lay the problem.

Rooms.

Plural.

That was most definitely something I hadn’t thought about during my quest to make Ice see the wisdom of choosing a warm house over a cold tent. And believe me when I tell you that when I realized that particular blunder, words which would scorch the paper this is being written on screamed through my head, though thankfully, they refrained from passing my lips and giving our gracious host a stroke.

You see, while in the Bog, one of my deepest regrets--only one of many, but still--was that I couldn’t spend even one night sleeping in the arms of the person I loved. Yes, there was that wonderful, exhilarating night in the trailer, a night that even now arouses me just thinking about it, but aside from that, nighttime in prison meant battling your personal demons alone.

I swore to myself that if we were ever able to make it out of that particular hell, I would never spend another night apart from her again.

Yet here I was, not a month into freedom, sleeping without her. And trapped by my own cunning, no less!

"Congratulations, Angel. You’ve just won the Idiot of the Year award. Where are you going to celebrate?"

Not Disneyland.

I sighed again, my rebellious mind gleefully providing me a fantasy in which Ice and I had done things her way and we were, right this very moment, sleeping in that tent I had, up until an hour ago, so despised. Wound together like mummies in a single sleeping bag to conserve body heat.

Maybe doing a little something else to generate body heat.

I groaned and turned again, punching a pillow that, if it hadn’t been a mere ball of feathers, would surely have punched me back in payment for the abuse I was heaping on it.

Great. Just great.

It was then that I heard the faintest scraping of my door easing open. A fractured beam of low light played through the crack, illuminating the edge of the curtain covering the window to my right.

The light was cut off almost immediately as the door silently closed, leaving me in darkness once again.

But not alone.

With instincts well honed by years in prison, I could feel another’s presence in the room with me. I tensed automatically, my hands gripping at the blankets which covered my body.

My ears strained for any sound at all, even the slightest breath, but silence held its reign over the small room. I could feel my heart picking up its pace even though the more rational part of my mind assured me that there was nothing to fear. This wasn’t the Bog. This wasn’t Pittsburgh. This was just a simple country home in the middle of the backwoods, miles from anyone who would want to do me harm.

Or so I hoped.

"Show yourself. I know you’re in here." My voice surprised me with its absolute steadiness.

Silence, still. The pregnant kind, where you could literally hear the hairs on the back of your neck come to attention.

I opened my eyes wider, trying to take in any light there might have been, and almost fainted when a low rumble bathed over my heightened senses from mere inches away.

"Move over. You’re hoggin’ the bed."

It was the most wonderful-terrible scare I’ve ever had and I grinned like a kid as I scrambled back against the wall, making room for the larger body of my partner, then snuggling into her open arms with a joy that is reserved for well-answered prayers.

"You have absolutely no idea how happy I am to see you," I murmured into the flesh of her gloriously naked chest. Then I stopped. "Well, not see you exactly. Mmm. But feel you. And smell you. And taste you. Definitely taste you."

A cleared throat stopped my effusive utterings. I turned my head up to where I knew her face would be. "Yes?"

"It’s probably best if we don’t go down this particular road right now."

"Why not?" I asked, knowing that I sounded like a petulant child being denied her favorite toy.

"Give ya a hint." There was a smile in her voice. "She’s about your height, gray hair, and ears she probably fine tunes every night before bed so she’ll have something new to tell the sewing circle in the morning."

"Oh."

Drat. Outmaneuvered.

"Well," I tried, "we could be really quiet."

A soft snort. "That would be great. If it were possible. Which we know it isn’t."

"Hey!" I didn’t know whether to be indignant or embarrassed.

She hugged me close briefly before loosening her arms. "You could be quiet as a churchmouse, Angel, and we’d still have a problem."

"Oh yeah? And what might that be?"

I felt her stomach muscles clench beneath my thigh, then she bounced several times on the mattress.

The room was filled with the sounds of protesting bedsprings squeaking their displeasure.

"Oh," I said again, feeling my face heat. "That’s not a good thing."

"Well," she replied, sounding as if she were reconsidering the offer, "I wouldn’t have a problem with it. It is your room, after all."

She bounced again, slowly, rhythmically, then steadily picking up speed until I was ready to just fall through floor in embarrassment.

I put a hand on her firm belly and pushed down. "Stop. Just stop."

Squeak. Squeak.

"Please?"

Squeak-squeak-squeak.

"Ice!"

Silence.

Absolute, total and blessed silence.

Groaning, I plopped my head back down on her chest. "You’re an evil woman, Morgan Steele. Truly, heartlessly, evil."

Her long body stretched beneath me before settling back once again. "That’s what they tell me." She sounded quite, quite pleased with herself.

The payback list was getting longer.

*  *  *

I awoke to bright sunshine streaming through the window, putting a smile on my face before I even opened my eyes. The bed was empty and I spared a brief moment of wondering if the events of the night before had been just a dream when Ice’s scent came to me from the pillow I’d cradled in lieu of her body.

My smile broadened as I treated myself to a healthy stretch, my muscles complaining only mildly over having shared sleeping quarters with a woman half again my size. The rest of me was just a happy puddle.

The tantalizing smells of breakfast cooking wafted gently into my awakening senses and I rolled over onto my back, finally thinking to open my eyes and take in the newly dawning day.

Well, perhaps dawning wasn’t the best word for it. From the looks of things, the sun had been up for a good while, rising slowly in the sky as I slept on, blissfully unaware.

That thought gave me a moment’s pause. For more than five years, I’d awoken at five thirty every morning to the sounds of guards’ shouts, bells ringing, and batons sliding against metal bars. The habit was so ingrained within me that even after I’d left the Bog for good, not a morning had passed where I hadn’t awoken in the dark, coming to my feet before my body even realized that my mind had given it a command.

Until today.

"Well, whadda ya know," I said to the patiently waiting ceiling. "Maybe there’s hope for me yet, huh?"

After another healthy stretch and a good, long yawn, I rolled out of bed and briefly debated pulling some clothes on. Tossing out that thought like yesterday’s bathwater, I shrugged into Ruby’s comfortable robe and padded silently through the room, reaching out to touch a tiny figurine of a unicorn that had always enchanted me as a child. "For luck," I whispered before opening the door and letting myself out of the room, which in itself was a wonderful feeling, let me tell you.

I walked quickly down the stairs, the scents of breakfast leading me on like those smoky fingers you see on Saturday morning cartoons hooked through some character’s nostrils.

Ruby turned from her place at the stove as she spied me coming into the kitchen. A wide smile of welcome creased her almost unlined face. "I thought this might tempt you into waking up. Good to see I haven’t lost my touch."

"Oh, you most definitely haven’t," I replied, walking over to help her with the plates.

"Just sit yourself down at the table, Tyler. I’ve got this all taken care of."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. Just go sit down."

Resisting the urge to snap off a salute, I pulled out a chair and sat down at the table. Within seconds, a steaming plate piled high with food was placed in front of me. My mouth watering, I dug in without a second’s pause.

Ruby joined me at the table, cupping a coffee mug in her hands and taking small sips from it as she smiled at my talent for laying waste to vast armies of food, a trait I’d had since I was a small child. "Your friend is certainly the industrious sort."

My fork paused halfway to my mouth. I shot her a questioning look, wondering whether I had cause to be nervous or not.

She gestured with her coffee mug toward the kitchen window, and I found myself slowly rising to my feet, curiosity pulling at me like a fish lure.

"Wow," was all I could say as I looked down at the scene laid out before me. The walk had been shoveled and salted, as had the long, winding driveway that led out to the main road. Snow drifts which had covered the first floor windows were completely cleared away, down to the grass. Trees near the house which had almost been bent double with the weight of the snow now were free of their chilly burden and standing straight and proud once again. "Unbelievable." My breath fogged the window as I spoke, misting the icy clarity of the incredible scene outside.

"I agree. Is she always like this?"

Turning back toward the table, I gave my host a smile. "Pretty much, yeah."

"Quite handy to have around then, I’d say. Where did you meet her?"

I paused again, my thoughts running rapidly, if uselessly, through my brain. "It’s a long story."

Which it was. Five years long, to be exact. Just not a story I was comfortable telling to the woman who was housing us, for obvious reasons.

The smile she gave me brought to mind pictures of dinosaurs I’d seen in textbooks when I was in school. A predator’s grin, full of slashing teeth, topped by beady brown eyes.

Or maybe it was the way the light hit her face.

"I’m an old woman, Tyler. Time is one thing I have plenty of."

Strike one.

I smiled, weakly. "You’re not that old."

The grin widened, recognizing, no doubt, my pitiful delaying tactic. "Old enough."

Strike two!

I took in a deep breath, the breakfast I’d consumed sitting like a leaden ball in my stomach. My fingers were pressed white against the polished wood of the table top.

As I opened my mouth to speak, there was a brisk rapping on the front door, followed by a "Yoo hoo! Ruby! Are you home, dear?"

Yes!

As Ruby slowly moved to her feet, the look she gave me let me know in no uncertain terms that this conversation was far from being over.

Oh, well. I’d take a rain delay any day.

*  *  *

I walked outside, feeling the warmth of the sun on my face and smiling into the perfect blue sky. The snow the night before seemed a sort of harbinger of spring and the temperature rose to lend strength to my supposition. The air was filled with the sounds of overburdened trees and rooftops dropping their heavy loads to the ground. Birdsong wove its way intermittently through the low percussion of the falling mounds of snow, and when I looked up, I spied a sizable flock of ducks circling the lake and looking for a nice, wet place to land.

My grin broadened as I walked down the shoveled path, my boots crunching the salt beneath my feet. It was a glorious day. The kind that made you believe in God, if you didn’t already. And right then, I most certainly did.

Looking down the small hill that led to the lake, I saw Ice standing on the little green dock on our beach, looking out over the frozen water, her dark hair blown off her brow by a gentle spring breeze. Her posture was attentive, alert, but relaxed in a way I didn’t often get to see.

I stopped, taken by the sight.

At that moment, I wished I were a painter so I could capture the beauty of what my eyes were seeing.

Because I wasn’t, and still am not, I settled for a long, comfortable stare, capturing in my mind what my hands refused to render.

As if feeling my eyes upon her, she turned and her welcoming smile brightened up an already fabulous day. She lifted a hand in a casual wave. I waved back and resumed my trek toward her, stepping carefully around the shoveled square that had brought back to the surface the foundation of what had once been the cabin.

Quickly joining her on the dock, I slipped an arm around her waist and leaned into her body as I, too, looked across the frozen expanse of the lake, watching as the ducks finally found a patch of melted ice in which to land. "Beautiful day," I murmured quietly, unwilling to break the peaceful silence with too much idle chatter.

"Mm."

We stood there in companionable silence, enjoying each other and the day, for quite awhile before my attention was captured by a young boy and his dog who were coming toward us from the right. The boy threw a stick, and the dog, with a volley of barks that echoed across the lake, ran to retrieve it.

His attention was diverted, apparently, by the ducks which, alarmed by his barks, rose to take flight and he headed out after them, his paws slipping on the ice.

"King!" the boy shouted, running after his fleeing dog, "Come back!" His feet slipped on the slick surface and he fell, hitting his head a good one against the ice, but he was quickly back up and running again.

Suddenly, I heard a loud crack and the ice opened up to swallow the scrambling dog, who yelped and tried desperately to get back up out of the water.

Seeing what had happened, the boy tried to stop, but the ice’s slickness, combined with his forward momentum, caused him to follow his friend into the water’s icy depths.

Ice was out of my arms and running before I even thought to blink. "Ice! No!" Like the dog’s yelps, and the boy’s screams, my words echoed over the lake, damning me repeatedly with their sheer impotence.

Her feet were slipping and sliding in the worn boots she’d donned, but she managed to keep her footing and continue forward, ignoring my cry. "Get help!" she shouted, not even looking at me as she headed for the hole in the ice which had claimed two victims in a moment’s short time.

I couldn’t move. Couldn’t respond to her tersely voiced order. My body condemned me to stand and watch as the boy’s head disappeared beneath the ice and my lover, not hesitating for even a second, gathered up her strength and dove into the water.

"Ice!!"

My rebellious body moved quickly then, though still not in the direction my partner had ordered. I was out on the ice before my feet even realized it, which caused me to fall after a single step. My head hit hard against the edge of the dock, causing stars to float tantalizingly before my eyes as I lay dazed for a moment, staring up into the sky and wondering what my name was.

It came back to me in a flash, though, and I tried to regain my footing, only to fall once again. "Damnit!! Ice!!!"

A strong hand hauled me back to my feet and pulled me easily onto the dock. I spun to take in the heavily bearded face of a large man who was looking at me with wide eyes. "What happened?"

Shaking my head, I tried to jerk from his grasp, my need to get out on that lake paramount. But he held me easily in his grip, shaking me as one would a rag doll. "What happened?" he asked again.

"A dog ...a boy ...chased the dog into the water! My friend went to help. Let me go!!"

"No! It’s too dangerous. You can’t go out there."

"Like hell I can’t!" Raising my leg, I stamped down hard on his foot, wrenching away at the same time. I would have toppled back onto the ice for a second time if he hadn’t reached out and grabbed me, pulling me to him once again.

"Listen to me. People are coming to help. People who are used to this kind of thing. You need to stay here. You’ll only get in the way. Do you understand?" He spoke to me as if speaking to an infant, his words slow and clearly enunciated.

"You don’t understand! That’s my friend out there! She needs help!!"

"And that’s exactly what she’s gonna get. Now just stay here and let us do our jobs, alright?"

After a moment, I relaxed and nodded, convinced by the sincerity in both his voice and eyes.

He smiled. "Good."

Releasing me, he turned his head, and I followed his gaze to where a group of men were hurrying down the small hill and onto the ice, armed with hooks and nylon ropes, looking for all the world like an army of industrious ants after a discarded candy wrapper.

"Where’d they all come from so quickly?" I asked, not aware I was speaking aloud until the man turned his smile back on me.

"Well, you hear a dog yelp, a boy scream, and a woman yell ‘ice’, and you get the picture pretty quick, Ma’am."

The mention of my lover’s name, though not intended, caused my attention to snap back to the lake and its unfolding drama. I could just see Ice’s dark head bobbing above the tilted sheets of ice which had fractured even more with the struggling of three living beings trapped within its confines. I could also see, and hear, the crazed struggling of the dog, but of the boy, there was nothing.

Ice took in a deep breath, and then she too disappeared into the black and hungry water.

Everything went silent then. Or at least it seemed that way to me. I found myself holding my breath in empathy with Ice until spots swirling before my eyes threatened to merge together into unconsciousness.

Gasping, I took in a fresh breath of air, then blinked.

Only the dog could be seen, paddling in useless circles in the ever widening pool, obviously too cold and too tired to even try to get a purchase on the ice surrounding him.

It’s been too long. Too long. Too long.

My mind replayed this endless litany like a mantra that, instead of soothing, forced adrenaline and hopelessness through my body in equal measures.

I had just made up my mind to bolt off the dock yet again when Ice resurfaced, the small boy clenched tightly against her chest. Gasping for air, she flung her head back and opened her mouth to the sky, her hair slinging rainbow sheets into the warm, moist air. Her choking gasps were the only sounds I could hear above the joyful beating of my heart at the sight of her, alive and whole.

With a mighty heave worthy of a Titan, she threw the boy onto the firmer section of the ice. He slid several feet before stopping, a rag doll at Nature’s cruel mercy. His skin was marbled purple and pasty white, his lips and the flesh around them a sullen blue, and I imagined, were I to touch him, that he would feel the way he looked, a marble statue tossed aside by a forsaken god.

Beneath his drenched parka, his chest was still and lifeless.

The group of men crept forward on tentative legs, one reaching out with a large grappling hook and snaring his jacket, tugging the lifeless boy slowly, carefully, back toward the shore.

Another splash. Another body hitting the ice.

This time, it was the dog who’d started the entire chain reaction, and of the three victims the water had captured in its gaping maw, only he looked none the worse for wear. Scrambling to his feet, he shook the water briskly from his fur, and after a moment of stumbling, trotted back toward the shoreline, seemingly without a care in the world. Another rescuer grabbed the dog and bundled him in a warm blanket.

All that was left in the middle of the half-frozen lake was my lover.

The sounds of sirens in the distance were unimportant things to me as I watched Ice try for purchase on the twisted blocks surrounding her. I could see her steady herself and take a few deep breaths for strength. My entire body clenched, a coiled spring, as I willed my strength to her from across the lake, my jaw clenched so hard I swore I could feel pieces of my teeth chipping away.

With a last, deep breath, she straightened her arms, her powerful strength managing to drag her body half out of the water and onto the ice. Her legs still dangled in the murky depths, kicking hard to give her the momentum needed to pull out fully.

The force was apparently too much for the still weakening ice to bear, and it split once again, sending a wide fissure almost to the shore and dumping my partner back into the freezing water.

When her body disappeared completely beneath the water, my paralysis broke and, without thinking, I ran out onto the ice, using my arms the way a tight-rope walker would, keeping my balance only by the strength of my will.

And where Ice was concerned, my will was pure steel.

Unfortunately, will doesn’t count for much when you’re tackled from behind by a bearded behemoth who’s twice as strong as you’ll ever dream of being.

I hit the ground hard enough to force the air from my lungs in a coughing bark, and the stars that had faded from my last meeting with the dock’s splintered edge came back with a vengeance, swirling around me like multicolored fireflies.

I was hooked under the arms and unceremoniously dragged back toward the shore, my jacket and shirt rucking up around my shoulders, the ice burning my bare flesh as it slid beneath me.

The shouts of the men combined with the swiftly approaching sirens, both sounds helping to clear my head. I struggled to sit up, turning my head just in time to see a yellow nylon rope, a large loop knotted at one end, sail toward the hole where Ice had fallen.

The second fall through the ice had profoundly affected my lover, as I could tell by the slow, almost clumsy movements of her arms as she tried to reach out and grab the rope so close to her.

"Slip it over your head and under your arms!" one of the men yelled as another tied the other end off around a stout tree which hung out over the water like a flightless vulture.

I could see her dark head nod as she tried to follow her rescuer’s instructions, fumbling several times with the rope before finally getting it under her arms.

"Hold on! We’re gonna pull you out!"

She nodded again, trying to get a firm grip on the narrow rope with hands, I was sure, that were numb past the point of feeling anything but pain, if even that.

"One! Two! Three!" Several men stood on the ice, the rope firmly clenched in their gloved hands. On the final count, they pulled, snapping the rope taut and slowly dragging Ice up out of the water, their grunts combining with the ice’s moaning protests at having to give up its feast and filling the air in a primal symphony.

Something happened, and to this day I don’t know what, but she suddenly stopped helping and fell limp against the ice, her body half in, half out of the water. The men, still pulling, dragged her a few scant inches before her arms slipped upwards and the rope pulled away completely, leaving her stranded once again; this time totally unable to help free herself from the icy prison trapping her.

"Ice!" I screamed, trying desperately to get some reaction from her. My heart shattered into splintered fragments as the ice beneath her moaned threateningly and her body teetered on the edge of oblivion.

.

She lay there, limp and unheeding. My mind flashed back to another time, another place. Kneeling over her, holding her life in my hands as her blood pumped between my fingers in a red river. Begging anyone who would listen to help her; to save her.

No. Not again. Please, not again. Please. I can’t go through this again.

Realizing what had happened, one of the men, throwing all caution to the wind, grabbed a long hook and ran out onto the ice with surefooted grace, straddling the fissure that was threatening to become wider as he ran.

My sigh of relief came out in a wail as he managed to hook the back of her sodden jacket and carefully pulled her away from the immediate danger. He pulled her to him, then dropped the hook and grabbed her under the arms, much as my own rescuer had grabbed me, and carefully pulled her to the safety of the shore.

I was by her side in a heartbeat, tears liberally mixing with the melting snow my knees were pressed into. "Ice?" I asked, brushing the wet hair back from her brow. "Ice? Can you hear me?"

There was no reaction, though I could tell that she was still alive by the faint movement of her chest against my free hand. I clenched the fabric of her shirt in that hand and shook her, angry at her utter stillness. "Damnit, Ice! Wake up! I didn’t come this far with you for you to give up now, so you’d just better damn well wake the hell up or I swear I’ll hunt you down and kill you myself!"

After a moment, her eyes fluttered open, and I’ve never, not even after an entire month of rainy days, been so glad to see the color blue in my life. Her gaze was dazed and glassy and, though she was looking right at me, I could tell she wasn’t seeing me. But that didn’t matter. Not really.

She was alive, and that was all that mattered.

And she’d stay that way if I had anything to do with it.

And, by any god ever worshipped on this planet or any other, I would have everything to do with it.

The skin of her face, the only exposed surface I could see, was pasty white. Water droplets clung there like clear, fat leeches sucking away her vitality. Her lips were the deep purple of ripe berries, and so swollen that I wondered if they weren’t just going to split, right there, to expose the icewater that had replaced the blood in her veins.

Two men joined the third and bundled Ice into warm quilts they’d brought with them. They wore the rough cloth garb of Ice’s rescuers and not the uniforms I was expecting. I looked up, a question in my eyes. As if in response to my silent query, a tall, bespectacled, sandy-haired man squatted down beside me, an apologetic look on his face. "The little boy your friend saved is alive, but barely. The paramedics didn’t want to wait to see if she was gonna make it out of there too. There just wasn’t enough time. Unfortunately, there’s only the one ambulance, so it’s going to take a while before they can make it back here."

I swallowed hard at the news, then nodded, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. Aware or not, Ice needed my strength, not my tears. "Is there anything we can do while we wait?"

Reaching down, I grasped her hand, taking it into my own. God, it was like touching a corpse. Or at least what I thought touching a corpse would feel like, not having had the actual experience myself. Her flesh was chilled, damp and stiff beneath my hand and I shuddered, half in revulsion, half in fear.

"Getting her someplace warm would be a good start. Where do you live?"

"With me," came Ruby’s voice off to my right. The crowd parted like the Red Sea, bearing forth my diminutive neighbor in all her headmistress glory. Taking charge in her typical style, she pointed to two of the biggest men standing with us; bearded giants, both of them. "You and you, bring her up to the house. Carefully. I’ll go draw a bath."

I looked on in awe as the men, without hesitation, simply did as she ordered, lifting Ice’s limp body in their massive arms. A chill ran through me that had nothing to do with the snow I was kneeling in.

Never had I seen my lover looking so small, so helpless, so utterly defenseless.

It was a scene that, if I should live to five times the age I am now, I wish to never view again. At the time, I was sure the scene would haunt my dreams. And, true to my word, it has.

"No, no baths," the man squatting next to me interceded. "Just light a fire and warm some blankets. We’ll need to warm her up slowly or the shock could kill her." Standing, he reached down and helped me to my feet. "I’m Steve, by the way. The town calls me ‘Doc’, so I guess that’s what I am." His smile was charming and I found myself warming up to him.

"I’m Tyler. This is Morgan."

"Well, Tyler, you have a very brave friend. Let’s see what we can do about keeping her that way, ok?"

I nodded, the words stolen from me as I watched the men haul Ice’s body back towards Ruby’s house.

"Let’s go, then."

*  *  *

The house was overwarm as I entered, shedding my jacket like a snake’s second skin and walking over to the fireplace to be at Ice’s side as she was gently laid on the hearth rug. As the men stepped away, I took their place, grasping her hand once again and looking into eyes that seemed to be staring into eternity. "Stay with me, Morgan. You’re gonna be ok. Just stay with me."

The fire blazed high and hot within its stone confines, sending out a heat which caused beads of sweat to form on my forehead, dripping and stinging my wide, staring eyes. I wiped them away without thought, looking to the doctor who came to kneel beside me as one might a Savior, with bright hope and a subtle sense of doom lurking in the shadows of my heart.

He unbuttoned her jacket quickly, then disposed of her shirt by renting it from hem to collar with one savage tug, and exposing belly and breasts which were as pasty white and marbled as the flesh of her immobile face.

I felt a moment’s discomfort at the action, remembering her dispassionate tale of men who had stripped her and posed her for their own pleasures. Suddenly, I felt the almost overwhelming need to cover her, to preserve a dignity which she had never thought overmuch of, given the rude circumstances of her benumbed youth.

A plush towel dropped into my hands, and I used it as much to dry her as to cover her from eyes which, I felt, had no right to look upon such vulnerability.

As I was drying her upper body, the doctor reached for the button of her jeans. I immediately dropped my hands, easily displacing his on the soaked fabric. "Let me," I said in a voice which brooked no argument.

He looked at me and I swore there was understanding in his eyes before he grabbed my towel and resumed my forgotten task as I worked to undo the frozen zipper.

Within moments, it was done and she was covered with quilts heated by the fire, as warm and dry as we could possibly make her. The doctor withdrew his hand from beneath the quilts, bearing a thermometer which he looked at, brows drawn in a pensive frown, before shaking it down and placing it back in his case.

She lay still as death beneath her vestments of cloth and down, too deep within her own mind to even react to the intimate touches she was receiving from a stranger. My heart hurt looking at her. My guts twisted and roiled inside me as I stared on, helpless.

"Why isn’t she shivering?" I managed to finally get out from between lips which seemed to forget how to form words.

"Her body can’t waste the energy that would take. Everything’s going to keeping her vital organs alive. She was in that water a long time." He turned to meet my gaze. "When she warms up, she’ll start shivering."

When. Not if.

I smiled a little, bolstered by his confidence.

He returned my smile, then turned away, reaching into his medical bag and pulling out an object wrapped in plastic. Opening the wrapping, he removed a long, flexible tube that was closed on one end, open on the other. "What’s that?"

"We need to warm up her on the inside too, but she’s too weak to be able to take anything in by mouth right now, so I’m going to slip this tube into her stomach through her nose and introduce some water that Ruby’s got heating up on the stove. That should help bring her core body temperature up."

The warming up the inside part sounded good. The sticking a garden hose down the nose, however, didn’t. "Will it hurt her?"

The doctor smiled slightly as he lubed up one end of the tube from a foil packet he’d ripped open. "Well, most people gag when it’s going down, but I don’t think we have to worry about that in this case. She’s pretty out of it. It shouldn’t hurt, no."

I looked at him doubtfully, but as he seemed pretty certain of his words, I didn’t argue.

I should have.

After he measured from her nose, to her ear, and down to the tip of her sternum, he tilted her head back and deftly pushed the tube into her right nostril, feeding it through a little at a time.

Ice reacted the way I half expected her to, the way I imagined a wildcat would when trapped in a hunter’s snare; snarling, twisting her face away from the offending object, and lashing out blindly with both arms.

In her unthinking rage, she managed to crack one muscled forearm hard against the doctor’s cheek and send him flying back toward the fireplace, where only the upraised stone hearth kept him from being pitched headfirst into the flames.

I immediately dove into the fray, trying with all my strength to pin Ice’s arms down to her sides while laying my body atop hers to somehow stop her insane struggling.

She threw me off her body as if I were a child, and a small one at that, but I scrambled back on top of her, forgoing the useless attempt to hold her arms down and instead using my hands to gently cradle her face. "Ice, it’s me. It’s Angel. You need to relax. You’re safe here. No one’s going to hurt you. Please. You need to relax."

My soothing tones seemed to be penetrating the thick fog of her mind, because gradually she began to slow her struggles, her tense body softening beneath my own. Her eyes opened once again, and though her gaze was still dazed, I could see the faintest glimmer of the woman I loved looking back at me.

I smiled with probably more relief than I’ve ever known, before or since. "Welcome back, my love," I whispered, tears sparkling in my eyes once again.

Her arm moved up slowly, but before I could stop her, she ripped the NG tube out of her nose and flung it away, gagging. She turned her head just in time as her chest heaved and a great glut of lake water spilled out onto the towel next to her head.

I clambered off of her and stroked her brow as she continued to retch weakly, gagging until nothing more was left to expel. Then she started to shiver, violently, her tremors so strong that she almost seemed to be having some sort of seizure.

I looked up, alarmed, at the doctor who was just now getting back to his feet and wiping the bleeding cut Ice had given his cheek. "She packs a mean punch," he muttered, shaking his head and coming to kneel beside us both.

Even in her misery, Ice managed to turn her head in his direction and narrow her eyes in a murderous glare before turning back to me, an eternity’s worth of questions in her eyes.

"His name is Steve. He’s a doctor, and he’s here to help." My smile became wider as I gently caressed a cheek which was already becoming warmer. "So don’t go turning him into dog meat just yet, huh?"

She shot him another glare, but remained calm, if still wracked with violent spasms, beneath my hands.

At my nod, Steve came closer, bringing his head into Ice’s field of vision. "I’d ask how you’re feeling, but it’s pretty obvious what the answer’s gonna be, so I think we’ll just skip that one. You’re suffering from severe hypothermia. Your shivering is a good sign, but your body temperature wouldn’t even register on my thermometer, so I’m gonna have to put that tube back down into your stomach so we can warm you up, ok?"

The good doctor had obviously learned a painful lesson on how to respect his patients, if his calm, coherent and logical explanation to my partner was any indication. I couldn’t help an internal smirk. Ice had a way of teaching people things they’d never dreamed of learning. And not always in ways they’d expect to be taught, either.

By some superhuman strength of will, she managed to unclench her jaw and force words out from a raw throat. "N-no t-t-tube."

He smiled then. That patently false "And just where did you get your medical degree" doctor smile that’s issued, I believe, with the diploma and Hippocratic Oath upon graduation from Medical School. Hippocrates himself probably practiced that expression while looking into still pools and waiting for his latest crop of peasants with foot rot to arrive.

I laid a quick hand on his arm, hoping to forestall the storm I could see brewing in Ice’s eyes. Eyes which were becoming more clear and more aware, and yes, more icy as the seconds passed. "Look. It’s probably better if you just ... ."

He raised his eyes to mine. "If there were any other way, I’d use it. But she’s shivering too hard to be able to drink. The tube goes back in."

Then his face paled as an incredibly strong hand clamped down on his wrist. He tried to pull away, but to no avail.

"No. Tube." She didn’t even look at him. Just continued to clamp down on his arm while the rest of her continued to shiver violently.

Oh boy.

I looked from one to the other, surprised that I wasn’t more surprised that a woman who was dying moments ago could be more than holding her own against a strong and apparently healthy man.

After all, the woman in question was Ice.

"Ok!" I said brightly. "It seems we’re in a bit of a standoff here." And I was the resident expert on standoffs, having endured several during my time in prison. Of course, expertise didn’t help when I felt my head nearly being seared off by two sets of scorching glances sent my way.

I smiled. Broadly. Then chose the pair of eyes to look into that didn’t stand the best chance of incinerating me where I knelt.

"She doesn’t want a tube shoved down her nose. You don’t want your arm broken. I think we’ve got a little common ground to work with here, don’t you?"

After a long, tense moment, he nodded. I think he was in too much pain to speak. I know I would have been.

"Good. Then here’s my idea. You go into the kitchen and ask Ruby to change the water she’s warming into a weak tea. Then we’ll see if she can drink it. But if she chokes, or even sputters just once," and here I took a chance and looked down at Ice, "the tube goes back in. Deal?"

When Ice closed her eyes in resignation, I knew the war was won. Almost as an afterthought, I turned my attention back to the doctor, who was looking at me with a mixture of pain and amazement in his eyes. "Deal?"

When he finally nodded, I reached down and gently grasped my lover’s hand, carefully prying her fingers loose from the doctor’s wrist. "C’mon, Ice," I murmured, my lips close to the frozen shell of her ear. "You need to let go so he can get your tea, ok?"

After several long seconds, I had her grip loosened enough so that Steve could remove his arm, which he promptly did, rubbing it and looking at both of us as if he’d never seen us before. Smiling up at him, I gestured with my eyes his path to the kitchen, and when he got the hint and left us alone, I lowered my head the rest of the way and pressed a kiss to my lover’s lips, hoping to warm them with my own. "Thank you," I whispered, smiling into her eyes.

She blinked once, in acknowledgement I thought, then rolled away from me and toward the fire, curled up into a fetal ball of shivering misery.

Unable to stand seeing her that way, I lifted up the covers and joined her beneath them, pressing my front against her back and slipping one arm around her waist, melding, as best I could, our bodies together.

The chill of her bare flesh was intense against the inadequate shielding of my T-shirt, and the violence of her shivering caused my own teeth to chatter.

It was like trying to hold onto an avalanche.

But hold on I did, as the voice of an old science teacher I’d had once filtered through my mind, telling me that skin on skin contact was one way to combat the ravages of hypothermia. Pulling away slightly, I yanked my T-shirt up and over my head then cuddled back down, wincing as my warm flesh came into contact with her icy skin. I resisted the urge to pull away, instead forcing myself to move closer, wrapping my arm once again around her waist and hanging on for dear life as the tremors of her body went through both of us.

Placing my head against the back of her neck, I hummed something nonsensical and off-key, doing my best to let her know that I was there and wasn’t going anywhere any time soon. At least not without her.

It seemed to work, or maybe my mind was just telling me something my heart needed to hear, truth or not, but her spastic tremors seemed to calm somewhat the longer she lay in my arms. Was her flesh just the slightest bit warmer, or was it my body that was so numb that it only felt that way to me?

Either way, I held on, prepared to do so for an eternity if that’s what it took.

Ruby came out into the den, followed by the doctor. Both were holding two mugs in their hands and bearing identical, concerned expressions on their faces. Ruby’s eyes narrowed as she took in my position beneath the blankets with Ice, and I swore I could see the little computer in her mind clacking away and filing this new bit of information for further use.

At any other time, I might have felt some concern over this, but as things were then, I just couldn’t give a rat’s hindquarters what she thought, as long as she helped Ice recover. There’d be time enough for tap dancing around the issue later.

Much later.

"How’s she doing?" Steve asked, coming to stand beside us.

"I don’t know. I think she might be a little warmer, but I’m not sure."

e squatted down. "Well, I kept my part of the bargain, for all the good it’ll do. Here’s the tea. How do you suggest we get her to drink it?"

To be perfectly honest, I hadn’t thought that far ahead, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to tell him that. Especially not with the slight sheen of condescension I could see shining in his eyes.

Well, Mister small town, know it all, got my license to practice medicine from K-Mart, I’ve stood up against a whole ocean of fish bigger than you.

Biting the inside of my lip for a second, I hit upon an idea that I hoped would work and rolled up to a sitting position, keeping a firm grip on Ice’s waist as I did so. For being a woman without an ounce of fat on her, Ice was very heavy, especially now, trembling and dead weight as she was in my arms. Still, wanting to rub someone’s face in their own mess makes for good motivation, and with a strength I didn’t know I possessed, I managed to bring her up to a semi-reclining position against my chest.

Even if someone had offered me, right then, a million dollars, I couldn’t have kept the smirk off my face at the expression on the doctor’s.

Take that, you little two-bit know it all.

Of course, the hard part was still ahead. Ice was still shivering so violently that the clacking of her teeth was easily heard over the roaring of the fire. Just how she was supposed to drink tea with a jaw that was vibrating like an overused car engine I hadn’t the first clue.

So I smiled, effectively putting the ball back into the doctor’s court once again.

He caught my look and scowled, but to his credit, did the best he could. Which, unfortunately, wasn’t very good at all.

With tentative hands, he lifted one of the mugs after setting the other down near the hearth. I wasn’t sure who was shaking more, doctor or patient, but the end result was that Ice was receiving a very impromptu, and by her expression very unwelcome, tea bath. After a few more fumbling attempts, he pulled the mug away, his eyes beseeching me to give in just this once.

Ruby chose that moment to step in, moving him out of the way and kneeling in his place. "Let me take care of this," she said in a voice just a hair short of disgusted. "Make yourself useful and go get some more blankets to warm by the fire. They’re in the closet right down the hallway there."

I was sure I could detect his sigh of relief as he rose to his feet and hurried off to do Ruby’s bidding.

"Men," she muttered to herself while wiping the tea off of Ice’s skin. "Worse than a pack of half-blind sled dogs, they are."

Right then, she sounded so much like Corinne I couldn’t help but laugh, even given the gravity of the situation I was in. She looked at me and winked before applying herself back to the task at hand.

Finished with her mopping job, Ruby lay down the towel and used her left hand to firmly grasp Ice’s quaking jaw. She raised the mug to my lover’s lips with a steady hand. Tilting the mug just slightly, she poured the liquid in in tiny bits so that, before I knew it, Ice had finished half a mug without choking or sputtering even once. The second half went even quicker as the tepid tea began to work its magic on her insides, warming them slightly and allowing blood to spread to the rest of her body.

A quarter of the way through the second mug, Ice had had enough and turned her head away from the offering. "No more," she whispered.

To my surprise, Ruby didn’t push, just wiped Ice’s lips and handed the mugs back to Steve, who’d come in sometime between the first cup and the second, and was staring at us dumbly, hands on hips. "I think she’s earned a bit of a rest, don’t you?" she asked no one in particular.

I looked up at Steve, who half-smiled, half-shrugged, the way a pet dog might who’s trying hard to get back into your good graces, yet not knowing quite what to do to get there. "I ...um ...should check her temperature again."

"Ok," I replied, drawing the word out as I wondered why he was looking so hesitant.

He winced. "She’s ...um ...still shivering too hard to take it by mouth."

I winced in empathy as his little problem became clear as crystal. The man had suffered a black eye from sticking a tube down Ice’s nose. Where he needed to place the thermometer would probably rate emasculation. "Oh. I ...see your point." I smiled weakly. "She feels a lot warmer. Does that count?"

"Not really, no."

"Just get on with it already," Ice’s rough voice chimed in.

Spurred into action as if struck by a whip, the doctor literally jumped to his bag, removed his thermometer and most likely took the fastest temperature in the history of humankind.

*  *  *

Silently closing the door to Ice’s room, I padded back down the hallway and descended the stairs, a curious mixture of relief and dread coursing through me.

As evening claimed the day, Ice began to recover, slowly becoming warmer as my arms continued to enfold her, pressing her close to my body. Steve and Ruby had talked quietly, their words unheard over the fireplace’s cheery crackles, and I felt my lover slowly begin to relax in my arms, finally falling into a deep, and I hoped restful, sleep.

The stresses of the day caught up to me, and I gave in to the insidious craving for sleep that seemed to envelope me like the blankets laying over both of us, only to be awakened what seemed to be a second later by a gentle touch to my shoulder.

After taking another temperature and proclaiming her safely in the land of the living once again, Steve helped me take Ice up the stairs and into her bedroom, escorting her to the bed and piling her high with blankets to ward off whatever residual chill that might have been lingering unseen by the two of us, waiting to take hold of her body once our backs were turned.

After handing me a bottle of antibiotic pills for the pneumonia he was sure would follow Ice’s icy swim, he smiled, still slightly embarrassed, and took his leave, gently shutting the door behind him, bathing the room in a gentle darkness.

I sat on the side of the bed for long moments, stroking Ice’s hair and trying desperately not to allow my mind to replay the events of the day. I needed to shut down, to tune out, to forget, even for a moment, how close I came to losing her.

Again.

Will it always be like this for us? Are we destined to forever stand at the precipice, gazing down into its gaping maw and praying for a gentle wind?

Shaking my head at my sudden attack of the blues, I placed a kiss on Ice’s forehead, then stood and smoothed clothes, taking in a deep breath and mentally preparing myself to face the music, which this time came in the form of a diminutive woman named Ruby.

What is it with me and my penchant for attracting, and having to answer to, elderly matrons, anyway?

Too deeply asleep to hear my silent question, Ice had no answers to give on this particular subject, though no doubt her advice would have been wryly humorous, had she deigned to give any at all.

I snorted softly. "Probably the same as yours for attracting blondes, psychotic or otherwise."

I, of course, did not count myself among that particular genus, blonde though I am, though I’m sure some, maybe even some of you reading this right now, would beg to differ with my rather glowing self-assessment.

Alright, Angel. Enough stalling.

If there was one thing I’d learned during my time behind bars, it was to do today what otherwise would get you killed tomorrow. Bravery had taken its sweet time in coming, but it had finally arrived and changed my way of thinking, and doing, for good.

"Wish me luck," I whispered to the silent figure on the bed before letting myself out of the room and into the line of fire, such that it was.

I came to the foot of the stairs like a condemned inmate—and given my experiences, that analogy isn’t exactly foreign to me, let me remind you—and walked into the den, which was lit only by the still blazing fire. Ruby was sitting on one of the couches, a cup of coffee in her hand. Her eyes met mine immediately as I stepped into the room, as if she’d been expecting my entrance all along, which, in truth, she probably had.

I summoned up a smile from somewhere and continued my advance, detouring over to the fire and holding my hands out to warm them, though they were already quite warm. Sweating, in fact.

"Everything’s quiet, I trust?"

Her voice was flat, uninflected, and therefore difficult to read.

I stood, still turned away from her, and nodded, staring into the flames, my muscles almost as tense as they’d ever been during my time in the Bog, when my life, and not just my pride, was at stake.

"Would you like some coffee? I just made a fresh pot." Her voice was warmer this time.

Damning my cowardice, I continued to stare into the flames, shaking my head slowly in the negative.

"What’s wrong, Angel?"

I stiffened further, then turned, sure my face was an open-mouthed mask of shock. "How did you ... ?"

"She called you that. When you were both sleeping." Ruby’s smile deepened, her eyes bright with understanding. "It fits you, somehow."

"Ruby, I ... ."

She held up one hand. "No need to explain, Tyler. I might be old and gray, but I know love when it’s staring me in the face." Her smile warmed the craggy plains of her face. "And you love her very much, don’t you." It wasn’t a question.

Beyond stunned, I could only let my heart answer. "Yes."

Nodding sagely, she took another sip of her coffee, her eyes never leaving mine. "She’s a very lucky woman."

Somehow, I knew she wasn’t talking about Ice’s escape from what seemed to be certain death.

"You’re wrong," I countered, feeling the sting of fresh tears as they pricked at my eyes. "I’m the lucky one."

"Perhaps you both are."

And, just like that, I managed to find acceptance, and even love, in the one place I most needed for it to be, in the eyes of my childhood confidant. Noticing my tears, she held open her arms and I rushed into them, burying my face and body in the abundant and fragrant warmth of her, allowing myself the emotional catharsis I so desperately needed.

My tears fell in a cleansing rain, dampening the front of her housecoat. She just held me and rocked me, humming like she used to do when I was young and had been put off by my parents.

And so, a day that had started off wonderfully and gone steadily, horribly downhill from there, ended on a note much sweeter than I had any right to request.

And for that, I was very thankful.

*  *  *

The events of the next two weeks would have tried the patience of a Saint, and since I’m not about to be canonized anytime in the foreseeable future, let’s just say that every day brought to me new and inventive definitions for the word ‘frustration’ and leave it at that.

True to the good doctor’s word, pneumonia did indeed decide to pay a little visit to my beleaguered partner. To say that Ice was a poor patient would be somewhat akin to observing that Mother Theresa is a nice woman; technically true, but an understatement of extreme proportions.

That’s not that she was the whiney type, because she wasn’t. Whiney I could have dealt with easily, having had more than my share of exposure to it while still a young girl living under the roof of two parents who elevated that particular sickbed response to somewhat of an art form.

No, Ice was more the "don’t tell me I’m sick, because I’m not" type. The "you’re the one who needs to see a doctor, because I feel just fine" type. The ...well, you get the picture.

It took all my not inconsiderable powers of persuasion to convince her that fevers rising above one hundred three degrees, coughing until blue in the face after such strenuous activities as sitting up or yawning, and vomiting up one’s toenails at the mere mention of food was not normal in the course of human events.

Of course, my lover also suffered from selective hearing loss, and there were times where I was sure my voice was the perfect decibel level to activate that particular condition, much to my extreme vexation.

She showed enough presence of mind, however, to take the antibiotics I nearly shoved down her throat and, just prior to my appropriating some rope from Ruby and earning a question and answer session on our bedroom habits, the illness began to lose its interest in my partner and the light at the end of the tunnel stopped being an oncoming train.

Spring began to show her colors during my week of enforced isolation, and by the time Ice was again ready to step outside and wash the jailhouse pallor from her face, the snow had melted completely, revealing a verdant carpet underneath.

One morning, I decided that a walk into town was in order and, probably because she’d grown somewhat used to my more dominant position during her illness and convalescence, Ice followed without much comment.

I knew that situation would change, and soon, but I was determined to enjoy it for as long as I could.

We walked slowly through a forest coming alive with spring’s bright blessing. Birds, animals and insects were everywhere and flowers bloomed in a riot of color. The tree-fractured sun was warm on my shoulders and the smile on my face was as wide as they came.

The sky was May soft and stitched with clouds which cast friendly shadows over the ground as they strolled their slow lover’s promenade across the vast expanse of warming blue.

The last row of trees gave way and the town opened up beyond the woods. The initial sight of it made me stop and stare, astounded by how much of a difference three weeks could make.

Gone was the gray of a desolate community dying by slow inches. In its place stood something fresh, vibrant, new. Even the church, always the first building you passed no matter which way you came into town, looked inviting instead of imposing with its new coat of whitewash and its open, beckoning doors.

The Silver Pine looked as if the tornado of Oz had spun it away and replaced it with Glenda’s house. Big men on tall ladders washed windows and painted shutters Some were even hanging honest-to-god bunting from the eaves, as if the Queen were expected to pop by for a visit sometime in the very near future.

From the corner of my eye, I caught something very large and very yellow sail around the corner of the Inn, leaving a high falsetto voice and mumbled orders that caused the working men to redouble their efforts. I wondered about that for a moment, suspecting I had at last seen the much-maligned (by Ruby, at least) proprietress of the place, but before I had a chance to step forward and indulge my always rampant curiosity, Ice stiffened beside me and I looked up, catching the scowling expression on her face.

Following her gaze, I took in the scene presented me. A large, beefy and florid-faced man wearing a brown suit which screamed ‘discount department store’ was standing beside the driver’s door of a battered silver Volvo with Indiana tags and screaming into the impassive face of a man who’d been ancient when I was a young girl; Mr. Willamette, the owner of the town’s only gas station.

When the large man pulled back his fist and made as if to punch kindly Mr. Willamette, Ice stepped into action, getting there just in time to save the old man from eating dinner through a straw for the rest of his life.

I slid to a stop before the group just as Mr. Fist turned to stare disbelievingly at my partner, his rubbery lips parted to reveal crooked, nicotine-stained teeth and the flesh of his hand blanched white where Ice’s fingers were gripping it.

She gave him that smile that makes you wonder if she’s contemplating adding homo idiotus to her list of dietary delicacies.

"What seems to be the problem?" I asked brightly, more to keep Ice from turning the man into a human stew then because I really wanted to know.

As I’d learned from long, and painful, years of experience, asking the obvious question is sometimes the way to go in situations like these. While the bully in question is straining his somewhat less than vast mental resources to come up with a witty comeback, you usually have more than enough time to get your lips out of the way of his fist.

"Car’s broke," came the voice of Mr. Willamette from my right.

"Brilliant deduction, Mr. Fixit," the stranger replied, pulling his hand loose from Ice, who was willing to let it go. "My question is: what are you gonna do about it?"

"Can’t do anything about it. Like I told you, my mechanic’s laid up till fall, at least."

Temple vein throbbing, the man lunged forward again, only to be caught by his lapels by Ice, who shoved him back against the car and stared deep into his eyes, that little smirk still curving her lips.

"Who are you? The old goat’s bodyguard?"

Ice’s smile widened. "Nah. Just someone who likes to see how many limbs she can rip off before her victim starts screaming." She made a show of looking the man up and down. "I think one will do just fine here."

Wanting to stop this before the stranger stained his trousers, I stepped up to Ice and laid a hand against her lower back. "Maybe we could hear his side of the story?"

When she turned to look at me, her eyes were filled with mirth, and I relaxed slightly and looked around her broad back and into the face of the man who I was sure was going to be dashing off a very nasty note to the Volvo people at his first available opportunity. Assuming he managed to get through this with all parts intact, of course.

Which, at this point, looked to be a toss-up.

Releasing the man’s lapels and brushing them flat against his natty suit jacket, Ice stepped back a pace and crossed her muscled arms over her chest, her raised-eyebrow expression leaving no doubt in the man’s mind that if he were even to start thinking about acting stupid again, she’d take great pleasure in pulling his spine up through his throat and beating him to death with it.

His mouth opened. Then closed. Opened. Closed.

Then hung open like a trap door and stayed that way.

"Okay," I said, breaking the silence and drawing the word out when it became obvious the man didn’t have the presence of mind to say anything at the moment. (And having your bowels turned to water by six feet of muscled beauty will do that to you every time, believe me.) I turned to Mr. Willamette. "What are his options?"

"Well, like I told him, there’s a phone in the station that he’s welcome to use to call a tow that’ll take him up the road to the next town over. They got a mechanic works full-time there. Have him fixed up quick." He shrugged. "Believe me, I could use the money, but I ain’t no mechanic so it’d be useless to keep the car here. It’d only gather dust."

I turned back to the stranger. "Sounds pretty reasonable to me."

"It’s not reasonable. I can’t afford to wait around this two bit little town while some toothless old geezer decides to dust off his ’23 pickup and jaunt down here to tow my car to another two bit town. I have a meeting that I’m already," he looked at his watch, "three hours late for." He looked back up. "I want my car fixed and I want it fixed now, damnit!"

"And I already told you that I can’t fix it, Mister. Now or ever. I don’t know what part of that ain’t getting through, but the mechanic fairy ain’t gonna crap on my head just because you’re whinin’ about it like some kid that lost his mommy, eh?"

Stepping forward before Ice could carry out her unvoiced threat, I pushed the man back against his car myself when it looked like he was going to damn the torpedoes and push foolishly ahead. "Look. We’re all human beings here, right? Now, if you just relax and act like the gentleman I know is down there somewhere, I just might be able to help you out here, alright?"

The stranger looked at Ice over the top of my head, and whatever he saw there made him blanch several shades of white. Still, the maggot inside him wouldn’t let go completely. "And what would you know about anything, blondie? You probably don’t even know which part’s the engine."

Resisting the urge to backhand him myself, I settled for a conciliatory smile. "Maybe not, but I might know someone who does. And if you play nice, I just might be persuaded to ask for help."

His eyes narrowed. "Yeah? From who?"

I jerked my head to the left. "From her."

His eyes widened back up. "Her? That ... ."

"Now, now, now. Do you want your car fixed or do you want to spend the rest of your life as a stain on the road here." Releasing him, I stepped away, standing next to Ice and crossing my arms. "Your choice."

He looked at the three of us individually before settling his gaze back on me once again. "I ...um ...I ... ." His eyes examined the ground at his feet. "I guess I could use the help."

In the silence, I was sure I could hear the sound of the male ego deflating.

It was glorious.

When no one answered, he looked back up at us, his eyebrows raised. "What?"

"Aren’t you forgetting something?" I asked.

"What?!"

"Well, the polite thing to do would be to ask for help, don’t you think?"

His jaw dropped again. "But ...you said... ." He sighed. "Alright." He looked to Ice. "Can you fix my car?" He hesitated a moment, then looked at his watch. "Please?"

Ice looked at him, assessing, then turned to Mr. Willamette. "You have tools?"

"Mechanic left ‘em here when he got hurt. Welcome to use ‘em. The garage too."

She nodded, then turned back to gaze impassively at the stranger. "Alright."

The resulting smile transformed his face into something almost resembling handsome. If you squinted real hard and threw in a healthy dose of cosmetic surgery for good measure. "Great! I’ll just go use the telephone to let my clients know I haven’t dropped off the face of the earth."

As he started forward, he was stopped yet again, this time by a strong hand gripping the arm of his jacket. The smile disappeared. "What now?!?"

Ice narrowed her eyes at his tone. "Unless Volvo has made some drastic changes in the last five years, I don’t think that car of yours is just gonna drive itself into the garage, do you?"

"But my clients!"

"You either help me put this car in the garage where I can take a look at it, or you start walking. Maybe you’ll get lucky and some trucker who hasn’t seen his wife in six months will give you a lift." Her smile wasn’t a pleasant one, but by the stranger’s expression, it seemed to get the point across quite nicely.

Shoulders slumped in bitter-tasting defeat, the man walked back over to his car, opened the door and began to push it in the direction of the waiting garage.

*  *  *

A short time later, shorter than I expected, actually, the car was back out under the mid-spring sky, motor humming complacently. The stranger, one George Roger Grayson by name, was just putting his wallet back into his coat pocket after having considered, I could tell, pitching yet another fit over the cost Mr. Willamette had quoted him. In the end, though, he paid and we watched as he pulled away in a cloud of dust.

"Good riddance to bad rubbish," the shop owner observed, pulling his ball-cap back onto his head. "This is yours, I believe." He handed the somewhat sizable stack of bills to Ice, who just looked at the offering, not accepting. "C’mon now. You did all the work. All I did was supply the place."

"And the tools."

Wetting his thumb, he peeled back a couple bills, stuffed them into his pocket, and again held out the money to Ice who, with reluctance, finally accepted it.

"There’s work for you if you want it. Not now, maybe, but come summer, I’ll be up to my eyeballs in broken down cars. Could use a pair of hands like yours around here. You’re some skilled."

The corner of Ice’s lip curled. "I’m not exactly the employee type."

"Never said you had to be. I get a car, I call you. If you’re around, you can come help. If not," he shrugged, "only costs a dime to get a tow. Good money in it. Cash on the barrelhead." His eyes glinted with the light of a man who enjoyed getting one over on the government. "Deal?"

After thinking on it a moment, Ice finally nodded. "Deal."

They shook to seal it.

"Name’s Willamette, by the way. But most folks call me Pop."

"Morgan. This is... ."

"The Moore girl. Tyler, right? I remember you when you were some smaller comin’ up here with your folks in summer. Place burned down a few years back. You thinkin’ to rebuild?"

I smiled. "We’re hoping to, yes."

He nodded sagely. "Be good to have the place back up again." He turned to look at Ice again. "I heard what you done for the Halloran boy. The whole town’s been buzzin’ about it for weeks. Like a bunch of hornets, they are. Bet no one’s thought to thank you yet, so let me be the first. Most strangers wouldn’t have thought to do what you did, puttin themselves in danger and all. So thanks."

Ice looked a little taken aback by what passed for effusive praise from the normally reticent man and brushed off his praise with a shrug. "Did what I had to do."

"More ‘n most people would have. It’ll be good havin you here. You too, Tyler." He tipped his cap in a courtly gesture. "Best be getting back to work now, such as it is. Be seein you."

As he walked back to his shop, I shook my head and laughed. Ice turned to look at me. "What?"

"Only you, Ice."

A raised eyebrow asked me to continue.

"Only you could break up a fight and wind up with a job."

If she were the blushing type, I probably would have gotten one out of her for that, but since she wasn’t, all I received was a scowl and a half muttered comment that was probably better unheard. I laughed again. "Can I treat you to a cup of coffee, Ms. Mechanic? Maybe we’ll get better service this time out."

Without bothering to reply, Ice started off toward the café, leaving me to trail behind, a growing smile covering my face.

PART 3

THE NEXT SEVERAL weeks saw our lives settle into a comfortable routine, which was very welcome, given the adventures we’d had since we met. Ice had been called into the shop several times by Pop and, true to his word, been paid quite handsomely for her work. Her reputation as an excellent mechanic was beginning to spread, and I could imagine, given the look she sometimes wore, that she wondered why this gift hadn’t befallen her several years back, when she had tried to make a go of the very same career, only to be rebuffed at every turn. Which, of course, led her straight into the arms of the Mob and the events which led to our meeting in the Bog.

Jealously, I was glad that events turned out the way they had, if only because if she hadn’t come into prison when she did, we would never have met. That’s a horrible way to feel, to actually be glad of someone’s murdering past, but I’ve never been anything but honest with myself, and those feelings were there, even if I’d rather have had my toenails pulled out than to mention them to her, even in passing.

Over Ruby’s staunch objections, Ice began to use some of her earnings to buy food and sundries for our hostess, brushing each complaint off as if she hadn’t heard the woman practically screaming in her ear. She showed remarkable patience with Ruby who could, I’ll freely admit, be a bit trying at times. I don’t know what happened to cause them to come to a sort of mutual understanding, but whatever it was, I was grateful for it.

We’d spend many evenings in front of the fire, where yet another of Ice’s multitude of talents was revealed: drawing. She would tell me to close my eyes and describe the house I’d known and, with a pencil and sketchpad that she’d bought at the general store, she put brought to life the visions that were inside my head. The detail was so exact that I couldn’t help but be astounded, as well as a little non-plused. Perhaps the woman could read minds, after all.

The only real drawback to this idyllic time was the fact that we still slept in separate rooms. Not by Ruby’s doing, either. No, she had even gone so far as to offer us the use of her own room, the only one large enough to fit more than a single bed into. Rather, it was my stubbornness—pure cussedness my mother called it when I was getting on her last nerve—that kept us apart. We hadn’t made love since that time in the hunter’s shack, and my hormones were complaining daily, to the point where I seriously considered booking a weekend at The Silver Pine just to have her in my arms again. But still, I refused.

That my actions were paralleling Ice’s in refusing an offered gift crossed my mind not at all. At least not then.

And so when the evening was over and we went to our single beds, closing the doors behind us, I was, in a sense, returning to my prison cell all over again. Only this time, it was a prison of my own making.

And then the nightmares started.

During the light of day, Ice’s fugitive status, and therefore my own, stayed deep down inside of me, aided, no doubt, by my continuing bliss in my freedom. But in the silence of the night, when the past comes out of its gloomy shadows, my dreams made me see what I refused to awake.

I’d often wake in a cold sweat, clutching a damp sheet to my chest and breathing as if I’d run a marathon. Every creak in the old house became an ominous sign. I’d lay awake, my heart rabbiting in my chest, waiting for the sound of sirens, or the pounding on the door announcing the arrival of the police. I tried to force the thoughts away, but they wouldn’t go. They’d stay and taunt me with their vividness, their plausibility, their ultimate truth.

But many times, on nights that were the worst, when the scream I so badly needed to utter stayed locked behind my lips in a prison of its own, I’d hear my door softly open and then she’d be there, coming to me and taking me into her arms, stroking my hair and soothing my demons. It was only on those nights when I could slip away into a dreamless sleep, comforted by the solid, living reality of her in my arms.

We never spoke about those nights, and haven’t to this day. Somehow she knew, and continues to know, exactly when I need to be comforted the most, and offers herself completely and without reservation.

I suspect she knows exactly what demons haunt my sweat-drenched nights. I suspect they haunt hers, too. And perhaps, if we confront them, unspoken but together, they will remain specters in the night and never leave their cave to stand in the daylight.

Perhaps.

*  *  *

On a particular Saturday morning in late spring, I awoke with a knot of happy anticipation curling in my stomach. After several intense discussions, a heated argument or two, and a final pooling of our less than vast monetary resources, this would be the day we would finally break ground on the cabin.

After a thorough inspection of the foundation already laid, Ice declared it unfit for a new home, the snow and water damage having crumbled and weakened it in some parts. She had spent the past several days, when not working, using a pickaxe to break up the pieces of concrete and move them out of the way so that the ground would be fresh for the new foundation to be laid on the ashes of the old.

A smile on my lips, I jumped from my bed and quickly showered and completed my morning routine, throwing on an old pair of shorts I’d somehow managed to save and my grungiest T-shirt. As I stepped from the bathroom, I wasn’t all that surprised to see Ice standing in the hallway, a slight smile curving her lips.

She looked fantastic in a pair of cut-off shorts and a tight black tank top that displayed her body to its best advantage. Many days of hard labor had further defined her already chiseled body and my eyes devoured what they were seeing like a starving man might when presented with the banquet of his delirious dreams.

Closing the distance between us, she took me into her arms and lowered her head, capturing my lips effortlessly in a kiss of slowly burning passion. I grabbed her waist and pulled her closer, my entire being reacting to the feelings she was sparking within.

God, it felt so good to have her love me.

After several moments, she pulled away, holding me at arms’ length and smiling down on me, her eyes gone silver in the dim lighting of the hallway. "Ready?"

My head spun. "Oh yeah."

Grabbing her hand, I tried to tug her into my own bedroom, not caring at that moment if the Pope himself was sleeping in the next room, such was my need for her. My forward progress was quickly halted by a swift tug on my hand, and I spun back to face her, my disappointment, I was sure, showing clearly on my face.

Her silvered eyes glinted in fond amusement. "I was referring to the cabin."

"Oh. That." I sighed, then stepped closer, noticing a thick vein which trailed over her bicep; a vein which practically begged me to run my tongue over it just so I could feel her pulse bounding. "Right now?"

"Right now," she confirmed, ducking her head down to kiss me senseless once more.

"But—"

"The faster we get this cabin built, the faster we get to finish what we’ve started here, my Angel."

Sexual bribery provided me the impetus to set a new record in the ‘down the hall, through the house and out the door’ dash.

A record which, I believe, stands to this day.

*  *  *

My fingers drummed a riff on the hood of the bastardized truck Ice had brought with her from work one day. "It followed me home," she said, that half cocky grin lighting her eyes.

A mongrel it was, too, and an ugly one at that, with parts scavenged from half a dozen other cars and trucks which sat on the grounds around Pop’s station collecting rust. He’d let her tinker with the engine, and when it was up and running, she bartered it for a couple day’s free labor. No fool, Pop, he snatched that offer before it had time to fully leave her lungs.

At least that’s how Ice tells it. I never quite got up the nerve to ask the deal maker himself.

"C’mon, Ice. Christmas’ll be here before you know it." I didn’t have to raise my voice. I knew she’d hear me easily.

A moment later and she sauntered out of the house, twirling the keys on her finger and sporting a definite cat-ate-the-canary grin. At any other time, I might have called her on it, but I was much too anxious to get this particular show on the road. I’d waited too long and too hard for this day to let the smugness of my partner ruin it for me.

Much, anyway.

I settled for throwing her my best scowl as she purposely brushed against me while reaching around to open the passenger’s side door. As I was about to sound off with a particularly, I believed, witty retort, she froze in place, head cocked. I could almost see her ears twitch to hone in on whatever sound she’d caught.

I knew that look, having seen it more times than I’d care to count. "What?"

She brushed by me again, only this time walking toward the small hill that separated Ruby’s property from our own. More than a little curious, I followed behind.

I almost ran into her back as she stopped at the crest of the small rise and, looking around her long body, I stopped too, my jaw dropping open. "I ...think I’m seeing things." I rubbed my eyes, hard, then blinked.

The scene before me didn’t change. Not one iota.

"If you are, then so am I," Ice replied, her voice flat.

The sound of our voices attracted some attention, and a man turned around, a broad grin on his face. It was Pop, dressed in a pair of heavy duty overalls and a thick sweatshirt. "Mornin’, eh? ‘Bout time you two got up. Thought we was gonna have to start without ya."

As I groped dumbly around for something to say, his grin broadened. "Cat got your tongue?"

"What’s ...going on here?"

"Never seen a barn raising before?" he asked.

More silence.

"Is he speaking English?" I asked Ice out of the corner of my mouth.

"No."

I started a bit at that, then realized she wasn’t replying to me.

Shaking his head, Pop pulled off his ball-cap and trotted up the small hill, coming to a stop before the both of us. "Sorry about springing it on you like this. I tried to tell ‘em to wait and ask you first, but ... ." He shrugged. "That’s not the way things work around here, mostly. They get a bee in their bonnet and it’s full speed ahead, damn the consequences, if you’ll pardon my French."

I pinched myself. It hurt. Dreaming was out, then. Alien abduction, however, was still in the running.

I looked from Pop to Ice the way a neophyte might who is trying to divine the truth of the meaning of life from an important yogi. When nothing was forthcoming, I cleared my throat and watched as two pairs of eyes lit upon mine. "Would either of you mind terribly filling me in here?"

After a moment, Pop nodded and flung out his hand, gesturing to the mob who stood below us, all trying to pretend they weren’t doing their level best to eavesdrop, and failing miserably. I looked from the group back to Pop, eyebrows raised. "Folks around here ain’t much on thank-yous," he explained. "Not with words, anyway. So, this is their way of sayin’ it without really sayin’ it. Understand?"

Unfortunately, the answer to that one was still a resounding ‘no’. My expression told him as much.

He sighed, then tried again. "They wanna help break ground on your cabin. As a way to pay ya back for savin’ the boy’s life."

Success!

"We don’t need any thanks," Ice said, her tone still expressionless. She looked angry, and for once, I could understand why, even if the townspeople hadn’t meant to hurt us with their gesture, which I’m sure they didn’t. I knew how much she’d been looking forward to building that cabin, pitting herself against wood and steel and bending them to her will, forming something out of nothing with her own hands.

To tell the truth, I had been looking forward to it, too.

"I tried to tell ‘em that. Tried to tell ‘em it’d be best if they asked first." He shook his head. "They’re good people, though, if stubborner than a pack of mules sometimes." He gestured to the crowd again. "That Clayton Dodd, he’s a right fair carpenter; been buildin’ here for years, him and his dad both. And Mary Lynch is the best electrician in these parts, bar none. The Drew boys own their own plumbing company and service most of the towns around here." He looked back at Ice, his gaze beseeching. "They won’t take nothin’ away from ya. Follow your orders to the letter, they will. Work like dogs when you want ‘em to, stop when ya don’t. Just got to give the word, either way, and we’ll follow it." He put his cap back on, straightening the brim with a brief tug. "I understand what it’s like ta want ta build something with your own sweat. Did my own house that way. But ...sometimes a little help is a good thing too. And it ain’t charity, so don’t go thinkin’ it is. It’s just a thank-you said in the only way these folks know how, that’s all."

After a long, silent moment, Ice abruptly spun on her heel and strode back toward Ruby’s house, never once looking behind her.

Pop sighed, removed his cap again, and twisted it in his hands. "Knew I should’a made ‘em ask first."

"Ice ...isn’t very comfortable accepting surprise gifts," I replied, stating the obvious just for something to say. "She’s a pretty private person."

"I know." He shrugged. "It was worth a shot, anyway. Thanks for at least listenin’, Tyler. I’ll get the folks and leave you two alone. Sorry for the intrusion. Won’t happen again."

"Wait," I said, looking toward the house and seeing a shadow pass against the open door. Ice reappeared, something in her hand. When she got even with us, she shoved it at me, then breezed by us both.

"Let’s get on with it, shall we?"

Stunned, I looked down. Her sketchpad, filled with all the drawings of our future home sat in my hands. I looked at Pop. He looked back. Then we both turned and watched as she was swallowed up by the grinning crowd of eager helpers.

"Well, whadda ya know," Pop half-whispered.

Indeed.

*  *  *

It was the first week in July before the lake was warm enough to swim in. For me, anyway. Our neighbors had been sampling the ‘refreshing’ water since May, but that didn’t surprise me, since I was convinced a common Canadian ancestor had once mated with a Polar Bear somewhere along the line anyway.

As for Ice, she’d taken to washing off her sweat in the lake since early June, which in and of itself posed somewhat of a problem, since she regularly shucked down to her civvies in full view of the working crew before diving in. Doc Brown, the town’s dentist, had to take a week off after bashing his thumb a good one with his hammer, and one of the Drew boys almost met an unfortunate end when his brother let go of the ladder he was holding in order to take in the splendor that was my lover.

I nearly burst my spleen trying to hold back my laughter over that one, and finally, for the health of the men and women, as well as our cabin, had to inform my partner exactly what havoc her mid-day swims were causing in the crew, asking her nicely to please wait until work was done for the day before showing off what the good lord, and years of hard work, had given her.

She accepted, somewhat graciously I thought, though our helpers threatened to stage a revolt over the sudden halt to their daily entertainment.

The cabin’s building was going better than I expected, though the work had started to ease off some, given that the tourist season was beginning and most of our helpers were up to their eyebrows in paying tasks that had priority over this, as it should be.

Though the Fourth of July was, obviously, an American holiday, it marked the beginning of the tourist season in this part of the land, and the town was soon filled to overcrowding with a great many Americans anxious to spend their hard-earned dollars on a bit of rest and relaxation.

That sounded good to me as well. At least, the R & R part did. So when Ice suggested a day’s break from our building labors, in celebration of the holiday, I jumped at the chance with all the grace of a wounded gazelle trying to escape the jaws of a hungry lion.

Enthusiastically, to say the least.

I grinned evilly to myself as I slipped on the bottom half of my secretly purchased bikini. Of course, half wasn’t the best word for what I was now wearing. ‘Pitifully thin strip of clingy material barely covering one’s more delicate parts’ would have been a more apt, if a bit long-winded, description.

Still, as I wasn’t planning on a vigorous game of water-polo, the positive effects of wearing little more than dental floss and a smile far outweighed the negatives, in my opinion. The biggest positive, of course, being the look that was sure to appear on Ice’s face when she saw me in it. The second biggest being what she might want to do to, for and with me after seeing me in it for several hours.

Ah, yes, this particular Angel had fallen. Hard.

Grabbing a towel, I ran out of the house, blithely ignoring the scandalized looks thrown my by the members of Ruby’s bridge party as I passed through. I got partway down the long hill that separated the house from the private beach before realizing my error in neglecting to don footwear for the trek. Dried pine needles pricked at my feet in retaliation for thoughtlessly crushing them. I hopped around trying to brush them off, but the sticky resin coating the needles made the effort a lost cause.

Hearing laughter and splashing from the direction of the water, I resolved to grin and bear it, and resumed my quick trot down to the beach where my lover waited.

She sat on our dock, one leg tucked under her, the other playing idly through the water as she watched the colorful parade of sailboats glide around the lake. The sun was continuing to bestow its blessings upon her, tanning her skin to a rich mahogany brown which blended nicely with the black racing suit she was wearing. Her hair was wet from a no-doubt recent swim and brushed back from her face in a shining mass of inky black, bringing her features, even in profile, into sharp relief.

So intent on watching her, I impaled my big toe on a rather large pinecone lying in wait for my tender foot. Cursing a blue streak, I hopped around on one foot while disentangling myself from my spiny intruder. Task completed, I looked up to see Ice watching me, amusement sparkling in her eyes.

Not quite the entrance I’d imagined.

Gathering up the last tattered shreds of my dignity, I pulled myself together and settled for my most sultry walk instead, hoping to make up lost ground.

Sultry isn’t easy to do when you’re limping.

I was about to chuck the whole thing and settle for some good old fashioned groveling when the look in her eyes stopped me dead in my tracks, my sore toe completely, utterly forgotten.

It was a look that could have incinerated an iceberg, had any been laying handily about. My entire body pulsed with the intensity of it and my knees hit the oatmeal stage. The temperature, already pleasantly warm, shot up another twenty degrees in a split second.

Then she stood, and the sight of her long, lean body, all oiled skin and rippling muscles, dried up every single bit of moisture my body had ever thought to produce.

The upper half, anyway.

"Very nice," she purred, still raking my body with her searing gaze. "Very nice indeed, little Angel.

Oh, for the gift of words. I’d have given a kingdom, had one been mine to give. Lacking that, I settled for trying to remain standing as she stalked over to me, the most sensual smile I’d ever seen curving her full lips. When the tiniest sliver of her tongue darted out to wet them, I was sure that the sand and I were destined to become one.

From somewhere, I heard a whimper, and from the darkening of her eyes, I realized it had come from me.

Then her hands were hot on my shoulders, scorching through me and branding my soul. She slowly—God so slowly—lowered her lips to mine and merged us together by the passion of our kiss.

I didn’t care that we were doing this in full view of everyone on the lake. Didn’t care that there might well be repercussions later. I wanted her, needed her in a way that surprised even me.

To be truthful, kissing Ice this way in public was a bit of a turn-on for me, as if it were even possible for me to be more turned-on than I already was. The irony of my feelings didn’t escape me, either. With very few, and therefore all the more precious, exceptions, making love in prison meant doing it in full view of whomever happened to wander by. And during those times, when it was possible for me to think at all, I wished for privacy. Now, with the possibility of a private rendezvous just a closed and locked door away (when we actually obtained doors and their attendant locks, that is) I found myself reveling in a more public display.

Then she deepened the kiss, melding our bodies together, and I stopped thinking of anything at all.

When she finally broke away, the only thing keeping me upright were her firm grip on my shoulders. Shaking my head to clear it—a lost cause—I cleared my throat instead, tasted my lips, and opened my eyes to see her smiling down at me. "You know you’re killing me, right?"

Her only answer was a smirk.

"I’m about one second away from chucking this whole ‘day off’ thing and getting back to building the cabin. There’s only so much of this extended foreplay I can stand here, and I’m just about at my limit."

When will I ever get it through this thick head of mine that statements like that only served to incite the woman who lived for a challenge? She closed in and kissed me again, so deeply that the only sound I could hear was the rapid and thundering beat of my heart in my ears.

This time, it was my turn to pull away, which I did, but not without great reluctance, and, shrugging out of her grip, made an abrupt right turn and threw myself into the lake. The chilly water did nothing to dampen my ardor, but it did wonders for my spinning head. I came up after a long moment and wiped the hair back from my eyes, treading water and looking toward shore. Ice was standing there, hands on hips, shaking her head at me.

"Better now?"

"Not really, no."

She grinned, obviously quite pleased with herself.

"Care to join me?" I asked, wondering if it was possible to get the jump on her in the water and give her the dunking of her life for putting me through such wonderful torture. Barring that, I was more than willing to see just how long I could hold my breath underwater by returning her torture a thousand-fold. A flock of goosebumps broke over my wet skin at the image flashing behind my eyes.

"I have a better idea, if you’re interested." She cocked her head to the left and, looking in that direction, I noticed for the first time the colorful sails of a small boat floating complacently in the small cove next to the dock. I recognized it immediately as being a 16’ Hobie Cat, a sailboat that I’d always loved as a child.

"Where in the world did you get that?" I asked. Hobie Cats weren’t cheap. My father told me as much every time I would beg him to trade in our old Sunfish for one. And certainly not on our shoestring budget.

"I was informed by a certain irritating old woman that you loved to sail and if I had the sense god gave a rooster, I’d go into the garage, dig this old fossil out, and take you out on it."

"You’re kidding."

"Nope."

"You know how to sail?"

"Yup."

"Why doesn’t that surprise me?"

One broad shoulder lifted in a careless shrug. "Dunno."

I grinned. "That’s one of the things I love most about you, Ice. Your utter verbosity."

She shot me a mock scowl. "You wanna go sailing or not?"

"Aye, aye, Cap’n!" I tipped off a jaunty salute just for the irritation factor.

Oh. I was so dead.

*  *  *

Wow!

Painfully inadequate as far as descriptions of joy went, but about the only word I could come up with as the water’s spray needled into my grinning face. Balanced precariously on one of the pontoons and leaning back to avoid toppling head first into the glistening water below, I watched the lake race by beneath the boat, my eyes wide as silver dollars and the grin threatening to permanently etch itself into the lines of my face.

To my left, Ice’s long body lay almost full out in the racing sling, keeping the boat balanced on one pontoon while using the rigging to keep us going in the right direction, all at an incredible and mind-numbing (for me, at least) speeds.

I felt the true power of nature there, as if the rushing wind, beaming sun and spraying water were all conspiring to give me a high that was near to being untouchable in my experience. The only thing close would be making love, but this was a great, if somewhat distant, second.

Ice followed the gentle curve of the lake’s central island, a tiny, tree covered affair, and bled the boat’s speed until it was resting on both pontoons once again.

"Why are we stopping?" I asked, not a little disappointed.

"Your turn."

"My ... . But I don’t know how to sail."

She turned her head slowly to pin me with her gaze, one eyebrow raised high on her forehead.

I looked back, feeling a little defensive. "Well, I don’t! I begged my father to teach me, but he said that sailing was for men. Women just had to learn how to look pretty while sitting in the boat."

My partner snorted. "What a crock of shit."

I shrugged. "Yeah, but he was my father. There wasn’t anyone around who wanted to cross him, on that point anyway, so I just got used to sitting in the boat and looking pretty." I looked down at my feet, unaccountably embarrassed over the revelation.

A warm hand under my chin urged my head back up. I looked into eyes the color of the summer sky and swallowed hard. "There are few things in my life I have to be grateful for, Angel, but right now I’d have to say that not having the dubious pleasure of meeting your father ranks near the top of that short list." She dropped her hand and her smile became bittersweet. "I sometimes wonder how you came to be the person you are with the upbringing you had. And at the same time, I can’t help but think that my own parents are rolling in their graves over what I’ve become." She turned her head and looked toward the sun, her face once again a stone mask.

Moved beyond words over the precious glimpse into her heart, I could only reach out my hand and gently lay it on her arm in a woefully inadequate gesture of support and thanks.

A moment later, she turned back toward me, the pain in her eyes pushed back into whatever place she kept it. She shot that endearing half-grin at me. "C’mon. Let’s teach you how to sail."

*  *  *

I sat on the sofa, legs curled beneath me, reading the same passage for the seventh time (or was it the tenth?) and trying desperately not to look at the clock that was ticking impudently at me from its place on the mantle. She’ll be back. We’ve fought before. She just needs some time to cool off. She’ll be back.

Maybe if I thought it hard enough, I could even make myself believe it.

After all, it wasn’t as if we hadn’t ever had words before. There were times in the Bog, more often than I’d like to admit, when we seemed to be avoiding one another more often than we sought one another out. As partnerships went, we had more than our share of bones of contention hanging in skeleton filled closets. A fight wasn’t anything new, nor particularly unexpected. Even now.

So why was I so worried? Why were my guts a tangled knot somewhere in the vicinity of my larynx? Why was that damn clock moving so damn slow?

I had awoken that morning with a vague feeling of unease which had begun to plague me during the preceding week. A nebulous feeling of anxiety, perhaps mixed with a touch of depression, it left me feeling out-of-sorts. It wasn’t something I could articulate, even to Ice, who’d noticed my mood quickly and had asked what was going on with me.

With Ruby off visiting friends and Ice again working at the garage, I was left alone with my thoughts, there being little else to do on a rainy July day but think.

And then it hit me.

I wasn’t anxious or depressed. At least, not primarily.

What I was feeling was useless.

Leaning my head back against the rough fabric of the couch, I mulled the revelation over, not liking the bitter taste it left on my tongue, but forced to admit the truth of it nonetheless.

It stirred within me feelings, emotions I’d thought long buried beneath the weight of time and experience.

As a teen, I’d railed against my father’s indictment that a woman didn’t need a job to find happiness. Happiness was a pregnant belly, a hearth and home, and a husband to care for. Peter carried on that corollary, and except for the pregnant part, fulfilled my father’s dreams for me to absolute perfection.

The irony of finding freedom in a prison never escaped me. It was there that I was nurtured and given the freedom to grow into the woman I believe I was meant to be.

And now, I was forced to face the fact that once outside those confining, and yes, comforting walls, I’d fallen back into old habits, and perhaps an old view of myself, much too quickly.

And this time, I had no one to blame but myself.

Leaving the matter of blame behind for a moment, I tried to think of ways to rectify the situation. Unfortunately, however, all the alleys I went down led to dead ends. After all, I wasn’t in Canada legally. I wasn’t a national. I wasn’t even a landed immigrant. I had snuck over the boarder like a draft dodger, aiding and abetting the escape of a fugitive from justice, no less. Not something likely employers were apt to turn a blind eye towards.

Ice was lucky, in that Pop didn’t give a horse’s behind who or what she was, as long as she was good at what she did, which she undeniably was, and still is. Problem was, however, that there most likely wasn’t more than one ‘Pop’ in a town this size. Without immigrant papers, without even so much as a passport, I was dead in the water, so to speak.

My mood went from bad to worse, and when the rain stopped, I went outside and took my frustrations out on the cabin, pounding nails until my hands were blistered and raw.

And when Ice came over the breast of the hill, a jaunty step to her walk and a wad of cash in her hand for a night on the town, I’m afraid I did a butcher’s job of ripping her head off.

Figuratively, of course.

And in that nanosecond of eternity between the words "oh" and "shit" when I realized just what I had done and who I had done it to, my anger was gone, replaced with a recrimination so deep, I could have drowned in it, if it would have let me.

If Ice had decided to return the favor, I most likely wouldn’t be writing this today.

Instead, with a patience rarely shown to anyone but me, she offered a strong shoulder and a listening ear, if I would just reach out and take them.

And I repaid her kindness with words that shame me to this day, proving that my anger hadn’t left entirely, coward that it was. Only waited for another chance to ambush her in a fit of jealousy so green the world seemed bathed in it, a bloody wound for which there is no salvation.

Her face set in stony lines, she turned away from me, dropping the money she’d hoped to spend on a nice evening for both of us at my feet, then walked away without saying another word.

And so it was that I found myself sitting alone on a couch in Ruby’s house, staring at words in a book I had no desire to read, listening to soft orchestral music from the kitchen that I had no desire to hear, and watching a clock giving up minutes as sparingly as a miser extends loans.

So deep within the well of my thoughts was I that I didn’t hear the knocking on the door, and nearly jumped from my perch on the couch when Ruby’s graying head poked itself from the door to the kitchen, a slight smile creasing her lips. "There’s someone here to see you, Tyler."

I was half-way across the room, my apology ready to birth itself from my throat before I was stopped by the vision, not of Ice, but of a young woman walking into the room, a clutch of books clasped awkwardly to her chest.

Stopping in my tracks, I gaped at her, my mind changing gears with the swiftness of a semi lumbering uphill. From somewhere unknown, my manners managed to reassert themselves, and a smile which was most likely totally false bloomed on my face. " ...hello ..."

The young woman returned my smile, though hers was notably more genuine. "Hello, Ms. Moore," she said with a shyness known only to pretty young woman of her age.

"Do I ...know you from somewhere?" Oh yes, the old eighteen wheeler was still chugging uphill alright. In first gear.

The girl blushed. "Um, yes, Ma’am. We met in the café a few months ago. I’m afraid I wasn’t very polite to you."

Then it clicked. The young woman looking at me through half-lowered eyelids was the same waitress I’d taken for twice her age when we first came into town. Amazing how slathering makeup on with a trowel ages a person, my still-laboring mind supplied cheerily. Someone should tell her that this look’s much better than the ‘rode hard, put away wet’ one she seems to favor.

Silence made its presence felt in the suddenly-too-hot room.

Oh. She’s waiting for some kind of response. "Um ...nice to see you again." Ok, that didn’t come out very well. Shall we try again? "Is ...there something I can help you with?"

The woman blushed again. "I ...um ...heard you were a teacher?"

From who? Then I remembered telling Ruby a severely edited tale of the teaching I’d done prior to making the move up to Canada. She didn’t need to know that my students were hardened criminals, after all. Our gracious, if nosy, host probably passed that information on during one of her weekly gossip exchange sessions that masqueraded as bridge tournaments. "I’ve done some teaching," I allowed, curious as to where this particular conversation was going, since I didn’t have the faintest clue.

The girl’s face lit up. "Cool!"

The silence stretched out once again.

"Was there something you needed?" I asked, finally, imagining I could feel moss start to grow on the north side of my body.

"Oh! Yeah. Um ...I need some help. I ...kinda ...dropped out of school last year. I got bored with it, I guess." She shrugged. "Wasn’t learning that much anyway. Figured I’d be better off taking the waitress job full time and having some money in my pocket."

I nodded. "And now you think you made a mistake."

She snorted. "A big one. I don’t wanna be a waitress all my life, but without a diploma, no one will look twice at me, so I’m kinda stuck."

"Why don’t you just go back to school, then?"

"It’s not that easy. See, I raised kind of a big stink about leaving. I’d be to embarrassed to go back now."

I nodded again, then waited for her to state whatever case she was interested in bringing to the bar.

She took in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. "So ...when I heard that you were a teacher, I wondered if maybe you could help me out. See, there’s a way I can get my diploma without having to go back to school. There’s a test I can take, and if I pass it, I get my diploma. And I really only need help with two classes. English and World History." She showed me the text-books she still held close to her body. "I borrowed these from my brother. He was smart and stayed in school." She took in another breath. "So, if you’re interested or anything, I was hoping you might be able to help me out. You know, like tutor me? I’d pay for your help. My parents even offered to put up some money," she hastened to add, her face as earnest as her plea to me. "I’ll come every day after work, if you want. Stay as long as you need me to. Anything."

I thought about it for a long moment, staring into her eyes and watching as she fought hard not to fidget beneath the weight of my gaze. I realized that the answers to some of my problems was standing before me and refused to look a gift equine in the cuspids. "Sure. Why not? We can start tomorrow, if you want." Another thought struck me. "Ruby?"

The graying head popped out, too quickly, from the kitchen beyond. "My house is yours, Tyler. You know that. You’re welcome to use the study."

I resisted shooting my most menacing glare at my snooping hostess. Instead, I tried my most gracious smile on for size. It was almost a perfect fit. "Thanks!" I turned back to the girl. "Looks like we have a deal then ...um ...I don’t know your name."

"Oh! I’m sorry. It’s Kelly." She stuck out her hand, and promptly dropped her books.

We knocked heads reaching down to pick them up.

Then burst out laughing.

If only making things up to Ice could be so simple.

After Kelly had left, thanking me profusely and apologizing yet again about the rapidly swelling knot on my head, I poked my head into the kitchen and smiled down at Ruby who was studiously working on a crossword puzzle and drinking coffee. "Thanks."

She looked up, her eyes magnified behind the reading glasses she wore for close work. "For letting you use the study? You’re welcome, but you really didn’t need to ask."

"Well, for that too. But really, thanks for spreading the word that I was a teacher. I was worried about not having a job, and you helped me get one."

"Wish I could take the credit for that one, Tyler, but I really haven’t told anybody anything about you or Morgan. It’s up to you to share whatever you want with them. It’s none of their business, otherwise."

"But if you didn’t ... ."

But even as I asked, I knew. Knew it with every fiber of my being. Knew there was only one person who would go to such lengths to assure my happiness.

Ice.

*  *  *

If my lover ever made it home that fateful evening, I don’t know. We’ve never spoken of it, even to this day when so much water has gone over, under and around the bridge that spans our life together.

All I know for sure is that she hadn’t returned when at last my eyes rebelled against my edict to stay open or else, leading me down into a fitful sleep filled with night terrors. If she came to my bed to soothe my dreams, I never woke to feel it, and when I awoke the next morning, she was gone from the house as if she’d never been. Even Ruby didn’t know; or if she did, she wasn’t talking.

The only thing that stilled my fears, if only by the tiniest of measures, was that her room was exactly as she’d left it, all her possessions stored away with the almost military precision so characteristic of her. How I resisted the almost overwhelming impulse to bury my face in the lone T-shirt that lay at the bottom of her hamper, I’ll never know, but with a firm resolution I thought near lost, I turned from the room, determined to track her down and settle the lingering business between us.

*  *  *

I should have known that trying to hunt down a woman who was, in her former life, a Mafia assassin was a fruitless task at best, but with a stubbornness that would have done my father proud, I searched almost every square inch of the town in the hopes of finding my deliberately missing lover.

And came back empty-handed and heavy-hearted to the place where it all started; the half-built cabin by the lake.

She sat near the cornerstone, her back pressed flat against the foundation, one leg cocked, the other resting flat against the ground. A pine needle twirled and whirled between long fingers as she looked down over the path which led to a lake which was whipping up whitecaps in response to the wind’s intermittent gusts.

Thunderheads stacked, a child’s block castle, one atop the other far across the water, but I sensed that the tempest brewing beneath the gathering clouds could well give the encroaching storm quite a run for its money.

I stared at her for long moments, running opening gambits through my mind as I tried to ignore the fact that she was ignoring my presence. The coward in me wanted to run and hide, but the woman my lover had helped develop stood her ground, wanting nothing more than to breach the walls my own words had erected around her heart.

An apology, no matter how heartfelt and brimming with tearful promises, seemed much too shallow a thing to give.

Finally, the wind whipping the forest around us into a frenzy, I stepped forward, breaking the palpable distance between us. "Thanks," I said simply, too soft to be heard over the wind’s howling cry, yet knowing she would hear it anyway.

She turned to me then, and the look in her eyes, one of absolute resignation, tore at my heart more than any angry recrimination ever could. "For what?"

Swallowing against the feelings her expression was engendering in me, I took a step closer, then stopped once again. "For sending Kelly my way. That was an incredibly wonderful thing to do, especially for someone who treated you the way I did."

Lifting her shoulder in a half-hearted shrug, she nimbly leapt to her feet and pushed off of the foundation. "Glad it helped."

She closed the distance between us and moved to brush by me. In a sudden fit of what I can only describe as insanity, I reached out and grabbed her forearm to keep her from passing. She stopped, then turned, then looked down at my hand on her arm. Then looked into my eyes, her own flashing a message that even the most slow-witted among us could easily divine.

Snatching my hand quickly away, I opened my mouth to say something, anything, when the strangest sensation came over me. The wind, which up until then had been changing directions as if trying to make up its mind which way it wanted to blow, stopped suddenly. Every hair on my body then lifted and a curious, and not very pleasant, tingle erupted along my nerve endings.

The next thing I knew, I was being borne to the ground, covered by a living blanket of protection as something fast and bright and loud and stinking of burned wiring exploded all around me, deafening me to anything else.

Then something, I didn’t know what, collapsed down on top of us, driving the breath from my lungs, and when my head impacted with the cement foundation behind me, everything went black and silent once again.

When I awoke, it was to the sound of a heavy rain rattling off of the plastic tarp which covered the partially finished roof of the cabin.

At least, that’s where I thought I was. With a head that felt like day six of a five day bender, and a chest that wondered if it had been used as a Chicago Bears tackling dummy some time in the recent past, I could have been trapped within a plastic bag and not known the difference. Or cared much, really.

After a moment, it occurred to me that opening my eyes might be a good idea, and so I did. Then closed them quickly when four of everything stared back at me through a blurry mist.

Something brushed against my head and I jumped, then immediately regretted it as the world around me spun threateningly out of control for a long moment. My stomach instantly rebelled, but thankfully, there wasn’t anything in it, and so after a moment, it grudgingly settled back down.

When I was quite sure that everything that was in my body was going to stay there—and for a moment there, it looked like my brains were lobbying hard for an exit through my ears—I chanced opening my eyes again. When the blurriness cleared, I saw Ice looking down at me, concern etched clearly in every line of her face. I smiled weakly. "Hey."

"You alright?" she asked, the look in her eyes belying the gruffness of her voice.

"As soon as you give me the license plate number of the truck that hit me, yeah." When she didn’t rise to the bait-- and poor as it was, I didn’t blame her--I sighed, shifting a little. "I’m fine. Really."

The touch to my head came again, and this time I recognized it for what it was, Ice’s hand stroking through my hair. I then realized that the hard surface my head was pillowed upon was, in fact, her thigh. I resisted the urge to snuggle, not knowing how things were between us, even given the relative intimacy of my current position. "What happened?"

"Lightning strike. It hit the big pine next to the house and one of the limbs came down on us." She shifted a little, and I caught a carefully controlled, and almost hidden, look of pain cross her face for the briefest of moments.

"You’re hurt."

"I’m fine."

"But ... ." I struggled to sit up, a truly hopeless task as her free hand rested itself on my chest, anchoring my body to the floor.

"I’m. Fine."

If the tone of her voice hadn’t gotten through, the look in her eyes certainly finished the job, and so I obediently settled back down on her thigh. After a moment, her hand began to stroke my hair again, softly, doing more for my pounding headache than an entire mountain of painkillers. Chancing things, I reached up and covered the large hand which rested on my chest, giving it the briefest of squeezes. "Thank you for saving my life. Again."

That got the reaction I was looking for, a small, wry smile that even reached the blue of her eyes. "Comes with the job."

I could feel my eyebrows raise behind the fringe of my hair. "Job?"

Her smile deepened minutely. "Someone’s gotta look after you. Might as well be me."

I returned her smile with a rueful one of my own. "Hard job, sometimes. The working conditions aren’t always the best. And the salary sucks." I swallowed hard against the tears closing my throat as the conversation suddenly took on a deeper meaning.

Her hand left my hair, and I felt her knuckles as they gently grazed against the skin of my cheek. "Maybe. But the experience it’s given me is something I wouldn’t trade for all the money in the world."

The tears came then, rolling hot and heavy down my cheeks and dampening the hand which continued to gently stroke my skin. "I’m so sorry, Morgan. I ...I don’t know what came over me yesterday. I didn’t mean those words I said. Not one of them. God ...I’m ...I’m sorry." When had words suddenly become so inadequate? How could they cut to the bone one minute, and become anemic the next?

Giving in to my misery, I shifted to my side, curling up in a fetal ball and pressing my heated face up against her lower abdomen, sobbing my heart out like a small child.

She said nothing, just continued to stroke my hair, letting me get out everything trapped inside, her very presence telling me more about her love for me than any words spoken ever could.

Finally emptied of the poison inside, I rolled back onto my back and looked up at her through tear-swollen eyes. "Can you ever forgive me?"

Reaching down, she brushed her finger tenderly against my lips. "Yes," she whispered.

The relief that ran through me was nothing short of dizzying. "Thank you."

She smiled at me, then gathered me close, and we waited out the storm in comfortable silence.

*  *  *

Summer was rapidly drawing to a close, and with it, our time under Ruby’s generous, if sometimes intrusive, hospitality. The cabin was almost complete, needing only a few finishing touches to make it into the home I had dreamed of for so long.

On a certain summer’s morning, I made my way into town on an errand for Ice, to retrieve a particular tool she had left back at Pop’s garage. Walking down the main street, my curiosity was caught, as it often was, by the open door of The Silver Pine. Ruby had filled my head with stories of the new owner’s many eccentricities, and so I decided that a quick detour to assuage my curiosity would be just the ticket for my somewhat mischievous mood.

Arriving at the front door, I was just about to poke my head in for a quick look around when a large chartreuse mountain collided with me, sending me back into the courtyard, my arms flailing to keep my balance.

"Are you alright, dear?" the mountain asked in a thick Bronx accent. "I wasn’t expecting any visitors this time of the day. Do I know you from somewhere? You seem terribly familiar to me. The Hamptons, perhaps?"

Completely taken aback, I could only stare dumbly at the woman as she peppered me with her rapid-fire inquisition. Not even in prison had I ever seen a woman quite so large. She easily topped even Ice’s six foot-plus frame and was perhaps three or four times as wide. All done up, from head to toe, in blinding pink made her a true sight to behold, and behold it I did, my jaw slack with amazement.

Her body was literally dripping with jewels—faux or real I couldn’t tell—and gaudy ones at that. Rings adorned every finger and hideous broaches attached themselves, like leeches, to her massive chest. A heavy cloud of perfume wafted from her, trapping me in its none-too-fragrant net. I rubbed my nose against the urge to sneeze.

Underneath one massive arm peeped the head of a tiny dog of indeterminate ancestry, though I guessed, by its white fluffiness, that poodle was buried somewhere deep within the mix. Just how deep, I couldn’t tell. Its brown beady eyes bulged at me and I was treated to the sight of needle-sharp teeth and a curled tongue, leading me to believe, in my fuzzy-headed way, that perhaps a rat was also among this creature’s less-than-noble forbearers.

Returning my stare look for look, the woman tilted her head, her eyes wide with a compassion that is only seen in the truly snobbish. "Oh, I’m so sorry, dear. Are you deaf as well?" she asked at a decibel level which could have broken window glass several miles away. "Forgive me for my mistake. You just look so normal."

Resisting the urge to toss out a snappish retort, I instead gave her a gracious smile. "I can hear. I was just ...startled."

She brought her free hand up to her chest, her many bracelets tinkling discordantly with her exaggerated movements. "Oh, isn’t that a relief! And here I thought we’d have absolutely no way of communicating."

I just smiled. And nodded. A lot.

"Where are my manners?" she asked after another uncomfortable pause. Sticking out a hand, she engulfed one of my own, pumping vigorously. It was like shaking hands with cold, wet bread dough. And that would be insulting to the dough. "My name is Millicent Harding Post. Hard on the ‘T’, dear, as in ‘tittilating’." She chirped a bird-like laughter through ruby red lips.

Disengaging my hand, I resisted the urge to wipe it off on my shorts. "It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Post," I replied, making sure to stress the ‘T’.

"Oh please, dearie. We’re all friends here, aren’t we? Millicent will do just fine. And you are?"

"Tyler Moore."

Her eyes, magnified behind half-glasses, widened comically. "Oh you poor, poor dear. What were your parents thinking?"

Probably the same thing your parents were when they decided to name you "Millicent" you pompous old windbag. Not that I said that aloud, of course. Though, to be perfectly honest, there was a moment there where I was sorely tempted. I smiled in wry acknowledgement of her false pity, and steered the conversation into another, and hopefully safer, direction. "Are you the new owner of The Silver Pine?"

Millicent turned to look over one meaty shoulder at the building in question, then turned back to me. "Unfortunately, yes. It’s been my cross to bear since Mother Carmody passed on."

"I’m sorry for your loss."

She flapped a hand at me. "Don’t be, dear. Why, I didn’t even know I had an aunt until some lawyer in a monkey suit and California tan darkened my doorstep one morning and told me the old bat had kicked off, leaving me saddled with this useless pile of wood." She shook her head, a true martyr to the cause, then fondly patted her dog’s head, engulfing the poor thing entirely with the size of her hand. I briefly wondered if she was giving it a concussion. "I was sorely tempted to just sell the thing and be done with it, but Puddles here told me that she’d like a chance to see how the other half lives, and so off we came. Isn’t that right, Puddles? Of course it is. You’re mama’s little sweetums, aren’t you."

Just when it appeared that "mama’s little sweetums" was going to add some additional breathing holes to mama’s little nose in retaliation for squeezing its innards out of its ears, Millicent pulled away and grinned at me, her capped white teeth bloody with smeared lipstick. "Isn’t she just the sweetest little thing you’ve ever seen in your life?"

I took in the bulging eyes, the pointy teeth, the curled tongue, and the muzzle now smeared red by Millicent’s kisses. "Oh yes. Very sweet." I surreptitiously checked my own nose just to see if it had grown.

She tilted her head once again. "Are you sure we haven’t met before? I never forget a face, and yours is very familiar to me."

"Well, I come into town quite often ... ?"

Flapping her hand at me again, she shook her head. "No, not here, dearie. Unless they’re paying customers, I never notice anyone here. You’re one of us, yes?"

"Excuse me?"

"One of us, dear. An American. Not one of those ... Canadians. I thought I detected a bit of a Midwestern drawl to your speech."

The way she looked at me, I knew I’d just been called a hick, though in the most polite of ways. "I was born in the United States," I allowed.

She nodded triumphantly. "She was right then."

I looked hard at her, trying to process the non-sequitor. "Who was right?"

"Why, Puddles, of course. She told me I’d meet a charming young American today, and what do you know? I have!"

I spared a brief moment wondering if perhaps her perfume contained some mind-altering chemical, because the conversation was taking on a decidedly strange bent.

"So ...would you like to see what I’ve done with the place? You simply wouldn’t believe what I had to work with."

"Um, actually, I would," I replied. "I used to come here every summer with my family. I loved the Silver Pine."

Turning back to me, Millicent eyed me the way I would imagine one would stare at a particularly revolting display of rat droppings arranged on one’s kitchen table. "Of course you did, dear."

Then, after another moment, she smiled. "But you were child then. I’m sure, as an adult, your tastes have changed drastically, no? Just come in for a quick look. I promise, you won’t be disappointed."

"Well, there is something I really have to ... ."

"Nonsense, dear. There can’t possibly be anything so important that you can’t spare just a moment to ease a fellow American’s mind."

"Actually, there ... ."

She flung an arm heavy as a lead weight over my shoulders, the cloying scent of her perfume causing my eyes to tear and my head to spin. "It’s settled then. You simply won’t believe what a little time, effort, and taste will do to a facility. Even one such as this, in the middle of absolutely nowhere."

Now most probably, I could have gotten away from her had I tried hard enough, but to tell the truth, she could have taken me to the Dante’s Seventh Circle and I would have gone, such was the state of my mind at the time.

She led me into the lobby, then slipped away, no doubt to give me the necessary room to stand and stare in wide-eyes wonder at the changes she had wrought.

Being the accommodating sort, I did just that, though a decidedly queasy sensation quickly replaced the wonder I was expected to feel upon viewing the work of her interior designer, a person whom I was quite sure read Harlequin Romances for inspiration.

Gone were the comfortable weathered wood and nautical trappings which had so delighted me as a child. In their place were heavy red velvet and gold brocade tapestries, antique furniture, and intricate rugs more common to a French house of ill-repute than a simple lakeside Bed and Breakfast. So perfect was the illusion that I half-expected to see scantily dressed whores waiting perched upon the heavily embroidered couches for the next customer to saunter by. In one corner, Puddles was living up to her name, christening a Persian rug. I wondered if it was expensive.

I couldn’t help grinning at that, but hid it quickly.

Millicent smiled at her pet fondly before turning to me, her huge arms outspread to encompass the entire lobby. "Well, what do you think?"

"It’s ...it’s ... ." Ok, Angel, think. She’s a whole foot taller and about three hundred pounds heavier than you, so whatever you come up with, it better be good. "Well, it’s ...different."

She smiled as if I had just told her I was the lead photographer for House Beautiful. "I just knew you’d love it, dear. I could tell you were a woman of exquisite taste the moment I laid eyes on you."

Smiling and nodding, I scratched the back of my neck as further words failed me.

Taking a step closer, she made as if to engulf me once again. "Come, let me give you the grand tour. Each guest room has a different theme. You’ll love them, I’m sure."

Deftly stepping out of the way of her oncoming arm, I held up my hands in a warding-off gesture I hoped she’d read. "Much as I’d love to do just that, I promised a friend I’d do something for her, and I really need to do it. She’s counting on me." I gave her my most winning smile, one that had worked on women you wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley. "Another time perhaps?"

The pout she gave me made her eyes disappear into the vast folds of her cheeks, but when she saw it wasn’t working on me, she relaxed the expression into a smile instead. "Of course, dear. I wouldn’t want to keep you away from anything important. Come, let me walk you back outside. After all, it’s the least I can do in return for your aid."

Repressing a small shudder, I allowed her to place her arm around my shoulders once again as she guided me back the way we’d come. I felt a decided sense of relief when the fresh air of the outside world claimed me once again, clearing my mind as well as my sinuses.

Squinting my eyes against the brightness of the day, I noticed a very familiar form casually sauntering down the street toward Pop’s garage. Shit. She probably thinks I forgot about her.

Which I hadn’t, of course. Not even for a second.

I felt Millicent stiffen beside me, and, looking up, I saw her following Ice’s easy movements with her eyes, an expression reminiscent of one biting into the most sour of lemons stamped on her florid features for all to see.

"Is something wrong?" I asked, wondering if she was seeing something I wasn’t.

"Typical. Just typical."

"Excuse me?"

A large, bejeweled hand flung out in the direction of my partner. "Her, dear. So common. So ...manly."

My eyebrows raised. "Manly?" I took a closer look, something I enjoyed in the extreme, my eyes running over her lean form with great pleasure. "I think she’s beautiful." Which was, of course, the truth, though I’m sure my tone of voice did little to hide my true feelings.

She turned to me, that sour-lemon look still on her face. "If you like that type, I suppose. Genetic beauty is fine for commoners. True beauty takes style, poise, breeding. It’s quite obvious she has none of those things." She clucked her tongue. "Why, I’ll wager that that woman wouldn’t know a Chippendale if she tripped over one."

Somehow, and I don’t know how, I resisted the urge to tell the overblown windbag that not only did Ice have more style, poise and breeding in the smallest of her fingers than she had in her entire abundant body, but also that she could, and did, read Kafka and Solzhenitzyn in the language of their birth, and could sing Elena's aria from La donna del lago so beautifully that statues would weep with the joy of hearing it.

I didn’t say any of those things, though. What would have been the point? Closed minds took time to pry open. Time I didn’t wish to spare with the likes of her.

I dredged up a smile from somewhere and turned it on her. "Well, if you’ll excuse me, I really do need to get going. Thanks for the tour and the conversation. It was nice to have met you."

"Same to you, dear. Come back around anytime. Just make sure to stay away from women like her. Believe me, they’re nothing but trouble."

More than you know, lady. More than you know.

*  *  *

My eyes adjusting to the darkness of the garage, I walked over to where Ice was rummaging through one of the tall tool chests scattered throughout the large, open structure. "Sorry about that. I got snared in by the proprietress of the Silver Pine. She wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer."

Looking up, Ice favored me with a half-grin. "Figured as much. No big deal. I needed another tool anyway."

I moved closer to give her a kiss when a cleared throat interrupted my action. Turning, I spied Pop standing just inside the garage, his hat off as he ran a hand through his hair. "Afternoon, Tyler, Morgan."

"Hi, Pop!" Blinking, I took another look at the man. Something didn’t seem right with him, somehow. Curious, I walked over to him, noticing as he ducked his head shyly away from me. "What happened to you?" I asked, taking in the starburst of brilliant color over his swollen right eye as well as the jagged cut down one grizzled cheek. "Who did this?"

"Ain’t no big deal," he replied, taking a step away from me.

"What happened." Ice’s commanding voice floated to us from the depths of the shadowed garage.

"Buncha young toughs from the bar up the road got their peckers up, pardon the language. Should’a known better than ta go up there, my age bein’ what it is, but I had a taste for a cold one and I never could turn that down." He shrugged his narrow shoulders. "Do my drinkin’ at home from now on. Like I said, ain’t no big deal."

"It’s a big deal to me," I countered. "No one has the right to beat up someone else. It’s stupid and just plain rude."

He grinned at me. "They ain’t known for their brains or their manners, Tyler. Don’t get all upset about ‘em anyway. Ain’t worth it. I learned my lesson."

Though I couldn’t see Ice in the dark, I thought I caught a short nod directed at me, which made me feel much better about the whole situation. Enough to let it drop, with Pop at least. "Well, you make sure you put some ice on that eye to keep it from swelling any more than it already has."

"Got me a pound of raw hamburger waitin’ to do just that, Tyler." He shrugged again. "’s what my wife used to use on me, anyway. Figure it’ll do the same now as it did back then."

He turned his head toward Ice. "Speakin of which, my wife’s sister took ill up-country. Ain’t seen her in years, but I promised my Maggie that I’d look after her kin after she’d passed on, so I reckon that’s what I’ll do. Was wonderin, Morgan, if you wouldn’t mind lookin’ after the place for me. I’ll close ‘er up good and tight when I leave, but I like my things to stay where I left ‘em, and you never can be too sure these days, even in a town like this one. If it’ll set ya back, say so. I’ll find someone else."

"No need to shut it down," Ice replied. "I don’t mind filling in for a few days."

"Couldn’t ask that of ya ... ."

"Then don’t. Just consider it done."

Now, Pop might have been old, but he was also smart. He knew when he’d been beaten, and had no bones about saying so. Nodding, he put his cap back on his head and straightened the oil-stained brim. "I’ll give you my thanks and leave ya to ‘er then. I’m leavin first thing tomorrow, so whenever ya get here is when you’ll be open."

"Fine."

"Alright then. Got a trip to get ready for. Be seein’ ya." And with that, he turned and left the cool garage, heading back toward the station proper and his tidy little house beyond.

Ice, too, left the shadows, coming to stand beside me, her arms laden with tools. Grabbing one, I turned to her, and smiled. "That was really sweet of you."

She snorted. "I don’t do ‘sweet’."

"Suuuuuure ya don’t." I know she doesn’t like being teased, but sometimes I just can’t help myself. She just makes it so darned easy.

She scowled, but kept her peace, fiddling with the oversized wrench in her hand. "C’mon. I got a cabin to finish."

As I broke into a jog to keep some sort of pace with my lover’s long strides, the corner of my eye caught a bright flash of pink from the direction of the Silver Pine. Turning my head, I saw Millicent eyeing me, that pinched look still on her face; only now, it was directed at me as well as my partner.

Unable to resist that little voice in my head, I trotted forward a couple steps and snared my arm around Ice’s lean waist, hugging her close so that our hips bumped as we walked.

"What was that for?"

"Oh," I smirked, glancing over my shoulder at Millicent’s frowning reaction, "nothing."

Heh. Heh. Heh.

*  *  *

After puttering around the cabin with Ice for a few hours, I left to shower and freshen up for my afternoon job. Like Ice’s before me, my own reputation had spread beyond Ruby’s study. Before I knew it, offers for tutoring jobs came in more quickly than I could handle them, from young and old alike.

However, since I had to help build my home, there just weren’t enough hours in the day to help all who asked, so I learned to be selective, something that didn’t come easily to me, especially when it came down to deciding who to teach and who to regretfully decline. After all, an education is one of the most important things in the world, and something everyone deserves a chance to receive.

The student that I was helping that particular late summer’s day was a wonderful, mentally challenged seven-year-old boy named Nikki who had left school the year before because of the teasing he’d received from his classmates. I’d shunned monetary offers from his parents, but when they pointed out that I was treating their son as a special case by doing so, and that was something they most definitely did not want to have happen, I gave in to their undeniable logic and accepted both money and son into my care. Something I’ve never regretted.

My lessons finished for the day, I found myself at Ruby’s kitchen table, regaling her with my rendition of my first meeting with the incomparable Millicent Harding Post. Tears were rolling down my face as she told a few tales of her own about the woman and her many strange habits, treating Puddles as if the dog were human the very least among them.

Ice had come in shortly before, grimy from her labors, and had run upstairs to shower and change before going back into town with me in search of some dinner.

Night was quickly drawing down when the phone rang. Getting up from her place at the table, Ruby answered it, then cradled it to her chest as she yelled up the stairs. "Morgan, it’s for you."

After a muffled "Got it" floated down from upstairs, the room fell silent save for the ticking of the clock above the stove.

Time passed in its slow, quiet way as the conversation between Ruby and I ground down to dust. I heard the door to Ice’s room open, then quietly close, followed again by stillness. Ruby and I looked at one another. She smiled. "You might as well go on up. I know it’s killing you, not knowing."

I blushed a little, but stood anyway, knowing I was well and truly caught. "I’m sure it’s nothing. Probably some last minute instructions from Pop about not lighting a match around the gas pumps or something." Still, I couldn’t quite push away the feeling of dread that seemed to come from nowhere as the moments ticked away.

Shaking my head at my foolishness, I smiled my thanks to Ruby, then pushed away from the table and strode to the stairs, taking them two at a time until I was practically running. I stopped in front of Ice’s door, knocked, then entered her room without waiting for a response. A rude thing for me to do, I’ll agree, but manners were the last thing on my mind at that moment. I couldn’t explain why my body was giving me the messages it was, only that it was. And after living in prison for so many years, that was enough for me.

She was standing by the window, with its view that faced the forest beyond, her profile bathed in moonlight. One hand gripped the narrow sill, and even in the darkness in which I was standing, I could see the tendons in that hand stand out in bold relief against the moon-bleached pallor of her skin.

Closing the door behind me, I crossed the room without even being aware that I had done so. "Is something wrong?" I whispered my question, too afraid to make it real by voicing it too loudly.

She didn’t answer. Just kept staring out at the gently swaying pines that laid a canopy over the road meandering behind the house.

I laid a hand on her forearm, feeling the iron tension in the muscles slumbering there. "Please talk to me, Ice. My guts are churning here. Whatever it is, I need to know. Maybe I can help."

She turned, at last, from the window, a sad smile on her face. "You can’t help with this one, Angel." Above her smile, her eyes were clear, colorless pools from which her pain radiated.

Trailing my hand down her strong arm, I grasped her hand and gently pulled it loose from its hold on the window sill, placing it against my rapidly beating heart. "Please, Ice. Talk to me. Anything, even the worst news, is better than this not knowing."

I could easily see the thoughts whirling behind those strangely colorless eyes, and held my breath when they announced their final decision.

"Cavallo’s out."

Whatever news I had expected in my panic, it surely wasn’t this. "What?"

"He’s out. His lawyer got the judge to throw out the conviction on appeal."

I looked at her, struck dumb with confusion. "But ... ," I got out finally, "I thought he was dead. The news reports ... ."

"Lied, apparently. Or else they weren’t given the truth by those higher up. Cavallo was gunned down by Salvatore’s men. He just wasn’t killed."

"Then why ... ."

"Cover-up of the century for them, I’d imagine. Figured they could make a deal with him after pulling his ass out of the fire. He must have reneged at some point, though, because they wound up trying and convicting him."

"Then what happened?" I asked, still trying to wrap my mind around her bombshell. Of all the things I’d considered in the deepest part of the night, when Ice’s fugitive status came right up and sat on my chest, this possibility wasn’t one of them. Not only the police, but the Mob too? Jesus Christ.

"The papers I planted in his car. Apparently, they were the major block on which the prosecution built its case. On appeal, they got thrown out in an ‘illegal search and seizure’ ruling. Without that evidence, the case pretty much fell apart. And since I’m the one who planted them there in the first place ... ." She shrugged. "Shitty deal, all the way around."

"God damn it! How did you find this out?"

"Andre. He’s been keeping an ear out for me. Called me as soon as he heard."

As I gazed up at her, I had the distinct sense that the story wasn’t over. "There’s more, isn’t there."

After a long moment, she finally nodded, her tongue darting out to moisten dry lips. "Cavallo put the word out. He wants his pound of flesh. From me. And nothing’s gonna stop him until he gets it. Andre also told me that Cavallo’s sniffing around up this way. Somehow, he managed to blunder onto at least part of my trail, though I don’t think he’s quite got the brains to think I went over the border. Yet." Pulling her hand from mine, she turned away from me again, her clenched fist rattling the window as it came down hard on the sill. "I knew I shoulda killed that bastard when I had the chance." Reaching up, she dragged her hand through her thick hair, snorting in self-derision. "I must be crazy."

"You’re not crazy, Ice. You did the right thing."

She spun back toward me, her eyes narrowed and filled with fire. "For who? Who, Angel? You? Me?"

"Us!" I shouted, then quickly lowered my voice, very much conscious of the fact that we weren’t, really, alone. "Your dreams. Remember?"

"Those dreams are dead.. I should have never listened to them in the first place."

I gasped, then stepped away, stung beyond belief by her thoughtless words. "Do you really mean that?"

Her eyes softened, as did her voice. "Angel, I’m a killer. That’s who I am. What I am. It’s how I’ve managed to stay alive all these years; by being worse than the worst they could throw at me. And the one time I go against who I am, this is what happens." She smiled again, that sad smile that broke my heart into tiny fragments. "I was never meant to live this life, Angel. Peace isn’t something I deserve. Love isn’t something I deserve." She paused, as if weighing the weight of her words. "It was foolish of me to ever believe that I could be the person you see when you look at me. Foolish and dangerous."

She looked away again, out through the window and into the night beyond. "And now I’ve dragged you down with me. I’ve done the one thing I promised myself I’d never do." Her even breaths gently fogged the window, turning the view beyond white with a surreal mist. Her jaw set in granite determination, an expression I knew only too well. My stomach did a slow, lazy flip deep inside.

Her voice, when it came, was soft as death. "He wants to play games? Fine. We’ll play."

"What ...are you going to do?"

Ice snorted softly. "Find him before he finds me."

"And then?"

In slow motion, her dark head turned in my direction, her eyes alight with a glee I imagined a crocodile might have when a fat young deer waded a touch too far into his favorite watering hole.

"I’m gonna kill him."

"Ice ...no ... ."

"Yes, Angel. This isn’t some game Cavallo’s playing for kicks. This is real. And I’m not about to let that bastard get me a second time. Not while I’m alive enough to do something about it."

"But ... ."

"Look. We both knew something like this was gonna happen sooner or later. It just happens to be sooner. I don’t like it, but the choice has been taken out of my hands." She looked at me intently, bathing me in the blue of her eyes. "Angel, you know how much I love you. Nothing can ever take that away from me. But this ...this is something I gotta do."

She sighed, then looked down at her hands, which were clenched into tight fists. "You’ll be safe here, Angel. I’ll make sure of it. You have friends here, people who love you. They’ll help you finish the cabin so you can finally have your dream."

I laughed; a cold, disgusted sound that surprised even me. "My dream? My dream?! That cabin out there isn’t my dream, Ice. It hasn’t been for five years now. If I had to, I’d take a match and turn it into the biggest bonfire this town’s seen since the last time it burned down."

She eyed me strangely, her head cocked at a slight angle.

"You just don’t get it, do you?"

She shook her head slowly.

"This place, that cabin, those people, they’re not my dream. I’d give them all up without a second’s pause or regret. And do you know why?"

Again, a shake of negation.

"Because you, Morgan Steele, are my dream. None of the rest of this means a goddamn thing unless you’re here to share it with me."

"Your home ... ."

"It’s not my home! You’re my home! Why can’t you ever believe that? Why do you insist on continuing to see me as some naïve little child who has no clue about what she wants or needs?" I wasn’t, obviously, giving her any time to answer my questions, but I didn’t care at that moment. This blow-up had been a long time in coming, and I wasn’t going to stop until I purged myself of the poison inside. "Why do you insist on treating me like some fragile, priceless object that you have to store away in some display case somewhere so no dust gets on it?"

"You are priceless, Angel," she managed to interject.

"But I’m not an object, Ice! I’m a person! A grown woman, quite capable of deciding how to live my life and who to live it with." My voice softened as I stared at her with as much emotion as I could force into my eyes. "Why is it so hard for you to believe that the person I choose to live it with is you?"

For a moment, just a moment, I knew what it was like to look into the eyes of a Morgan who had just lost her parents; a young girl heartsick with the pain of loss and too innocent to know how to cover that up with layers of concrete so thick no human could ever get inside those walls again.

But that moment passed in an instant, and I was shown just how vast a gulf the agony of years had created between that Morgan and this. The pain in her eyes vanished as if it had never been, to be replaced with the Morgan Steele the outside world knew; tough, unfeeling, uncaring. A robot incapable of experiencing even the most banal of emotions.

"I can’t afford to let myself believe that, Angel."

"Why?"

"Because if I do, I lose a very important part of myself. A part I need to stay one step away from everyone who wants a shot at me; the cops, the Mob, god knows who else. If I let my guard down even for an instant, things happen. People die, Angel. You could die. And if I’d thought about that when I had my gun to Cavallo’s head, I would have done the right thing for me, and there’d be one less thing to worry about right now." Her eyes warmed just slightly; a drop of rain on upon a frozen wasteland. "Instead, I thought about a dream I could never really have and let the lure of it prod me into a decision that I never should have made."

"And after you kill him, assuming he doesn’t get you first, what then?" I really couldn’t believe I was actually talking about this in a rational manner, but there I was, speaking as if we were discussing the weather over afternoon tea.

She shrugged. "Come back over the border. Go up further north, winter in one of Bull’s cabins, I suppose."

I nodded. "Alright then. I’ll be sure to pack some warm clothes."

"Angel ... ."

"Don’t ‘Angel’ me, Ice. If you’re so bound and determined to go through with this, then you’d better get used to the fact that I’m gonna be there right along with you."

Her eyes narrowed.

I smiled.

"You think you can stop me, Ice? How? Tie me up? I’ll get loose." I looked deliberately down at her still-clenched fists. "Beat me up? Break my legs? I’ll heal. And then I’ll search for you. And I’ll keep searching until I find you." I could hear my voice rising, but I didn’t care. "If you insist on martyring yourself for me, Morgan, then by damn, I’ll be your cross. I’ll be an albatross around your neck. And one day, maybe, you’ll finally get it through your thick head that where you go, I go. Period."

Then I gave her my own dangerous grin, one I’d learned well at the feet of the Master. "Because unlike you, Ice, I don’t give up that easy."

The look she returned me would have turned the bowels of even the most hearty of men to water. I forced myself to remain, outwardly at least, unaffected. "What are you talking about."

I flung my hands out. "Isn’t it obvious? It is to me. You let an idiot like Cavallo scare you away from a dream I know you have." Barking a laugh, I shook my head. "You forget who you’re dealing with here, Ice. I know you. Better than you think I do. I see that look on your face when you think no one’s looking. Like some kid on Christmas morning waiting for someone to tell her that Santa Claus really doesn’t exist and that all the presents she thought were hers actually belong to the kids down the street."

I took a step closer to her, pleased when she didn’t try to back away. "You’ve been waiting for this excuse all along, haven’t you. You’ve been waiting for the perfect reason to bolt. Because the longer you stay here, the longer you live among people who respect the person you are instead of the dangerous murderer you think you are, the more you’re forced to believe that there’s actually a person inside you worthy of such respect. And adoration. And love."

Reaching out, I laid a hand on her arm. She flinched, but didn’t pull away, so I applied pressure to her wrist, holding it in a firm clasp. "We both knew what we were getting into when we started this journey, Ice. But my fears, my concerns are, I think, easier for me to deal with that yours are for you. Because mine are easily seen. I know that all this stands a very good chance at coming to an end, and perhaps a violent one, someday. I know that, and continue the journey anyway, because to me, to me, Ice, being with you is much more important than being without you."

I took that final step, brushing my body against hers. I thought I could feel her tremble faintly, but it was probably my imagination. "And I know you share those fears. But they’re easy ones for you, because you’ve had the same things to deal with most of your life. Life and death decisions are easy for you to make. But feeling ...that’s hard. Believing is hard. And allowing yourself to love and be loved is probably the hardest thing of all."

"Everything I love dies," she whispered, her voice raspy with tears she wouldn’t, couldn’t, shed.

I wrapped her in an embrace so tight I don’t think a mote of dust could pass between us, and wished with all my strength that I was taller so I could rest her head against my chest as she had done for me so many times as to be uncountable. "I know," I whispered, my own tears rolling down my cheeks, tears I shed for the both of us. "I know."

Those deaths passed between us then, in some sort of metaphysical osmosis that filled the room like a pall. Her mother. Her father. Her best friend. Josephine. Other friends. Perhaps other lovers, ones we hadn’t spoken of. Her innocence. Her belief in the power of love.

After a moment, she pulled away from me, angrily swiping at a tear which had managed to escape the imprisonment of her eyes. She turned toward the window again, and I could feel the distance between us begin to grow. Oddly, though, it didn’t seem to be a distance of hurt, but rather of healing. A distance that told me she had heard my words and needed a minute alone to process them and their implications for her life.

Smiling slightly, I stepped back away from her. "I’ll support you in whatever decision you make, Morgan. Just, please, don’t let him win, ok?"

Her nod was the last thing I saw before I turned and left the room.

PART 4

THE NEXT MORNING dawned clear and hot. I was up before the sun, though that had a great deal to do with the fact that I hadn’t really slept at all during the night. Much as it shames me to admit, I spent morning’s moon-shadowed hours with both ears peeled for the slightest sound of Ice’s footfall in the hallway outside my door.

Not that that would have helped any, of course, should Ice have been so inclined as to desire an escape in the middle of the night. The woman was more silent than fog, and twice as stealthy.

Still, keeping my eyes open had a sort of talismanic feel to it, and so, as a promise against an uncertain future, I sacrificed a few hours of sleep to stand guard against the possibility of my darkest nightmare coming true.

My morning routine completed, I stepped out into the still-dark hallway and tried desperately not to look as if I was checking up on my lover, which, of course, I was. The corridor was empty and quiet. Giving in to my need to know, I walked softly to Ice’s room and grasped the doorknob.

Just a quick peek, I promised myself. Just to be sure.

Before I could think to do more, the knob turned from the inside, pulling me inward when the door opened, and landing me in Ice’s surprised arms.

"Hello," I said, blushing. "Fancy meeting you here."

A raised eyebrow was the reply.

"I was ...checking to see if you were awake yet?"

The eyebrow raised higher.

I sighed, knowing only the truth would be enough to satisfy her. "I wanted to make sure you hadn’t decided to leave."

"Don’t trust me, huh."

"I do trust you, Ice. You didn’t ...exactly tell me what your decision was going to be."

"Probably because I haven’t made one yet."

"Well, you’re still here. That’s something, at least."

A corner of her mouth lifted briefly. "It’s somethin’, alright."

Coming to the tips of my toes, I placed a small kiss on that upturned corner, then stood normally again, pleased at the small victory which had kept her home, at least for the moment. "Could I interest you in some breakfast?"

"Nah. I’m just gonna head over to the garage and get started."

"Mind some company?"

She looked down at me, an amused smirk in her eyes.

I scowled. "Alright, so I’ve never owned a car. I think I have the mechanics of pumping gas down straight, though." I gave her my best mischievous grin. "You just put the nozzle in that little pipe that comes out of the back of the car underneath, right?"

Rolling her eyes, she let me go and gave me a push back into the hallway, following me out and closing the door behind her. "Let’s go."

*  *  *

It was still rather dark as we made our meandering way through the heavily shadowed forest on our way into town. In deference to the almost cathedral-like atmosphere of the newly awakening day, we kept our silence, leaving only the sound of our footfalls upon the heavily carpeted ground as signs to mark our passing.

When the trees gave up their hold on the land and we stepped into the town’s border, I noticed a small crowd gathering in the distance, near Pop’s garage. Something about the scene struck me as odd, and after staring at it for a moment, I noticed that the gentle breeze was rustling the blinds which covered the large plate-glass windows of the gas station, from the inside.

"Ice?" I asked, puzzled, to a partner who had moved off during my musings and was rapidly gaining momentum, walking with a determined stride toward the slowly gathering crowd. "Shit," I muttered, moving after her at a sprint.

Slipping my way through the group, one of which was a shining purple object wearing Millicent’s face, I came to a stop next to Ice, who was kneeling on the ground, glass shards scattered around her like trumpery diamonds. Laying next to my partner, crumpled in a tattered and bloody heap, was Pop, his left cheek zippered open and spilling a river of blood. His nose was squashed almost flat against his face, and his eye, which had only been faintly puffy the day before, had almost exploded with swelling. One arm bent at an odd angle above the elbow, obviously broken in at least one place.

I watched as Ice’s long fingers gently probed an area in his neck, obviously searching for a pulse. "Is he ... ?"

She looked up at me, eyes simmering with anger. "He’s alive. Just badly beaten." Shifting her gaze from me, her eyes lanced through the gathered crowd. "Who did this."

The men and women looked at one another, their feet shuffling uncomfortably against the dusty ground.

She came slowly, gracefully to her feet, a giant among dwarfs, filling the area with her intense presence. "I won’t ask again."

From the back of the crowd, a young man stepped forward, his hands stuffed deep into his pockets. "Three or four guys, I think. I only heard ‘em when the glass started breaking. By the time I got here, they were driving off on their bikes. He was like that when I got here." The young man shrugged, face flushed pink with what I guessed was embarrassment.

"Anyone else see anything?" Ice asked, her face set in lines of anger.

No one came forward.

Pop moaned, and Ice squatted quickly back down again, offering what comfort she could, which was, in truth, not very much.

A thought came into my head. "Did anyone call an ambulance?"

Again, an embarrassed silence.

I turned to Millicent, the only face I knew. "Would you ... ."

She held her dog in front of her as, perhaps, a shield, though against what, I didn’t know. "Oh, I couldn’t possibly ... ."

Ice looked up from her position at Pop’s side. "Call an ambulance. Now."

"I’ll do it," I said, stepping forward to head this particular argument off at the pass.

"No. I need you to stay here." She looked back up at Millicent. "Do it."

"I’ll do it," the young man who’d made his sheepish report interjected, moving off toward Pop’s destroyed office before anyone had a chance to stop him; no doubt interested in redeeming himself in the eyes of his neighbors.

Giving a short nod, Ice again rose to her feet, giving one last menacing glare to Millicent before turning away and stepping out of the circle of bystanders. "Stay with him," she said to me.

"Where are you going?"

"To take care of some business."

"Then I’m going with you."

She rounded on me, then, eyes hard as diamonds which glittered with both anger and anticipation. I stood my ground, arms crossed tight over my chest, not giving an inch. "There are more than enough people to look after Pop until the ambulance comes," I reminded her. "And I want to get to the bottom of this as much as you do."

That got a slight smile out of her. "Even if it means cracking a few skulls?"

"That wouldn’t be my first choice, no." I cleared my throat. "But if a few hormonally challenged idiots want to prove how macho they are by beating up an old man, then they deserve whatever’s coming to them." And boy were they in for a rude awakening when they found exactly who, and what, was coming to them.

"Let’s go then. I’ve got some asses to kick."

As she began to walk away again, I stopped her with a hand to her arm. "Ice?"

She turned. "What now?"

"Um ...where are we going, exactly?"

Her eyes twinkled with a mad sort of mischief. "You’ll see."

"That’s what I thought."

Goody.

*  *  *

We arrived at our destination with alacrity, if not in style, riding as we were in another one of Pop’s old junkers, which had seen better days several decades ago, and new a decade or so before that. Another classic, Ice had said. A classic what, she didn’t exactly reveal, but a classic nonetheless.

Who was I to doubt her?

I stepped out of the car after pulling on the rusted door handle for several frustrating seconds, wiping dust and other accumulated, and thankfully unknown, debris from my shirt and pants as I did so. We had pulled in front of a run-down old shanty which, by the sign above the door, also doubled as a tavern.

"The Rusted Nut. Charming." A misnomer if ever there was one, of course, since the establishment, from the outside at least, was anything but charming. I had my doubts that the view from the inside would be any more so.

On the weed and glass strewn lot in front of the building stood four motorcycles of the type my father used to call ‘hogs’. I laid my hand on the gas-tank of the one closest to me. "Still warm." I looked over at Ice, who was assessing the building with expert eyes. "How did you know?"

I received no reply as my partner stepped silently onto the rotten, sagging porch which ran the length of the bar. Prudently, I stayed where I was as she crossed to the door and eased her hand around the thick knob that jutted out from the weathered wood. After a moment, she stepped away, giving the building another assessing glance.

Then, without word or warning, she drew back her leg and launched a truly spectacular kick, literally blowing the door inward in a squealing shower of wood splinters and rust. She followed the door into the building, and I came in right behind her, attaching myself to her left shoulder.

Four young men and one older bartender looked up, comical astonishment frozen on their faces, and upraised beers frozen in their fists.

"Hello, boys," Ice rumbled, her voice low and sensual. "Worked up a pretty big thirst, have you?"

"We’re closed, lady," the bartender said, a bar rag in one ham-sized fist. "Get the hell outta here before I call the cops."

Perching one hip on the corner of a more or less solid table, Ice fiddled with the thick silver bracelet on her left arm, a gift from me several months back, and one she hadn’t taken off since the giving. "Oh, don’t let me stop you," she replied, eyes seemingly absorbed in her task and not bothering to look up at the no-doubt dangerous men sharing space with her. "I’m sure the police would be very interested in hearing why your young friends here seemed to have worked up such a sweat so early in the day, hmm?" The smirk on her lips was quite knowing, and I’m sure I saw at least one of the men pale at the implication.

The other three, however, clearly weren’t as observant. The largest of the trio, a stout tree with bendable appendages, stood, slamming his mug of beer down on the table and managing to douse his pants with the sudsy liquid. "What the fuck are you talkin’ about, bitch?"

Since I couldn’t resist, I didn’t. "She’s talking about the trip you made into town this morning." I met the man’s angry stare dead on, hands on my hips. "I’m sure it took a lot out of you, beating the crap out of a defenseless old man like that."

"You die, bitch!" The behemoth tossed aside the table in front of him as if it were made of balsa.

Ice stepped in front of me, and I whirled around, grabbing the first weapon that came to hand, which happened to be an old and splintered pool cue keeping lonely watch on a rack just inside the now useless door.

I didn’t have time to be scared, didn’t have time to wonder what would happen if the bartender followed through on his threat to call the authorities. Adrenaline rushed through me like a speeding train, spurred on by the memory of Pop’s crumpled and bleeding body lying amidst the shattered ruins of his shop.

The man lumbered forward, his fists clenched and his face beet red, even beneath his short, red-blonde crew cut. His advance was stopped cold, however, by a solid right to his jaw which sent him stumbling back toward his compatriots, arms pinwheeling for balance and failing in their task.

The other men seemed too stunned to move, and when he crashed through their ranks, they let him fall backward, turning another table into kindling. Jumping back to his feet, he pushed his useless buddies out of the way, swiping at the blood trickling from his mouth with the back of his hand and examining it closely. His muddy hazel eyes rose slowly to meet Ice’s. "Ya know," he said in a conversational tone, "you and your little friend there are mighty fine pieces of ass. I wouldn’t have minded fucking you both senseless after I taught you your lessons. But now ... ." His voice trailed off as he reached for an empty beer bottle standing on one of the few remaining tables. Hefting the bottle by the neck, he smashed it against the edge of the table, leaving a deadly, if crude, weapon in his hand. "Now, I think I’ll just see how many other holes I can poke in you before you die. Then I’ll fuck ya." He grinned, lips bloody and twisted. "How’s that sound to you, bitch?"

"Like you don’t go out on very many dates, maggot." She smirked. "At least, not outside the morgue."

Bellowing in rage, the man rushed my partner, swing the broken bottle wildly as he did so. At the very last second, Ice side-stepped his charge, allowing his momentum to carry him into the lone pool table and double over on top of it, though not before he had managed to use his weapon to slice her above her left elbow.

Her smile was glacier cold as she rubbed the blood between two long fingers. "That wasn’t very nice," she purred to the man who managed to straighten up and turn once again to face her.

His eyes sparkled with glee as he noticed the damage he’d done. "There’s more where that came from, bitch."

"Let’s see whatcha got then, handsome." She beckoned him with her hands, waggling her fingers enticingly.

Before he could get more than two steps away from the pool table, the man suddenly found himself quite weaponless as a booted foot snapped his wrist and sent the jagged bottleneck flying across the room to shatter completely against the front of the bar. He dropped like a head-shot deer, grabbing his wrist and howling in agony.

That, apparently, was the impetus needed to finally kick the brains, minute though they were, of his companions into gear. As a unit, they turned toward the both of us, expressions of anger stamped heavy on their faces. One reached into the pocket of his tattered jeans and pulled out a butterfly knife, which he opened with a series of fancy moves that would have been truly impressive, had he not almost cut his own leg off while performing them.

They started forward, all attention completely on the dangerous menace that was Ice and ignoring me completely.

Which was just the way I liked it, though not for the reasons you’re probably thinking.

My own safety wasn’t something that interested me right then. Helping my lover was.

Like a lion culling the weakest antelope from the herd, I stepped in, cue in hand, and turned one of the onrushing thug’s attention to me. He grinned a little, shrugged, and obliged me by balling up one huge, freckled fist and launching it in the direction of my face.

Dodging my head to one side, I allowed his fist to rustle the air past my ear, then used my ersatz staff to deliver a hard, stinging blow to his forearm. As he yelped in pain, I swung the thicker end of the cue up and across, cracking it against the side of his head and using just enough strength behind the blow to stun him. I’d learned my lesson well with Peter, and had no intention of traveling back down that particular pathway to Hell ever again.

His eyes went glassy and he staggered as his hand slapped against the rapidly forming welt I’d raised on his scalp. Weapon still to hand, I ushered him backward until the edge of the pool table smacked against his behind, then pressed hard until he was half standing, half laying across the table on his back. Then I placed the butt of the cue between his nipples and pushed.

Hard.

"Stay down."

He didn’t respond, but by the look on his face, I knew he was considering doing something stupid. A quick jab to the sternum, however, seemed to change his mind, and he relaxed back against the table, settling for what I imagine he thought was an intimidating scowl.

Which, of course, it wasn’t. Not by a long shot. To me, anyway.

Now, I realize that turning my back to the action was not the brightest of things to do. But if experience taught me anything, it was that Ice was more than capable of protecting my back, and her own as well, without any help from me.

When the butterfly knife wielded so inexpertly by one of the men came skittering to a stop next to my right foot, I grinned, knowing my trust in my partner was indeed well-placed. So, instead of turning back around to view the action, I continued to keep watch on my ‘prisoner’ and played a game with myself, imagining the actions that went with the sounds I was hearing.

Two grunting exhales meant twin blows to overfed bellies. The distinctive sound of fist against flesh, followed by the sound of yet another table being splintered to firewood could only be an uppercut to the jaw, launching the unfortunate up and away. A high pitched squeal just had to be a knee to the privates.

Even I winced at that one, then bestowed a sweet grin upon my suddenly sweating captive. "Bet that hurt, huh?" I couldn’t resist rubbing in.

The sound of bone hitting bone, followed by twin thuds, meant that Ice had finished Act Four of her martial ballet by slamming her two friends’ skulls together, as promised, and allowing them to drop, undoubtedly unconscious, to the floor.

The space beside me was suddenly filled with her warm, energy-filled presence, and I took a step away as a tanned hand reached down and grabbed the idiot I had dealt with by his ragged collar, introducing him to the far wall in a way that was all her own.

She held him there easily against the splintered wood, his toes barely in contact with the floor beneath his feet. She smiled, a slow, dark one that was full of vengeful promise. "Since you’re the only one awake at the moment," she began, thrusting him harder against the wall for emphasis, "I’m gonna explain a few things to you, alright?"

Staring wide eyed at my lover, the man could do little but nod. Emphatically.

Ice’s smile broadened. "Good. Looks like you’re the brains of the outfit." Her expression then became deadly serious. "First thing. If you ever so much as think about touching one of my friends again ... ." Her voice trailed off as she leaned in close. "I’ll kill ya. Understand?"

The man nodded again, fat beads of sweat dripping down from his wrinkled forehead.

"Second thing. If I ever see you or any of your buddies in my town again, I’ll kill ya. Am I making myself real clear, maggot?"

"Y-yes," the man squeaked.

"Alright then. As long as we understand one another." She set him on his feet again, then brushed his wrinkled shirt smooth with the palms of her hands. She made as if to turn away as a huge sigh of relief gusted from the man’s lungs, then turned back again, the smile once more on her face. "Oh yeah. Here’s the third thing." Pulling her arm back, she cocked her fist and drove it into the man’s nose, flattening it in a nauseating crunch of shattered cartilage. "Pop says hello."

Eyes rolled back in his head so only the whites showed through, the man slumped peacefully to the ground, out for the count.

Shaking her head in disgust, Ice stepped over the fallen body and walked toward the shattered door. Then she looked up at the bartender, who was still standing behind his bar, frozen to the floor as if he’d been lacquered there, bar rag dangling from one useless hand. "If you’re thinking of calling the cops over this little disagreement, I suggest you think again. I have twenty witnesses back in town who saw what your friends did to Pop and his shop." She quirked a grin at him. "And I’m sure I can dig up twenty more who will swear on bibles that my partner and I were rescuing babies from wells around about the time we were supposed to be making a mess of your fine ... establishment." A shrug of broad shoulders. "So be smart and put paid to this, alright?"

The bartender didn’t respond; just continued to stand there, frozen, staring at us both through glazed eyes.

Snorting and shaking her head, Ice stepped over, around and through the debris she’d made and out into the sunshine once again.

*  *  *

The ride back into town was quiet, as I’d known it would be. Not the most loquacious of women even in the best of circumstances, I’d learned the hard way that Ice really shut down after a fight. It was her way, I suppose, of taming the beast she’d unleashed lest it turn on her and seek its bloody sport among those undeserving of its vengeful wrath.

My only remark, a question about the cut in her arm, was answered in a monosyllabic grunt that I had no trouble translating.

Besides, it had already stopped bleeding.

Our arrival in the town went unheralded, as the crowd from earlier had dispersed, most going back to their day jobs, no doubt. The only one who remained was the young man who’d witnessed the attack. He had appropriated a janitor’s broom from somewhere and was sweeping the glass from the ground in long, if somewhat morose, strokes.

Tom Drew, one of the plumbers, was putting the finishing touches on the plywood he’d put up in lieu of a window, and turned around to greet us with a smile as we stepped out of the car. Wiping his hands off on his ever-present red handkerchief, he walked toward us, his eyebrow furrowed as he took in the cut on my partner’s arm, as well as our state of general dishevelment.

"Out grizzly huntin’?"

Ice smiled slightly. "Nah. Just took out some trash."

After a moment, he nodded sagely, stuffing the handkerchief back into one pocket of his overalls. "Would have tended to it myself if I hadn’t been standing hip deep in old Mrs. Symmond’s waste water at the time." He shook his head in disgust. "Damn pipes picked one hell of a time to burst."

My partner shrugged. "I took care of it."

"Did Pop get off ok?" I piped up from my place beside Ice.

Tom nodded. "Yeah. I got here just as the ambulance pulled up. He was awake and grousing, like he always does. I’m sure he’ll be fine after a sleeping pill or two."

"That’s good to hear," I replied, relieved. I looked at him more closely then, sensing that he knew more than he was telling us. "Is there something else?"

He looked at both of us, then over where the young man, whose name, I later learned, was Richard, continued his sweeping duties, before returning his gaze to us again. "Want to go inside the station for a cold drink? I know I could use one."

I looked to Ice, who nodded her acquiescence, and together we followed Tom into the shadowed confines of Pop’s office. Reaching into the cold case, he pulled out three cans of Coke, handing us our drinks before leaning back against the counter and pressing the cold can against his sweaty forehead and sighing with relief.

Ice left her soda unopened until Tom pop the top of his can and guzzled the cold liquid down in one healthy gulp, then let out a healthy belch. "Ahh. Hits the spot." He tossed the empty can into the wastebasket, then looked over at Ice, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Those idiots you took care of today are a little bit more than your average, run-of-the-mill thug. Or, at least, they like to think they are."

"What are they, then?" I asked, my curiosity peaked.

"They like to think of themselves as some great extortionist clique." He laughed lightly. "Problem is, they’re not very good at it. They came down here a few times and tried to get ‘protection’ money from some of the businesses around here." He laughed again, shaking his head. "In a backwater town like this. Protection money. Protection from what?"

"Them," Ice replied with the wisdom of one who knew exactly what she was talking about. "You give them money, they don’t beat the crap outta you. I take it Pop didn’t accept their kind offer?"

Tom snorted. "None of us did. I ran ‘em out myself a few months back. Haven’t seen hide nor hair of ‘em since. Till now."

"So what happened?" I asked.

"Pop’s pretty stubborn. The Rusted Root’s their hangout, and I warned him not to go back there." He blushed to the roots of his hair. "I guess I should have been harder on him. I knew he wouldn’t listen." He sighed, looking down at his hands. "It almost got him killed."

"You can’t blame yourself, Tom." Reaching out, I laid a hand on his arm. "Pop’s a grown man. He knew what the consequences could be. He chose to take the risk anyway. That’s not your fault." Turning to Ice, I smiled ruefully. "I’ve been known to do the same thing myself, on occasion."

She tipped her head in acknowledgement before turning back to Tom. "My guess is they’ll be a little too busy licking their wounds to make a return visit just yet. When they do come back, we’ll just have to make sure we’re ready for them."

"Sounds like a plan." He rubbed his large, callused hands together, grinning. "I’d like a chance at ‘em myself."

"Let’s not tempt the Fates, alright?"

He blushed again, giving Ice a ‘caught in the cookie jar’ grin. "Yes’m."

Nodding, Ice finished off her own drink, then crushed the can and tossed it into the waste-bin. "Alright, then. Seems I’ve got a station to run for longer than I intended. Best get to it."

"My brother and I will help as much as we can." He gestured out the open door. "Would you let Richard stay and help? He feels pretty bad about not being there to stop what happened."

"He wouldn’t have been able to do anything," I protested.

"Yeah, I know that, but he doesn’t. He’s just a kid, still, you know? Kid in a man’s body. He wants to make up for things somehow. This would probably be the best thing for him."

After a moment, Ice tilted her head in acquiescence. "Fine. Let’s go, then."

And so we did.

*  *  *

It was done. Finally.

After what seemed like eons of working, planning, sweating and dreaming, our home was finally completed and waiting for us to move in.

The last of the details had fallen into place the night before, and I had spent the evening in happy anticipation, only to have my hopes dashed the next morning when Ice met me in the hallway, brushed a gentle kiss upon my waiting lips, and told me she’d be back later in the evening after finishing up her work at Pop’s garage, before continuing on her way.

"But ...I thought ... ."

She turned, long hair fanning over one shoulder like a matador’s cape. "What?" Her expression showed polite interest, but nothing more.

I sighed, then looked down at my feet. "Nothing," I mumbled.

The sound of her approach was strangely muted in the long, dim hallway, and I only looked up when a gentle hand beneath my chin urged my head to tilt in that direction. "What is it, Angel?"

I sighed, realizing how juvenile my request would likely sound, even to my own ears. I’m sure I was blushing, but with the intense heat Ice always radiated bathing and burning through me, it was difficult to be positive on it. "I ...um ...thought," I cleared my throat to ease the sudden ‘Stevie Nicks’ quality in my voice, "since the house is ready and all, we could start moving our things in?"

I didn’t mean for it to come out as a question, but there it was, my timidity laid bare for the world to see, as it were.

My lover smiled; that soft, loving one she gifted me with on occasion; the one that turned my insides into warm mush. "Why don’t you go on ahead? I’ll move my stuff in when I get back."

I shook my head. "I kinda wanted us to do this together, as incredibly sappy as that sounds."

Her smile deepened, reaching all the way up to her eyes. "It doesn’t sound sappy."

I threw one of her own hiked eyebrows right back at her, something I’d become rather proficient at, if I do say so myself.

She chuckled, a low, deep rumbling in her chest. "Alright, it’s pretty sappy." She gathered me close and hugged me gently in her strong arms, before pulling away again and pinning me with her gaze. "Tell ya what. I promised Pop I’d help him out with a few things he’s working on. If I promise to make an early day of it, will you wait for me? We’ll move our stuff in as soon as I come back."

As compromises went, it was a fair one, but that didn’t stop me from seriously considering petulance as my next course of action. Only the realization that it would have exactly the opposite reaction from Ice as the one I’d hoped to achieve stayed my hand. "Alright," I said, pretending a long-suffering attitude that had more than a grain of truth in it. "I suppose I can do that. Just know that it’ll be killing me."

She shook her head, then kissed me once again, then left me dazzled in the hallway thanking god that the walls holding me up in lieu of my suddenly turned-to-jelly legs were solid.

So there I sat, in my bedroom, on my bed, staring out the window at the very top of the roof of our home. I felt like a child on Christmas morning, up before the dawn and staring at a pile of presents she can’t touch until her parents wake up. Each minute took its own sweet time strolling by, smirking at me as it passed. Even the sun seemed to partake in the conspiracy, deciding for the first time in its long life to take a much needed siesta before continuing on its westward journey.

As a way to pass the time, I thought back over the last few weeks, when everything seemed to fall into place and we were finally able to turn four walls and a roof into a home fit for living.

The house was almost fully furnished, and while not, perhaps, with objects we would have chosen had we been independently wealthy, the items in question were well made, sturdy, and, to me at least, aesthetically pleasing.

Since money was an object, I had to fall back on a skill I’d learned when becoming the ‘get it’ girl in the Bog. Barter. And it was pretty pleasing to see that I hadn’t lost my touch in the intervening months.

The couch, chairs, tables and rugs were actually the easiest to obtain in this manner, especially since I wasn’t really bartering for them at all. Pop, a man who it was said could squeeze a penny until it begged for mercy, had come by the furniture quite honestly, relieving as he did the burden of the unfortunate soul who’d been bullied into removing it from Millicent’s sight during her gargantuan—not to mention tasteless—redecoration phase. The items were stored in the large shed attached to his home, keeping company with various and sundry other objects, prosaic and non, which had struck his fancy over the years.

I didn’t know that, however, when I approached him on the day he returned home from the hospital after a two night stay with his arm in a cast and his face topographic map from the beating he’d received. I had only come to offer my help in performing the basic domestic duties which his injuries would make difficult for him to do on his own.

Being the person he was, Pop wouldn’t take no for an answer until he had me swear a practical blood oath that I’d take the furniture in question off his hands at a very reasonable price.

In other words, for free.

Like its predecessor, this cabin had a huge expanse of windows which needed covering of some form or other. Mrs. Symmonds, she of the broken plumbing, was an outstanding seamstress, even though legally blind. As payment for wonderfully rendered curtains, as well as a truly spectacular quilt which lies atop our bed to this day, I agreed to read to her during her daily labors. Unfortunately for me, her reading tastes equaled my mother’s. Which is to say, she enjoyed torrid romance novels of the type which can be found in the cashier’s rack of any discount department chain around the world.

Several times during the reading of such novels, if they can truly be called such, I was sure I was just a degree or two away from setting off the heat detector with my blushing as I articulated such phrases as ‘towering manhood’ and ‘gates of Venus’ and ‘pleasure pearl’.

Still, a little emotional discomfort was a small price to pay for such beautiful work, and so I set about my appointed task with determination, though not much relish, to be sure.

Pots, pans and assorted other kitchen objects came at the cost of two week’s labor as a waitress in the café while one of the others took a well-deserved vacation.

And so it went, slowly, until the cabin came to be filled with objects we were both pleased to own.

The sudden closing of the downstairs door roused me from my musings and fluttered my heart in happy anticipation. The soft sound of conversation muted by my own closed door, and then I was able to track Ice’s progress through the house by the distinctive, if rather soft, sound of her tread.

A moment later, and another door closed, followed close behind by the sound of the shower being turned on full blast. Scarcely three minutes later—so timed by the clock on my bedside table—the shower was silent once again and I pictured my lover wiping down that glorious body of hers.

A body which, by night’s end, I would know in intimate detail once again.

That thought sent an ocean of blood speeding for parts south and I rode the wave, feeling a happy grin stretch the muscles of my face. I was ready.

Oh boy was I ready.

A few moments later, and I was treated to the sight of a freshly bathed Ice, her still damp hair glistening in the afternoon’s slowly waning light and her cheeks still flushed from the heat of the water she’d bathed in.

Did I mention I was ready?

She smirked at me. "You all packed?"

I smirked right back. "Only since this morning. After all, what else did I have to do with my time while you were lollygagging around doing God knows what with yours?"

Rolling her eyes, she shook her head and held out her hand, helping me to my feet. "Let’s get this show on the road, then, shall we?"

"You won’t hear any complaints from me!"

After a quick stop in Ice’s room to pick up her box of meticulously packed belongings, and a slightly longer pause to thank Ruby for her kindness yet again, we finally made it outside before the early Autumn sun had sunk completely behind the lake.

I felt a sense of déjà vu rush through me as I heard, faintly, the sounds of voices at the bottom of the small hill where our cabin stood. Unlike last time, however, Ice seemed at her ease, content to walk along side me without displaying even one iota of curiosity over the sounds I well knew she could hear even better than I.

Which, of course, made me even more nervous.

Several more steps and we were at the breast of the hill and looking down at what seemed fully half the town gathered around our newly built home. A garish purple ribbon was tied up in a neat bow and strung across the doorway of the cabin, apparently waiting to be cut by the both of us, as if we were some famous figures and our simple cabin was a brand new office building or hotel or something equally as grandiose.

Several portable grills had been hauled onto our property and the smells of slowly cooking meat and vegetables caused my mouth to water and my stomach to announce its sudden need to be part of the action.

A large bonfire blazed merrily in a carefully cleared space to the west of the house, and the silver beer-kegs stored somewhat nearby winked in its flickering light.

Pop, his long cast reduced now to one that ended below the elbow, gave us both a cheery, and I’m sure half drunk, grin, beckoning us wildly with his good arm.

The party had, apparently, been going on for some time, if the somewhat slurred greetings we received were any indication. Plastic cups of foaming beer were raised, and spilled, in salute to us as we stood at the top of the hill, taking in the scene below.

"You knew about this, didn’t you," I muttered to my oh-so-smug partner, chancing a soft elbow to her muscled side.

"Only when I came back to the house."

"And you didn’t think to mention it?"

The smirk deepened. "I was sworn to secrecy."

"I’ll just bet you were." Still, I couldn’t help but laugh. I’d always enjoyed parties as a young girl, and something told me I wouldn’t mind them so much as an adult either. "Shall we join them, seeing as we’re the guests of honor?"

A long arm pointed the way down the hill with an open hand. "After you."

*  *  *

The party lasted a good long time and though I’ve never had much of a taste for liquor of any sort, I must admit that after a few cups of Pop’s special beer, I had a hard time remembering just why it was that I didn’t like the stuff.

Of course, after a few more cups, I would have had trouble remembering my own name, so I chose, for me, the wisest course of action, which was to abstain after just two.

Or maybe it was three.

As I’ve said, Pop’s brew was a potent concoction.

The man in question finally came forth near the end of the evening, handing me a pair of scissors and Ice a set of door keys. Cheering loudly, the crowd urged us over to the beribboned door for the final act in the night’s play.

Taking the scissors to hand, I made some insipid speech which, mercifully, escapes my mind to this day (I told you about Pop’s beer, remember) and, with a silly grin, cut the ribbon, making clear the path to the door.

With her usual no-nonsense style, Ice simply walked up to the door, inserted the key into the lock, turned, and opened it wide.

The crowd cheered, then fell quiet as the scent of cedar and fresh paint wafted out to greet me, elevating my already giddy mood even more. After a moment, I became aware of the silence behind me, and slowly turned to see the crowd eyeing us somewhat expectantly. With a brain not quite operating on all cylinders, I stared out at the gathered group of my neighbors, wondering if someone would be kind enough to tell me what came next, since it was obviously something of no small import.

With no answers immediately forthcoming, I turned back to the door where my partner stood, the question plain, I’m sure, in my eyes.

The world spun then, and not from the alcohol, as I was lifted like a new bride into the strong arms of my intended and carried cross the threshold in the most wonderful of ways.

That seemed to be the action the crowd was waiting for, because they erupted into a spontaneous cheer that I was sure could be easily heard across the lake, and perhaps even further than that. The cheering muted somewhat as Ice closed the door with her heel, then set me down gently on the varnished boards of our floor, steadying me with one hand to my shoulder.

You couldn’t have wiped the grin off of my face with a jackhammer and some TNT.

I snuggled into the length of her lean body, resting my head against her shoulder as we watched the crowd cheerfully disperse through the small window by the side of the door.

"That was really sweet of them," I said finally as the last of the grills and half-empty kegs were loaded aboard several pick-up trucks which littered our driveway.

"It wasn’t bad."

A tanned hand came into my field of vision and gently closed the blinds, shutting us off, for the moment, from the outside world. That same hand then flipped the switch near the door and the small alcove we were standing in became bathed in a soft, white light.

Breaking away from Ice, I turned and took in the fresh, gleaming beauty that was our home. "I can’t believe it," I whispered, as much to myself as to my lover. "After all this time, it’s finally here. Finally."

I just wanted to stand there for long hours and take it all in, which was impossible from where I was standing, but even that small alcove was the most precious thing I’d ever seen, unless one counted as I did the quiet presence standing beside me.

"How about if I build a fire?" Ice asked. "It’s gonna get chilly tonight."

I nodded a bit absently, too wrapped up in this blanket of warmth I’d pulled over myself to notice much of anything at that moment. I knew when she left me though, the absence of her warm body allowing the faint chill in the house to seep in, raising goosebumps on my skin.

The chill gave me the impetus needed to stop playing statue and move away from the door, which, though labeled as the ‘front’ door, was really in the rear of the house. It, as I’ve already written, opened into a small alcove, which in turned opened into a huge glassed in porch of sorts which ran along the back and one side of the house in an "L" shape. To the left of the door, as I faced away from it, were the usual porch accoutrements, a swinging lounger and some wooden chairs Pop had pressed upon me as well as two small glass-topped tables and a small reading lamp. To the right, and along the same wall as the alcove, was another door which led to the stand-alone kitchen which, though bearing little more than a stove, refrigerator, some pots and pans and a few dishes and glasses, was a room I was looking forward to getting to know a little more.

Staying with Ruby, I’d discovered a joy in cooking which I’d never had before. I suppose it was the teacher I had. Ruby was much more patient than my own mother, who, after watching me for a few scant seconds, would invariably throw up her hands in maternal disgust and insist on doing things herself.

With the pressure off, I discovered that not only did I enjoy the art of cooking, I found that I was pretty good at it as well, if I do say so myself.

Standing in the kitchen and looking outward, the short arm of the "L" came into view, an area totally empty at the time, but would be used as a storage area of sorts more commonly called a ‘mud room’, where the washer and dryer would be hooked up, as soon as we had enough money to buy them.

Directly opposite the alcove which bore the ‘front’ door was yet another door, and it was this door which led into the house proper.

Taking in a deep, happy breath and filling my lungs with the smell of newness, I stepped through that door and into the main body of my new home. This part of the cabin was, basically, one gigantic open area, with the dining, living, and reading rooms separated only by the differing types of furniture in each.

Along the back wall, the one which fronted the glassed in area where I had just been, was a long line of exquisitely made cabinetry which was broken in the middle by a huge—and I do mean huge—fireplace. Large enough for Ice to stand in without stooping over and wide enough for her to hold both arms out to their fullest extension without touching either side, the fireplace had been the center of many a family gathering in my youth, and I very much hoped for it to be that way again.

Turning away from the wall that housed the fireplace, the first thing that came to my vision was the view of the moonlight playing on the lake; a view made possible by an entire wall made up of windows, windows which looked out not only upon the pristine blue of the lake, but also upon the screened porch which ran the entire length of the front of the house.

The dining room, with its large and solid oak table, was to my right. In front of me, opposite the fireplace, were the couches, tables and chairs that made up the living room. To the left of that was the cozy library with its recessed bookcases taking up space on two walls, its comfortable chairs and the small lamps which rested on corner tables.

Another recessed alcove stood next to the fireplace, and in that alcove was the bathroom and what had been, in the cabin’s first incarnation, the master bedroom. It was now assigned visitor’s duties because of the one change I’d made to the original specs of the cabin.

A set of stairs shared space with the library to the extreme left of the house, steps which led up to a loft which, like the porch below it, ran the entire length of the cabin. When I’d stayed there as a young girl, the loft had been broken up into four separate bedrooms, each with its own walls and door. Now, however, there were no walls and no doors, just one gigantic open space that made up the master bedroom.

The loft was bordered on one side by a huge window, and on the other by a wooden railing styled to look like a weathered split-rail fence which allowed one to look down into the rest of the cabin when standing before it. It didn’t, of course, allow much in the way of privacy, but the open, airy feel, plus the immense size of the newly converted room more than made up for that, in my opinion.

Sighing in pure, unadulterated bliss, I turned to see my lover watching me, an expression of amused fondness on her face. I walked over to her, enjoying the heat of the now roaring fire on my skin as I did so, and wrapped myself against her body like a limpet, soaking up every precious second of this time.

I took in her scent, the scent of the house, and the scent of burning logs and committed it all to memory; a memory I’d pull out again and again to savor when the days were long and the nights, longer.

"Thank you," I whispered against the fabric covering her chest. "It’s everything I dreamed of, and so much more. You made my dream come true."

"You made your own dream come true, my Angel," she rumbled, pressing her cheek against the top of my head. "I just helped out a little, that’s all."

In no mood for arguing, I simply wrapped myself more tightly around her, closing my eyes and feeling on top of the world.

And when Ice’s close presence, the warmth of the fire at my back, the excitement of the day, and two—or was it three?—glasses of Pop’s brew combined to make me yawn for the third time in as many minutes, Ice pulled gently away from me, grated the fire, and, grasping my hand gently, led me toward the steps that led to the bedroom.

Our bedroom.

That thought caused the sleepiness to vanish as if it never were and each step up the stairs caused me to be come more awake, more aware, and definitely more excited.

Coming to the top of the stairs, Ice released my hand and allowed me to precede her into the loft, which I gladly did, taking in everything around me with wondering, and appreciative, eyes.

Then I stopped when something struck me as odd about the bed we had both chosen, a huge king sized wonder that made a very large dent in whatever savings we’d heretofore managed to accumulate.

It wasn’t the bed per se, but rather the headboard that seemed ...different.

Walking to the foot of the bed and looking at the headboard straight on in the light of the fire flickering below, the difference struck me and the breath left my lungs at about the same time the blood left my brain, causing me to feel just the slightest bit faint.

"Oh my god," I whispered, awestruck.

Where a simple cherry headboard had stood before, a massive walnut one stood in its stead. In the center was a meticulously carved oval, and within that oval , carved in bas relief, was the most gorgeous rendering of a bonsai tree that I’d ever seen, and believe me when I tell you that I’ve become quite an expert on all things bonsai over the years, being Ice’s partner as I am.

Dumbstruck, I turned to look at Ice. "Where did you get this?"

The faintest of blushes highlighted her features, nearly hidden by the flickering firelight. "I made it," she said simply.

"You made ... . You made this?!?"

The blush deepened as she nodded slowly, her expression telling me she was unsure how I was taking her magnificent gift.

Tears trebled my vision as I held a hand out, silently asking her to join me by the bed. When she came, I wrapped her in a hug so tight that an atom would have been hard-pressed to get between us. "If I live to be a thousand, I don’t think I’ll ever see anything more beautiful," I whispered, my voice muffled by tears as well as by Ice’s chest where my lips rested.

After a moment, she pulled away and wiped my tears with gentle fingers. "Please don’t cry, Angel."

"I can’t help it. Every time I think I couldn’t possibly be any more loved, you go and do something like this." I smiled a watery smile. "You touch my soul, Morgan. That’s where the tears come from."

She smiled at me, rested her fingers tenderly against my cheek for a moment, then gathered me back into the wonderful nest of her arms, placing a gentle kiss on the crown of my head. "You are loved, my sweet Angel. More than you will ever know."

Her poetic words, all the more beautiful for being so rare, only caused my tears to fall that much harder. As I rested my head against her chest, I looked again at the magnificent carving that appeared to live and breathe and dance as the light from the fire played over it. "Does it have a name," I asked finally, well remembering my lover’s penchant for naming her trees.

"The Freedom of Desire," she whispered, her lips just brushing against the exquisitely sensitive shell of my ear.

My body erupted into flames to rival the hottest fire nature had to offer, and when her tongue grazed along the path her lips had made, followed by the soft nip of her sharp teeth, I was well and truly lost to the searing heat of our joined passion.

Strong arms lifted me up and placed me in our bed with a tenderness reserved for priceless objects while lips and tongue and teeth moved slowly down to continue their assault, this time on the flesh of my neck; flesh that was flushed rosy with the heat that Ice was generating within me.

A shift of the mattress and suddenly I was covered with a living blanket, enveloped in the intoxicating scents of primal musk and exotic spice, the fire within burning ever hotter when full, wet lips searched out and found my own, setting my body to writhing beneath the heavier weight of my lover.

The kiss deepened and I tasted the deep moan that rumbled from her chest. Tasted it, savored it, and returned it with one of my own as her fingers threaded themselves through the shortened locks of my hair. Her lips parted and I took her tongue into me, worshiping it with my own as our bodies danced in tandem atop the bed sheets.

After long moments of bliss, her lips left mine and I felt the scrape of her teeth along my jugular as her hands slipped from their hold on my hair, trailing down my body in an electrical current of passion. A strong thigh parted my trembling legs while her hands worked the fly of my jeans, tugging it down forcefully as she grunted her need into the hollow of my throat.

A teasing hand slipped past the barrier of my briefs, fingers bathing themselves in the slickness found there as a wicked grin curved the corners of her gorgeous mouth and a darting tongue teased out to wet lips ripe for kissing.

Withdrawing her hand, she rolled up to her knees, yanking my jeans and underwear off in one fluid move and tossing them on the floor beside the bed. The faint chill of the air against my heated skin provided a pleasure all its own.

A pleasure that was quickly surpassed when she then straddled my naked hips and slowly removed her T-shirt, baring her magnificent breasts to me. Unable to stop myself, I reached up and covered them with my hands, feeling them tighten and grow full beneath the tender flesh of my palms. Backlit by the fire, she was my dark goddess, all primal heat and intoxicating beauty.

Her eyes glittered silver beneath long lashes and her hips took up a slow rocking, and I could feel the molten heat of her even through the thick denim of her jeans as they rode against my own heat in a rhythm that had my hips pumping against her, begging for more contact.

"Harder," she growled, and I squeezed her breasts more firmly, then took her straining nipples between my fingers and squeezed hard enough to cause the whites of her eyes to show as her thrusts against me became stronger, causing my own arousal to double until it was all that I could do not to just surrender to the edge that danced at the edge of my vision.

She leaned down closer then, her fragrant hair falling in a curtain around my head, and rested the weight of her upper body onto clenched fists on either side of my shoulders. Her hips slipped down and in between my splayed legs as her thrusts continued, accompanied by guttural grunts with each forward motion or her body.

"Harder," she growled again and I could do nothing but obey as stiff fabric of her jeans slid against me again and again without pause or mercy. My legs lifted of their own accord, my ankles locking behind her bent knees, lending strength to her thrusts.

Her long, graceful neck arched backward, exposing her throat as a long, low moan erupted, filling the air with its primal sound.

"Oh god," I whispered as I watched her climax run through her, darkening and heating her skin with a rosy flush. "Dear, sweet god.."

White teeth gleamed and jaw muscles bulged as she rode out the last of her orgasm with a few more thrusts against me. Then she slumped down full on top of me, panting into the skin of my neck as her hot lips nuzzled against my flesh, gently suckling as she regained her breath.

Her lips became more insistent as she began to regain her strength, sucking at my pulse-point as if to take the beating of my heart down deep into her. Her hands unclenched and began to re-map the terrain of my body, skimming firmly over the hills and valleys they found there, exciting me still more with the fierce passion in her touch. Finally they came to rest at the collar of my T-shirt and, with a great rending tear, exposed the rest of my body to the heady heat of the night.

She was relentless, ravenous in her tasting of my breasts, lapping up the sweat bathing them as a cat to cream, leaving no square inch of tingling flesh untouched. Her hands continued their own relentless trek, her palms, callused from her long labors, teasing and taunting me as I writhed beneath her merciless attentions, never staying in one place long enough to give me even the briefest hint of relief.

But it was there, oh yes. I could see it, feel it, taste it, smell it with every teasing nip of her teeth, with every heated caress. It was there, painted on the insides of my eyelids, humming in my ears, promising freedom.

Promising salvation.

And then, when she had wound me up so tightly that it felt as if every atom of my body was being bathed and stroked and wonderfully loved, her hot, wet mouth cupped over me, moaning into my greedy flesh, and with the first touch of her wondrous tongue, the salvation I had so desperately sought was mine and I flew, higher and harder than I ever had before.

My body convulsed in joyous release as my fingers threaded through the midnight black of her hair, using it as an anchor to keep from flying completely away and becoming lost within the bliss I had become.

And when the summit was reached and I found myself tumbling heedless down the other side, she filled me full, curling her fingers and stroking me within and without, mixing slowness with quickness, gentleness with ferocity, feeding me, lifting me until the scream of my release echoed loud in my ears.

And then she gentled me as a trainer calms a skittish colt, her fingers curled tight and nestling gently against my womb, her lips bestowing tender kisses designed not to arouse but to calm, and I came back into myself in the sweetest of ways, to find her head resting on my thigh, her chin tilted up to look at me, a joyous, happy light shining from the blue of her eyes.

"God, I love you," was all I had breath to say as I stroked the sweaty hair from her brow, my body bathed in the love of her eyes.

The smile she gave me stopped my heart, its sheer brilliance telling me more than words ever could.

After a moment, she gently withdrew and slid up beside me, molding our bodies together and stroking my back soothingly. I reached up to kiss her, and the taste of myself on her lips sent renewed energy from somewhere racing through my body. But she pulled away, her thumb running along my lips, and she slowly shook her head. "Rest now, sweet Angel. We have all night."

Too sated to be much disappointed, I gave into my languid body’s stronger craving and felt myself fall asleep within the warm, tender strength of her arms, safe in the knowing that she would keep watch over whatever demons might think to invade my dreams.

And with her standing guard, they didn’t dare.

*  *  *

Late the next morning, I awoke to the pleasant weight of Ice’s head resting on my lower abdomen. Her sleep-tousled hair partially hid her face from me. Tendrils of it stirred gently with each long, slow exhale, tickling against me and raising goosebumps across my flesh.

Her breath was cool on the skin of my slowly awakening body and I resisted the urge to squirm, realizing yet again what a wonderful rejuvenator sleep really is. As if sensing my predicament, she stirred, just slightly, tightening her hold around my thigh and rubbing her cheek against the skin of my belly in an unconscious gesture full of trust and love.

I held my breath against the possibility of her awakening too soon, wanting nothing more at the moment than to cherish the rare chance to watch her in sleep, then relaxed as her own breathing once again deepened in slumber.

The Autumn sun streaming in through the window cast her in burnished bronze, a living sculpture made by the finest of craftsmen in the image of a goddess called to earth. I watched as the swaying trees outside the window moved interesting shadows over her naked skin, highlighting, then obscuring, the thick muscles of her back.

As I looked on, I tried to think back to a time I had been more at peace and couldn’t. Even the ever-present specter of justice failed to hold sway over me that morning.

I was loved. I was safe.

I was home.

Lifting my hand, I gently stroked her hair, allowing my mind to drift aimlessly over everything and nothing, content in the tranquility of an early fall morning.

She stirred again, likely under the effects of my languid petting, and nuzzled my belly once more before placing a kiss on the inside of my right thigh, and then my left. Then, her body bed warm and sleep soft, she rose up beside me, drawing me into her arms and capturing my lips in her own in a kiss which left my senses reeling.

"Morning," I said, my voice suspiciously husky, when she finally pulled away.

"Mmmm," she rumbled, smacking her lips, "that it is."

"Sleep well?"

"Very."

"Good." And with a grin full of devilment and a heart full of lust, I slid down her body and took a patiently waiting nipple into my mouth, humming with delight when it grew firm beneath the suckling strokes of my tongue.

Ice’s gentle murmurings and her guiding hand to the back of my head encouraged me to give full vent to my morning passions. Her body responded instantly to my increasingly bold touches and I felt her breathing go labored as my hand trekked southward, skimming the flat, muscled plane of her belly and feeling it contract beneath my fingers.

And when I delved deep into her wet heat and felt her clenching, welcoming grip on my fingers, the low, responsive moans in my ear let me know that heaven, far from being unattainable, was a simple bed in a simple cabin in a backwater town miles away from anywhere.

And that’s exactly where I wanted it to be.

*  *  *

Time is a funny thing. Sometimes it’s in the hands of a greedy miser doling out seconds like moth-eaten dollars. And sometimes it’s in the hands of a downhill skier, rushing by so quickly that you can only stop and wonder where the days have gone when you look in the mirror and spot your first gray hair. Not that I’ve found any yet, mind you, but I’m sure you get my point.

To say that our first few weeks of co-habitation in our new home were filled with carnal and spiritual bliss would be overstating things by a good margin. Well, perhaps not the ‘carnal’ part. That was most definitely bliss of the highest order, and, if I’m to be totally truthful, still is.

But there were bumps along the road which, I suppose, happen to any couple setting up housekeeping for the first time. The roadblocks were a great deal smaller than when I had spent time doing the very same thing with Peter years ago, but they were there nonetheless and, given the love I have for Ice, were far more jarring to me than similar problems with my deceased husband ever were.

One of the first things I discovered was that my love of open spaces might well have put a nail into a coffin not even built yet.

If there is any one thing that Ice guards more zealously than her privacy, I haven’t found it yet. Even in the Bog, the very antithesis of a secluded retreat (even in solitary, you’re watched more closely than a hawk choosing his dinner menu), she managed to make it quite clear to all and sundry that if she was in her cell and her door was closed, god help the woman, guard or inmate, who attempted to intrude without a written invitation.

But in a cabin with few rooms and even fewer doors, a private space for either of us was something sorely lacking, and something I wished at the time I had had the foresight to think of before the place was finished. Particularly when I moved my ‘classroom’ from Ruby’s study to our house and young people seemed always to be underfoot. Paying gig or not, it began to get a bit much, even for so gregarious a soul as myself.

However, since spilled milk only gets sour when you shed tears over it, the only real choice we had was to just go ahead and make the best of the situation.

One of the first changes I made was to turn the back porch into a classroom of sorts. It was comfortable, brightly lit, and glassed in to protect us from the elements. It also kept curious eyes out of the main part of the house, unless the bathroom needed to be utilized, and when that happened, they went accompanied by me.

That way, when Ice came home, all she needed to do was go into the main cabin and close the door behind her, giving her all the privacy she needed after a long day working with people. At least until ‘school’ was out and I came inside to join her.

She always seemed more than ready to see me by then.

As for myself, well, I’ve never really needed all that much private time. And when I do crave it, a long, luxurious, solitary bath complete with sweet smelling bubbles, candles and a good book fills the bill quite nicely.

As Autumn’s chilly hold on the weather deepened, I also began to notice signs of restlessness in my partner. Ice has always been, and I believe always will be at heart, a woman of action. The building of our home, combined with the hard work Pop gave her to do kept her mind and body busy during the long spring and summer months.

But now, with the cabin built and the work slowing down with the ending of the summer tourist season, there really didn’t look to be that much for her to do besides chopping logs for our ravenous fireplace, a task which she took to with a relish usually reserved for a blind person gaining sight.

And so, the restiveness began to assert its hold. It showed itself in small ways. Like when she began to leave the warm nest of our shared bed at ungodly hours of the morning to strap on running shoes and go charging through the forest at breakneck speeds, perhaps chasing her demons, perhaps running from them. There was also the meticulously stitched canvas bag filled with god knows what suddenly hanging from the eaves in the corner of the house. Sounds of her beating it into quivering submission became a nightly occurrence around the ol’ homestead. Though, to be honest, I’ve done my share of damage to that bag in the time we’ve been here. Self-defense skills, once learned, need to be kept up as silver needs to be polished to avoid tarnish.

Besides, it was fun to have a crack at something that didn’t hit back. Much, anyway.

But, since the winter’s snows weren’t far in the future, I knew that even these activities would soon be but a memory. And if she couldn’t keep her body busy, I needed to find some way of keeping her brilliant mind that way.

And then an idea came to me and I kicked myself for not having thought of it sooner.

As I got to know him better, I developed a sort of kindred-spirit relationship with Pop. Like I had been in the Bog, he was the man to see if you needed something you couldn’t otherwise get your hands on. He had his fingers in a great number of pies, and if he liked you, he wasn’t at all adverse to sharing the spoils. For a price of course. Though in my case, the price was so low as to be negligible.

And so I went to him on a certain Fall day with several requests, and, with a knowing glint in his eye, he accepted the challenge and agreed to do his best to get me what I needed. With Pop on the case, I knew my merchandise was as good as in my hands.

Sure enough, not more than a week went by when I received a call asking me to come and retrieve my packages. And for the price of one home-cooked meal, I took home some things that I hoped would help get Ice through the long winter ahead.

She came home that night, sweaty and disheveled from a day cutting wood, not only for our own fireplace but, by the amount of moisture gluing her shirt to her body, for half the town as well. She had also been helping some of the townspeople replace the roof on Mrs. Symmonds’ house before the snows set in.

After letting her shower, sharing dinner with her, and talking about nothing important, I handed her a slim square box wrapped up in pretty paper.

I was treated to a raised eyebrow before she looked at the box in her hands, turning it over in the light.

"Well?" I asked, impatient as always. "Aren’t you gonna open it?"

"I dunno. Will it bite me?" Her grin was one of pure devilment.

"No. But I might if you don’t open the damn thing."

"Oooo. Now there’s a frightening thought." Her eyes positively radiated amusement.

I gave her back my best scowl, and considered throwing in a pout for good measure. I was pretty sure I could even manufacture tears if it would get her to open the box faster.

With a truly pious look of beleaguered long-suffering, she set to opening the gift I’d given her, ripping the paper down to the box below, setting aside, then opening the box itself. Her gaze, when it finally met mine, held within it an interesting mixture of curiosity and fondness. "Brings back some memories," she said, smiling.

I returned her grin. "Yeah. Mostly stupid ones, for me. Still, if you hadn’t asked, I never would have met you, so my naivete aside, they’re pretty good ones."

Walking over to me, box in hand, she gave me a gentle kiss on the lips. "Thanks."

"You’re welcome. It ...um ...it’s part of a larger gift. If you’ll follow me?"

After a moment, she nodded and followed me to the door beneath the stairs which led to the front porch, whose screens were covered with glass windows in anticipation of winter, and therefore made a perfect home for my gifts.

Turning on the recessed lights we had installed, I stepped back and allowed her to precede me onto the porch. I stood in the shadows, waiting and hoping against hope that she’d be pleased with my gift.

The expression on her face when she turned to look at me left no doubt in my mind that she was.

"I ...um ...know you were never able to get the ones you left behind, so I figured that you could just replicate them here." I shrugged, the tiniest bit embarrassed. "Or do whatever with them."

I wanted to say more, to perhaps explain myself better, but found myself suddenly engulfed in an embrace I never wanted to leave.

Ya done good, Angel, I heard Corinne’s voice say in my mind. Ya done real good.

And with a shift of her strong body, I felt myself borne aloft and carried with the utmost grace and gentleness out of the porch and up to our bed.

To be thanked, properly, for the four bonsai trees spending their first night on a long table on the porch of our home.

*  *  *

If March is said to sometimes go out like a lion, October went out like a sunning rattler who’d just had his tail stepped on by an annoying tourist trying to get that ‘perfect’ shot of the wife and kids in front of the Grand Canyon.

Which is to say, a very nasty mood indeed.

The rains moved in, apparently liked what they saw, and decided to stay around a good long while, loitering like a guest who wouldn’t know a hint if it hit him between the eyes.

Everything in town came to a halt and our neighbors began to make nervous jokes about arks when the lake began to overrun its boundaries and started to encroach on the surrounding properties, most of which were year-round housing for the town’s residents. Ice and I kept pretty busy helping our friends and neighbors weatherproof their homes and prepare for winter’s long siege.

One afternoon saw the sky dark and dangerous. Just a degree or so below freezing, the storm unleashed its fury, sending sheets of sleet pounding against our windows as if trying desperately to get inside. Outside, the world looked like a fairyland, the trees hooded in cloaks of shimmering ice.

I sat on the couch in front of a roaring, toasty fire, wrapped comfortably in my warmest robe and listening as Ice idly hummed along to an aria playing on our sound system as she leafed through some magazine or other. The paper sat on my lap unread as I took in the beautiful sounds of her voice, allowing the music to flow over and through me, warming spots even the fire couldn’t touch.

Leaning my head against the back of the couch, I closed my eyes and smiled, pleasantly sleepy and very much content with my lot in life at that particular moment. While Mother Nature spewed out her worst, I was warm, and dry, and loved.

Ah yes, and well loved at that. We’d spent most of the morning and part of the afternoon in a loving tangle of insatiable passion, relishing the opportunity to do so whenever our desires took us without fear of prying eyes or ears.

I let those thoughts flow through my mind and body, smiling wider at the tightening in my groin from the sensations they produced. Then I opened my eyes and shook my head, chiding myself for my foolishness. Picking up the paper and shaking it out, I lazily flipped through the pages of newsprint, looking for something to spark my interest.

A subscription to the New York Times had been a housewarming gift from Ruby, whose newspaper I had always pilfered while staying under her roof, depriving her of her much beloved crosswords. While I didn’t miss living in the U.S. per se, it was still nice to keep up on what was going on over there occasionally and so the paper was a welcome gift.

Turning to the world news section, I idly scanned the headlines, looking for anything of interest, when something caught my eye. I stopped, blinked, and read again. And then again. When I finally looked up, it was to find Ice watching me intently.

"You alright?"

"I ...don’t know. I think so. I’m just ...not really sure, I guess."

Laying her book down on the table, she rose gracefully to her feet and came to stand behind the couch. "What’s up?"

I handed the paper to her. "Would you mind reading this over and telling me if I’m seeing what I think I’m seeing?"

After a moment, the paper was handed back down to me again. "Yup."

I looked back over the printed text, trying to wrap my mind around what it was telling me.

PITTSBURGH, PENNSYLVANIA (AP) - America's oldest female inmate will soon enjoy her first taste of freedom in 45 years.

Corinne Weaver, 71, is set to leave Rainwater Women's Correctional Facility near Pittsburgh on Thursday. Weaver, serving a three consecutive life sentence term for the poisoning deaths of her four husbands, was granted a pardon last month by Governor George Green.

Weaver’s case was taken up by human rights activists after she recently suffered a series of strokes that left her confined to a wheelchair.

"It's inhumane to keep an elderly woman locked up in her final years in her condition," said Al Merman, president of Human Rights Now!

After numerous letter writing campaigns and many protests staged outside the governor's mansion, Gov. Green relented. "I've reviewed Mrs. Weaver’s case," the Governor said at a press conference on Monday, "and I find she is no longer a threat to society. The right thing to do is to let her have her freedom."

Green's main opponent in next month's elections, Sam Jones, was quick to support Weaver’s case. "It's a shame the governor had to be hounded into this decision," he said. "It's obvious this woman will only suffer more by staying in a system in sore need of serious reform."

Weaver’s lawyer, Donita Bonnsuer, a known Human Rights activist, was unavailable for comment.

"Did you know about this?" I asked, trying to keep the accusatory tone from my voice. I knew that Ice had, from the time she left prison for the first time, always kept tabs on Corinne, keeping her safe from predatory inmates who thought beating up little old librarians was the height of fun and games. To think that Ice would keep the news of Corinne’s failing health, let alone her pending release, from me was making me very angry indeed.

"Not about the strokes, no." She came to sit down beside me, not touching, but close. "I knew about the protests, and Donita told me that there was a good chance she’d get her parole granted, but she asked me to cut off all contact with Corinne. For the same reason I left you alone when I escaped."

"So you couldn’t be linked to her."

"Exactly."

"But why didn’t you tell me?"

Ice sighed. "Because I didn’t want to get your hopes up." She turned her head to look at me. "Look. I know how much Corinne means to you. She means a great deal to me too. I just wanted to be sure before telling you anything, one way or another. If that was a mistake on my part, then I’m sorry."

I sighed as well. "I appreciate why you think you had to keep this to yourself, Ice, but I’d really rather be treated as an adult by you. I’m not a child, Morgan. I can deal with disappointments, you know."

Ice looked down at her hands resting in her lap. "I know," she replied softly. "I just don’t like to see you have to. Especially if I can help it."

Touched by the sweetness of her gesture, even if I didn’t agree with it, I pulled her over into a heartfelt hug, happy when she finally lifted her arms to return it. To let her off the hook, I changed the subject, slightly. "What’s going to happen to her?"

"Donita will help her out, I’m sure. Just like she was willing to help you. Corinne’s got a lot of money stashed away. She’ll be just fine."

I breathed heavily into her shirt. "I miss her."

She rubbed my back soothingly. "I know, Angel. I do too. Corinne’s a good person."

I pulled away slightly. "I hate to think of her all alone down there. Sick. Not able to walk. Surrounded by strangers. Even in prison, she had her books, her job, her friends. Now what does she have?" I looked down at my own hands. "All the money in the world won’t get those things for her now."

"She has Donita," Ice replied gently, chafing my hands in her own. "And Donita has a great number of contacts, Angel. People who will be happy to befriend Corinne without a thought to how rich she is. She’ll be well looked after, believe me." Her eyes blazed into my own. "I wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true."

I nodded, then looked down at our joined hands. "I know. I believe you, Ice. It’s just ... ." I sighed again. "I want to help her. She’s done so much for me and I just want to give something back to her." After a moment, I looked up at her again. "After she’s released, do you think there’s any way I could contact her? Even for just a second? To convince myself she’s alright? I’ll understand if you think it isn’t safe. I just need to be sure, that’s all."

After a moment, Ice smiled at me and squeezed my hands. "I’ll see what I can do."

And that I believed.

*  *  *

The days stretched slowly into weeks and finally, the winter snows came to lay claim on the land. The holiday season was quickly approaching and a winter-gloomy town seemed to brighten just slightly at the prospect. Trees and wreaths started appearing through windows and doors and the people all seemed to be a bit friendlier—not that they weren’t friendly already—greeting everyone they passed with a cheery ‘Happy Holidays!’.

Ice wasn’t home much during this early part of winter. Though the work at Pop’s station might have dried up for the moment, there was still plenty of other work to be had if one only knew where to look and was willing to sweat for it.

And Ice, of course, knew how to do both. In spades.

For myself, I kept busy with my students, their number growing ever larger as children from other towns began to pay me weekly visits for tutoring sessions. I also spent a good deal of time with Ruby, talking about nothing in particular, just enjoying her company and her delicious coffee.

Though I resolved not to, I found myself asking Ice quite a few times about Corinne. Her answer was always the same. "I’m doing my best, Angel."

To keep my mind off upsetting her too much with my incessant questioning, I turned my thoughts to other things. Namely what to get my absolutely impossible to buy for lover for Christmas. The book signed by Solzhenitzyn was one of the few things to survive her escape from the Bog intact, and the four bonsai trees I’d purchased were doing incredibly well under her talented hands. A new set of mechanic’s tools, while practical, seemed hardly the romantic, or meaningful, gift I wanted to give her on our first Christmas as free women.

It had to be something special. Something rare. Something perfect.

And then I had it. An absolutely perfect—to my mind, at least—gift. There were only two problems. One was to see if such a gift even existed. The other would be going about finding it if it did indeed exist.

So, of course, I went to Pop with both problems. And with his usual knowing grin, he resolved to help in any way he could.

I returned home well satisfied.

PART 5

THANKSGIVING CAME AND went, and for it being my first one as a hostess, it went off pretty well, if I do say so myself. Ruby and Pop joined us at our table, and with Ice’s patient help, dinner went without a hitch, the freshly butchered turkey golden brown, succulent, and as good as I’d ever remembered my mother’s tasting.

And after dinner and desert were consumed, the conversation finished for the night, and our guests seen safely to their homes, we spent the rest of the evening giving thanks in a much more intimate and pleasurable way.

It was, I do believe, the best part of the day.

Christmas, then, was fast approaching, and after several tension-filled weeks, Pop finally came through on his promise and my gift was stored safely away at the bottom of my closet, a place Ice never looked, her own need for a private space prohibiting her from even thinking of looking into mine, even if I had minded, which I most certainly didn’t.

On one evening, a week or so before the Holiday, I was sitting alone, reading a book and waiting for the sound of Ice’s footfall outside the cabin. She’d been away since before dawn, helping the Drew brothers repair some pipes which had frozen, then burst with the winter’s deep freeze. She’d called me once to let me know she’d be late and not to wait dinner on her, and so I didn’t, eating my own and keeping her portion warm inside the oven.

Then I smiled as I heard the crunch of the truck’s tires on the neatly salted and cindered driveway. Getting up, I threw another log on the fire, bringing the heat up so Ice could warm herself after working in the cold for an entire day. Then I lit some candles for ambience and patiently waited for her to come into the house, fiddling a little with the Christmas decorations I’d put up that afternoon as a way to pass time waiting for her to return home.

A knock on the door chased the pleasant thoughts from my mind and my heart-rate accelerated. No one visited this late at night. The only reason someone would have to knock would be to deliver bad news.

Stop thinking crazy, Angel. Ice probably misplaced her key or something. But that thought, in and of itself, was crazy. Ice never misplaced anything.

Ok, then maybe her hands are full and she needs help getting the door open.

Yeah, right. Since when has that ever happened?

It could.

When hell freezes over.

Shut up! Just shut up.

Biting the inside of my lip, I startled as the knock sounded again, more urgently this time. Feeling my breathing pick up its pace, I crossed the living room and opened the door that led onto the back porch, my eyes detecting nothing through the frost-glazed windows.

With a trembling hand, I tried to open the door, but the knob obstinately refused to turn. Once I realized it was locked, I quickly thumbed the release and tried again. It turned easily in my hand and I slowly pulled open the door, resisting the urge to close my eyes to whatever sight awaited me.

And what awaited me was something I would never have believed if I hadn’t been standing there looking at it with my own two eyes.

The blood rushed straight down from my brain, leaving me breathless and faint, as I stared out at a person who could not be standing there. Could not. Yet there she was.

Corinne, her face wreathed in a breathtaking smile, stood before the threshold waiting to be let in.

"Oh. My. God."

Her grin broadened. "Not quite. Will I do in a pinch?"

Her outline became hazy through the film of my tears and I blindly reached out to her, engulfing her in a hug almost as tight as any I’d given Ice, forgetting for a moment her advanced age and frail health.

"Corinne!" I blubbered in her ear, taking in the scent of her with a great, heaving gasp. "Where did you ... ? How did you ... ?"

After squeezing me back just as hard, Corinne pulled away, her own eyes suspiciously bright beneath the glare of her glasses. "Wouldn’t you know? There I was, just minding my own business when out of nowhere comes this big gorgeous lunk of a woman who kidnaps me, throws me in some godawful truck not fit for man nor beast, and drives hell bent for leather through miles and miles of backwoods roads with me hanging on for dear life. The next thing I know, here I am."

Her eyes twinkled merrily as she leaned in close once again to whisper in my ear. "I think I’m supposed to be your Christmas present. If I were you, I’d ask for a refund."

Pulling away from me again, she stepped aside, treating me to a view of Ice, who stood beside the truck, her hands stuffed deep in her pockets, a half-embarrassed expression on her face.

I almost knocked Corinne over into the snow as I ran outside the door and leapt into Ice’s arms, arms which caught me and held me easily as I covered her face with grateful kisses. "Thank you," I whispered, too overcome to say anything else.

"You’re welcome, sweet Angel," she murmured into my hair. "Merry Christmas."

I laughed and cried and squeezed her so tightly that I think if she had been anyone other than who she was, I might have broken a rib or two.

A prudently cleared throat pulled me back to reality and I turned my head to see Corinne smirking at us both. "Touching as this reunion is, my dears, I don’t think my future includes turning into a rather decrepit looking ice sculpture. So, if you wouldn’t mind too terribly much ... ."

Blushing in embarrassment, I loosened my hold around Ice at the same time she released me, placing me gently back on the ground. "God, I’m so sorry, Corinne! Come on. Let me show you inside. Do you have any bags?"

"No worries," she said airily, flapping her hand behind her. "The charming valet will get them for me."

I laughed at the low growl emanating from the chest of said valet and grasped Corinne’s hand, leading her into the house. Then I stopped. "Wait a minute. Aren’t you supposed to be in a wheelchair?"

Her eyes widened into the picture of perfect innocence. "That old thing?" Then she grinned. Evilly. "The doctor says I’ve gotten much better. Must be all that free air I’ve been taking in."

I looked at her. "Corinne. You didn’t."

"Didn’t what?" The woman was positively unrepentant.

"You know damn well what I’m talking about. You didn’t fake your disability just to get out of prison, did you?"

"And what if I had?" Her look was one of defiant challenge.

She had a point. Still ... . "Did you?"

After a moment, she backed down. "No. Unfortunately, my disability, as you so politely call it, is quite real. I had a series of small strokes which did indeed manage to leave me confined to a wheelchair for a good little while. But you know how the press likes to blow things out of proportion, Angel. ‘Confined’ is a bit too strong a word. I still use it on occasion if I’m expected to walk a great distance or I’ve been on my feet too long, but otherwise, it just sits in a corner gathering dust."

"Did you bring it with you?"

"Of course. Wouldn’t leave home without it."

Another cleared throat interrupted me, and when I looked over my shoulder this time, I saw Ice carrying the aforementioned wheelchair, together with several huge and no-doubt heavy bags and looking more like a pack mule than my lover, and waiting none-too-patiently for us to move out of the doorway.

Laughing, I went back outside to divest Ice of some of her burden, groaning when I slung a couple of the bags over my shoulder, almost toppling into the snow with the weight of them. "Dear god, Corinne! What do you have in here? Rocks?"

She pinned me with her patented withering stare. "Never you mind, missy. A woman has to have some secrets, after all."

Laughing and shaking my head, I tottered back into the house, my back groaning under the weight of Corinne’s bags. Ice followed me in, finally out of the cold, and together we walked into the guest bedroom, depositing the luggage onto the bed and stretching abused muscles. Corinne joined us there and looked around the room appreciatively. "Not bad, ladies. Not bad at all. A body could get used to a place like this."

I grinned happily, pleased with her stamp of approval. "Well, it’s yours for as long as you want it." Then I paused as a thought struck me, and scratched at the back of my neck. "Speaking of which, how long are you staying with us?"

Corinne looked at me, over to Ice, then back to me again. She frowned a little. "Um ... perhaps you and your partner there might want to have a little talk. I’ll just stay here and ...freshen up a bit."

I looked to Ice, who gave a short nod and gestured the way out with a brief sweep of her arm. After a second’s pause, I left the room, followed by Ice, who closed the door gently behind her.

I rounded on her, hands on my hips. "Ok. What’s going on." Though I’m sure I sounded angry, I really wasn’t. Consciously, I softened my tone. "Is something wrong?"

"No. Nothing’s wrong." She spread her hands wide. "It’s just that the invitation’s pretty open-ended."

I could feel my eyes narrowing. "What does that mean, exactly?" For a woman who turned ‘blunt’ into an art-form, she could be quite ambiguous when she wanted to be.

Her eyes narrowed right back at me. "It means just what I said, Angel. As far as I’m concerned, she’s welcome to stay as long as she likes. I didn’t put a specific time limit on it."

Nodding slowly, I crossed my arms over my chest. "Something tells me this could turn in to more than just a visit."

She smiled. "Only if that’s what we all want it to be, Angel. I’m only speaking for myself here. You were worried about how she’d get on after prison. In truth, so was I, though I know Donita and I know she’d take the best care of Corinne she could." Turning away, she walked over to one of the chairs in the library and sat down, her hands clasped and hanging loosely between her knees. When she looked up at me, her face was as sincere as I’d ever seen it. "Your life isn’t the only one Corinne has saved, Angel. And I think maybe I want to give something back to her too."

Her head bowed and, unable to help myself even if I had wanted to, I walked over to the chair and perched carefully on one arm, sliding an arm around her shoulders and hugging her to me. It seemed quite obvious to me that something more than the current conversation was bothering her. "You wanna talk about it?"

After a moment, her head lifted and she quirked a small smile at me. "Maybe later."

Which meant, of course, that the subject was as closed as it could possibly get. For now.

I smiled to lighten the load. "Alright. You know where I live."

She butted me playfully with her head. "I know alright."

"So, shall we pay the piper for making her wait so long in that bedroom?"

Ice snorted. "Wait, my ass. She’s heard every word we’ve been saying."

The door eased open and Corinne’s perfectly coifed head poked out, her smile broad and knowing. "Was there ever any doubt?"

Laughing, I jumped up from the arm of Ice’s chair and escorted our guest over to the couch. "You’re incorrigible, Corinne."

"Mmm. So a lover or two has said in their time, yes."

Damnit! She did it again! Even after so long apart, that blasted woman still had the power to make me blush harder and more deeply than anyone save Ice. A change of subject was definitely in order. "Would you like some tea? Food? Anything?"

"No food, thank you. Ms. Tall, Dark and Mute over there somehow managed to dig up her manners from whatever grave she’d buried them in and got some ‘food on the hoof’ on the way in. Though I think I’m still picking gristle from what few remain of my real teeth."

I looked over at Ice, who simply rolled her eyes and went back to the book she’d been reading the night before; something by Elliot, I believe, though she went through them so quickly it was difficult to be sure from one hour to the next.

"How about some tea, then?" I asked Corinne.

"That would be lovely."

"I’ll get it," Ice said, coming to her feet and laying the book down on one of the tables. "You two just ...catch up or something."

Laying a hand on her arm as she passed by, I pulled her to a stop. "I’ve got your dinner in the oven if you’re still hungry."

She smiled and kissed my hair. "Great. Be back in a bit."

And with that, she was gone, leaving us both to stare after her.

"You have done that woman a world of good, Angel," Corinne remarked finally, softly.

"Freedom did that Corinne. I just helped it along a little, that’s all."

Smiling at me with infinite fondness, she tugged my hand, getting me to sit beside her and engulfing me in a wonderful hug. "Nonsense, sweetheart. You tended a soul that was sickly and dying. You made it strong and full of life again. No one and nothing else can take credit for that, Angel. That woman in there is the way she is now because of you. Never sell yourself short on that. It doesn’t become you."

Sometimes prayers you didn’t even know you had are answered with such sweet simplicity that your heart swells in your chest and fills you with a warmth that even the sunniest spring day could never rival.

For me, this was one of those times. I allowed myself the comfort of an embrace I’d missed far more than I’d even admitted to myself, letting her love and kindness flow over me, soothing insecurities that I didn’t realize I possessed.

Then I straightened up, drying my tears with the back of my hand and gave Corinne a watery smile. "So," I began after clearing my throat, "tell me how you really got here."

Laughing, she leaned her head against the back of the couch and grasped one of my hands, pulling it into her lap and holding it closely between both of her own. "That, my dear Angel, is a story and a half." Behind the thick lenses of her glasses, her gaze turned inward. "The Bog changed a great deal after you left it, Angel. The warden who’d replaced that idiot Morrison was forced to step down after some scandal or other, and the next one was hand-chosen by the governor himself, it being close to elections and all, don’t you know."

She laughed, but it was a bitter sound. "He’s a good man, as far as wardens go, I suppose. What is it they used to say? ‘Strict, but fair.’ He fired most of the guards, though. Said their attitudes ‘weren’t in keeping with the welfare of the prisoners’ or some such blather." She waved a hand. "I didn’t bother keeping up with the rest of his reformer’s lingo after that."

"What about Sandra?" I asked in a hesitant voice. The head guard had been a very special person in my life during those long, cold and sometimes bitter years in prison.

"He showed some smarts by keeping her on. If nothing else, she has the respect of the inmates and he can’t afford to be without that link to the animals in his cages." She shifted slightly on the couch, adjusting the glasses as they rested on her nose. "In any event, not all the changes were visible ones. I suppose you could say that the Bog lost its spirit."

And here, she turned to me, her smile sad, but loving. "One it never knew it had."

I was tempted to throw in some offhand comment, but her previous gentle rebuke against selling myself short made me hold my tongue, though in no way have I ever felt that I gave that place any type of spirit at all.

Smiling slightly, she continued. "I’d seemed to have misplaced my own sense of spirit somewhere along the line as well. When I first began to feel unwell, I chalked it up to a healthy dose of convict’s depression and let it go at that." She shrugged. "Didn’t seem much point in doing otherwise."

I could feel the tears, hot and wet, as they rolled down my face, blurring my vision of her as she recited her tale with all the dispassion of a woman reading a faintly interesting newspaper article.

"Don’t cry, Angel," she said, using much the same tone Ice did when making that same request. "The story does have a happy ending, after all."

"I know," I said, sniffling—something I hated to do, by the way. "I just wish I could have been there with you. For you."

"I’m just as glad that you weren’t," she replied, gripping my arm with a strong hand. "I would have never wanted you to see me like that, Angel. Never."

"But ... ."

"No. Do not blame yourself. Those strokes would have come whether you’d been there or not."

"But, maybe ... ."

"Stop." She laid a gentle finger across my lips, halting my words, her eyes stern. "No more."

After a moment, I nodded and she removed her finger. "Good. Now, where was I?" Then she smiled. "Ahh. Finally. I thought perhaps you’d gone to China to fetch the leaves yourself."

Slightly startled, I looked up to see Ice standing next to me, two mugs of tea in her hands and a concerned expression on her face. Coming to my feet, I took the mugs from her hands, put them on the table, and hugged her to me to allay whatever fears her expression was revealing. The arms that encircled me in return were hesitant at first, but when I simply squeezed harder, their grip around me tightened and I smiled, the last of my tears drying on the fabric of her shirt. "I’m alright."

She pulled away, staring at me with intent. "You sure?"

Smiling more broadly, I nodded. "Yeah. It just hit me hard for a minute there. I’m ok now."

After looking at both of us for a very long moment, Ice finally released me completely and walked over to the library, sitting down and picking up her book once again.

Reclaiming my spot on the couch, I picked up my mug, handed Corinne hers, and together we sipped our tea in silence, listening to the crackle of the fire’s flames.

After several quiet moments had passed, Corinne resumed her tale. "One morning, I awoke to discover I couldn’t move much on the left side of my body. I tried to call for help, but found I couldn’t speak well, either." Then she laughed. "I suppose it was one of the first times in my life that I was actually happy I was in prison. Once I’d missed headcount, the guards came looking for me, and the next thing I knew, I was taking a nice ambulance ride to the county hospital."

She took another sip of tea, then continued. "The doctors couldn’t do much for me. Apparently I’d had several strokes in quick succession over the past several days, the last one being the biggest. They gave me some medication they said might help and arranged for me to be transferred to a Rehabilitation Hospital to learn how to walk, talk, and care for myself again."

Her face became stony. "The warden forbade it. He demanded they discharge me and send me back to prison without therapy. To their credit, the doctors put up a good fight, but in the end, the warden won out. They put me in a wheelchair, and off I went, back to the Bog."

"Jesus," I breathed, beyond incensed at the insensitivity of the warden. "I thought you said he was fair!"

"He is fair, Angel. I’m a murderer, remember. The Black Widow. He didn’t want to have the taxpayers up in arms over my rehabilitation." She shrugged. "Just the way of the world."

I sat up straight on the couch, seeing red. "It shouldn’t be, damnit! Everyone deserves the right to be treated like a human being!"

Throwing back her head, Corinne laughed. "There’s that fire I’ve been waiting for!"

"It’s not funny, Corinne," I replied indignantly.

"Of course it is, Angel! It’s wonderful! Do you know how long I’ve waited to hear your blazing tones of righteous indignation? I swear, that’s what kept me going through all this."

Still angry, I crossed my arms, flinching away as she reached up to pinch my cheek, something she knew I detested with a passion, and so, of course, did at every available opportunity.

I couldn’t stay angry with her for long, though, and with a final scowl, I relaxed back against the couch once again, grabbing my mug and downing the rest of my tea as I waited for her to continue, resolving not to give her still more fodder by losing my temper again.

"In any event," she finally relented, "I found myself back in the Bog much worse for the wear. I only thank the goddess that I’m right handed and could still do some things for myself, else I likely would have thought up a way to get myself killed just to end the indignities." She smiled to take the sting from her words. "Critter was a great deal of help to me, as were Pony and Sonny and some of the others. They spent long hours trying to encourage me, in their own special ways, to follow the exercise plan the doctors had managed to slip into my bag when I left the hospital, but I’m afraid I was quite cross with them all. Like I said before, there didn’t seem to be much point in it."

"So what happened?" I asked, looking at a woman who was as far from a crippled invalid as I could possibly imagine.

She grinned. "Ah, at last, an easy question. One day, while I was in the library feeling quite sorry for myself, Pony came in and without so much as a ‘how-do-you-do’, promptly wheeled me into the common room, one of the few places to escape the wrath of the warden’s redecoration scheme. She parked me in front of the television and turned the volume up full-bore, as if I’d gone deaf as well as paralyzed."

"Well?" I asked when she paused. I looked over at Ice who, though she appeared engrossed in her reading, I could tell was listening as intently as I was.

"It was the local news and a reporter was standing in front of the governor’s mansion. In back of her were all these people shouting and waving banners. Most of the banners said ‘Free Corinne’ or ‘Prisoners are Humans Too’ and other slogans of that nature. I was quite stunned, as I’m sure you’d suppose."

I just nodded, keeping to myself the fact that, were I in her position, I’d most probably be a good deal more than ‘stunned’ to see people protesting on my behalf no matter what the reasons.

"When the view switched back to the reporter," Corinne continued, "I saw a very familiar face standing next to her."

"Who?"

"A certain lawyer we all know and love."

"Donita?" I was shocked, and yet I wasn’t. Somewhere deep inside, I knew Donita had an important part to play.

"The very same."

"I didn’t know she was your lawyer."

"Either did I." This was said with a significant glance in Ice’s direction, who, prudently, I thought, chose to keep her nose buried in her book.

When she saw that my partner wasn’t going to raise to the bait, she turned her attention back on me. "She played the part of the virtuous well, standing on her soapbox and explaining my condition in the bleakest terms possible, describing how I’d been denied, in her terms, even the most basic of health care; how I sat paralyzed in my wheelchair, unable to tend to even the most basic of my needs, at the mercy of uncaring guards and prisoners. She was so good that even I found myself feeling some small sympathy for this woman behind bars; a woman, I thought, not very much like me at all."

She stretched a bit, then settled back against the couch once again, draining the last dregs of her tea from the mug and setting it down on the end table. I kept silent, rapt with attention in her tale. "She also put forth more salient, less emotional, points. Like how I was the oldest female inmate in the nation. How I had already served almost twice the prison time that the average male offender with an equal or greater sentence served before release. How, with my current disability, I would be unable to speak for myself when the time for my next parole hearing came." Corinne smiled fondly. "She put her points forth so well that I think that, if a petition for my immediate release had been there right then, even the reporter would have dropped her microphone to sign it."

"I don’t doubt that for a minute. Donita’s very ...passionate ...about her work."

"And about other things as well, if memory serves," Corinne shot back, eyeing Ice yet again.

This time, the collected works of Elliot lowered and blue eyes glittered with a look that would have fused metal. I think even my fillings felt the assault.

Unrepentant, Corinne simply stared right back over the tops of her glasses, her lips curved in a smile that was evil incarnate. Though the heat in the room seemed to rise several degrees, I shivered, as if a goose had toddled across my grave and decided to build a nest there.

"Can we get back to the story please?" I finally interjected to stop the battle of wills which was quickly escalating into a full-scale war, even without a word being said on either side.

"Fine," Corinne finally replied, turning to me and folding her hands primly on her lap.

I breathed a silent sigh of relief.

"When the spot was over and the news moved on to more worthy issues, the television was turned off and I was wheeled back into the library by three Amazons with passions of their own. Once there, I was locked into place, and then told in no uncertain terms that if so many total strangers were willing to fight for me, I’d damn well better start fighting for myself. Or else. The ‘else’ part of the equation, of course, wasn’t spelled out, but I was led to believe that the consequences of my refusal would be very dire indeed."

"So you told them to go to hell."

She grinned again. "Perhaps a bit more garbled than that, but essentially, yes. Even gave them directions if they were so inclined to take my suggestion."

Shaking my head, I couldn’t help but laugh. The strokes might have weakened Corinne’s body, but it was glaringly evident that her mind, as well as her spirit, were still very much intact. "Obviously you must have listened at some point, though," I observed, looking at her apparently intact body.

She shrugged. "There may be no fool like an old fool, but I do manage to come to my senses eventually."

T.S. Eliot snorted. Or at least his book did.

"That’s quite enough out of you, missy," Corinne said in the general direction of Ice, her nose lifted to quite a regal angle. "Don’t think that your lover here knows so much about you that she wouldn’t be surprised by some of the more sordid tales of you I have stored away."

Casting Corinne her most droll look, Ice closed her book, placed it back on the bookshelf, and stood, slowly stretching the kinks out of her body caused by a hard day’s work. I felt my mouth go dry at the sight, as it almost always did, even after so many years together.

Walking over to us, she placed a kiss on my forehead and one on Corinne’s proffered cheek, then threaded long fingers through her hair and shook it out before bidding us both a quiet goodnight.

After her long, lithe body disappeared up the stairs, Corinne and I let out twin sighs, as if we were a couple of school-girls who’d just seen the high school quarterback stroll by on campus.

I turned to look at her, swallowing against the dryness in my throat. "Tea?" I croaked.

"Tea," she returned.

*  *  *

We talked well into the night. Corinne continued her tale, picking it up from where she left the Bog for the first time in forty five years.

"I was quite overwhelmed. You’ll remember that I was incarcerated sometime after the war. Things were different then. Simpler. Smaller. When I left prison, it didn’t only feel like I was entering a new country. It felt as if I was entering a new world. For a minute there, just a minute, I wanted to just forget everything and go back inside to a place I knew."

I found myself nodding in empathy, knowing exactly what she had gone through, having had the same reaction myself, though not on so grand a scale, to be sure. If five years had changed the outside world so much, how much more could nine times that many?

She then went on to explain where she’d gone once out of prison. Donita had offered to put her up. Her lover, a singer of some small renown, was out on tour and the house was more than large enough to accommodate them both for as long as Corinne felt the need to stay.

"I took her up on the offer. Though I made it clear that the arrangement wasn’t by far a permanent one. As temporary lodgings went, however, it was quite fine. I was up and walking by then, and the grounds were quite large, and secluded as well, so I built up my strength by taking long, solitary walks, still marveling in the freedom to do as I wished, when I wished."

I nodded in commiseration with that as well, remembering well my own first forays into a world without bars, without fences; a world whose only constrictions were the ones I myself placed upon it.

"Then one evening, shortly after my release, a quite delicious young man appeared quite unexpectedly on the doorstep." She grinned, touching her hair. "And me, without my makeup."

Laughing, I gently slapped her arm, then shifted to a more comfortable position on the couch, various parts of my anatomy beginning to voice their displeasure over remaining dormant for such a long stretch of time.

As if taking a hint I wasn’t aware I was projecting, she sped up her story, quickly telling me that, though she initially had reservations about the handsome—and she made it a point to state that word quite a few times, as if I’d missed it the first time, and the second, and third—stranger, they were soon laid to rest by Donita’s apparently complete acceptance of the man.

And any doubts which might have been left to linger in her mind were irrevocably erased when he handed her an item he said came from a friend. Reaching into her purse, she then handed me the same item and I sat staring at it, stunned.

It was the picture of Ice and her family.

The only one she had.

"Who gave you this?" I asked, trailing a gentle finger over the forever-frozen figure of Ice as a child.

"He said his name was Andre."

My guess confirmed, I nodded, still looking at the picture in my hand. The very fact that it made it back to me safely showed me how much trust Ice had placed in both Andre and Corinne. I spared a second to wonder briefly just who Andre was to Ice, beyond a friend and contact. They had seemed comfortable with each other the one time I’d seen them together. Was he, like Donita, another lover? Ice had never mentioned a liking for what my father called ‘outdoor plumbing’, but then again, I’d never really asked, so I couldn’t be sure one way or the other.

That thought bothered me more than I wanted to admit.

Showing once again her disquieting propensity to read my thoughts, Corinne clamped a gentle hand around my wrist. "Worry not, sweet Angel. Andre is a friend to Ice, nothing more."

Flushing at having been read so easily, I looked up at her. "How do you know?" It wasn’t asked in defense, but rather with curiosity.

She laughed lightly, squeezing my wrist. "Well, aside from the fact that he’s as gay as my old dad’s hatband, don’t you think Ice would have mentioned if anything more had gone on between them? After all, she was quite up front about her former relationship with your lawyer."

I smiled with more relief than perhaps I should have shown, but the revelation did make me feel better. I said as much to Corinne, who returned my smile knowingly. Then she returned to other matters.

"Donita excused herself, and I led Andre to the living-room, where we sat and shared tea as he talked, in a roundabout way, about my ‘getting away from it all’ and how nice certain parts of Canada were this time of year." She snorted. "For Eskimos, perhaps, but I didn’t debate the point with him. He had piqued my interest in a most pleasant way, and it wasn’t just the body he was hiding under those rugged clothes either."

She looked at me again, her eyes filled with sadness. "You see, I didn’t know where you had gone, Angel. For the first time in my life in the Bog, all my questions were met with silence. Andre was Ice’s contact with Donita, but under strict orders from the tall, dark and deadly one, he was forbidden to reveal any locations whatsoever. And that included yours."

"To keep her from knowing too much, right?" I guessed, well knowing how Ice’s mind worked in such instances. "Don’t ask, don’t tell?"

"Exactly. Even with lawyer-client privilege, Ice didn’t want to put Donita in a position untenable to her. I didn’t even know if she’d managed to find you after you’d been released, though I imagined she did. She loved you much too much to let you go so easily." She smiled sadly. "It was the fantasy of the two of you, striding off into the proverbial sunset together, that got me through many a depression-filled night in the Bog, Angel."

Turning my wrist, I grasped her hand in mine, gently stroking the smooth skin with the tips of my fingers. "I’m sorry you had to go through that, Corinne." Tears, those damnable emotional weathervanes, came to my eyes once again, and this time, I let them fall. "I thought about you all the time. Wondered how you were doing, what you were thinking. How you were coping. I missed you so much."

"The feeling is very mutual, Angel. There wasn’t a day that went by in that hell-bound place that I didn’t think of you and pray that you’d found your happiness." Lifting her free hand, she gently brushed away my tears, then cupped my cheek. Drawing her face to mine, she tenderly kissed my lips, then pulled away, a loving smile on her face. "You taught an old woman how to love again, Angel. And for that, you’ll always be in my heart."

Smiling back at her, I covered her hand with my own, nuzzling into her palm and enjoying the closeness, too long absent, between us.

After a moment, she pulled her hand away, laughing slightly. "Enough of this mutual admiration society, Angel, lest your lover find us kissing in the living-room like a couple of school-girls and decide my head would look best as a bookend."

I laughed. "Oh yeah. I can see that happening."

"You never know. It could. And I’d best not stick around to find out." She stretched. "I believe the rest of this story is best left for another day. It’s late and that wonderful bed is calling me."

"Don’t you dare, Corinne! You have to finish the story! You can’t leave me hanging like this!"

She threw that evil grin at me. "You must have me confused with someone else, Angel. I would never leave you hanging, my dear."

Ah, what wealth I would give to have a face that knew how to hide a blush. Since I didn’t, however, I resolved to bear her teasing by ignoring it. Verbally, at least.

Corinne laughed, charmed. "Not to worry, Angel. The story will still be here in the morning. I’m not going anywhere. Unless you tell me to, of course."

I pretended to think about that for a moment. Then grinned, standing and helping her to her feet. "Nah. I think we’ll keep you around for awhile." Wrapping her in a heartfelt hug, I kissed her cheek. "Goodnight, Corinne. Thanks for the story. And thanks for being here. You’re one of the best Christmas presents I’ve ever had."

She wrapped me in her living and precious warmth for a long moment, then pulled away, a crooked smile on her face belying the suspicious brightness of her eyes. "Enough of this now, or the next thing you know, the Hallmark people will be pounding on our door and suing for copyright infringement."

"A fate worse than death," I agreed, kissing her once more on the cheek before she batted me away. "Goodnight, my friend."

"And a good night to you as well, sweetheart." Then she winked. "Don’t do anything I wouldn’t."

I felt my own evil grin surface. "Oh Corinne, I do things you’ve never even dreamed."

For one of the first times since I’d known her, I caught the great wordsmith speechless.

I basked in the moment.

Which, of course, ended fifty-nine seconds too soon.

She eyed me brazenly from head to toe, her gaze roaming intently over every inch of my body. A slow smile broke out over her face. "Oh, I don’t know about that, Angel. My dreams can be quite inventive."

Then like a general who leaves the battlefield after the last shot has been fired, assured of his easy victory, Corinne walked away, waving casually over her shoulder.

I couldn’t help but laugh.

It was good to have her home.

*  *  *

After placing the mugs in the kitchen to be dealt with later and conducting my nighttime ritual, I ascended the steps to the bedroom, stopping at the top to take in the picture of Ice, her body sculpted in fractured moonlight. She lay on her back, her hands clasped behind her head, and I could tell by the even rise and fall of her gloriously naked breasts that she wasn’t asleep.

Stripping off my own clothing quickly and quietly, I joined her on our bed, propping myself up on one elbow and gently stroking the bangs from her forehead. "Can’t sleep?"

"Just thinking," she burred in a low tone.

"’bout what?"

I didn’t really expect an answer, and so wasn’t surprised when I didn’t get one. Continuing to gently stroke her brow, I watched her eyes dart from one shadow to another on the ceiling, seeming to read them as a Turkish fortune-teller reads coffee grounds.

"Corinne alright?" she asked after a long moment.

I laughed softly. "Yup. All tucked away and dreaming whatever dreams her evil mind conjures up when it’s not busy thinking up ways to poke holes in someone with her rapier wit."

Intense blue eyes drilled into mine. "Did she hurt you?"

I snorted. "Me? Nah. I can handle the likes of her." Still chuckling, I ruffled her disheveled bangs. "After all, I’ve had a lot of practice over the years."

Her eyes turned back to their study of the ceiling again and the silence stretched out between us, its weight palpable. Though seemingly relaxed, I could feel the coiled tension in the body lying next to me. Something was bothering her, that much was obvious. But what, among the dozens, if not hundreds, of possibilities could it be?

Not one, usually, for beating around low, hedge-like growths, I simply asked the first question that came to mind. "Are you worried that Corinne might have been followed?"

"Andre’s very good at his job."

While that didn’t answer my question exactly, it did serve to bring up another. "Who is Andre, by the way? I’ve been meaning to ask you that for awhile now."

"A restaurateur," she replied after a moment, not moving her gaze from its study of the ceiling.

"Ah," I nodded, as if that explained everything. "And that gives him the skills to make sure Corinne wasn’t followed how?" I laughed. "Good at hiding from angry customers when the steak’s slightly overcooked, is he?"

And that, not surprisingly, rated me another non-answer. Despite our time together and the level of trust which had developed between us, there are still very large parts of Ice’s life which are walled off to me, even to this day.

I’d be lying if I said that that doesn’t bother me a little. Well, more than a little. But if patience is a virtue, then after living with Ice for as long as I have, I’m the most virtuous woman alive.

Well seeing the bright neon roadblock preventing me from merging onto that particular lane of conversation, I decided a slight detour was in order. I paused for a second, ordering the question precisely in my mind, knowing that if I didn’t word it correctly, I’d be flush up against yet another logjam.

Taking a deep breath, I dove in with both feet. "When you told me earlier that my life wasn’t the only one Corinne had saved, were you talking about yourself?"

After a long moment, I could feel the brief nod of her head under my hand. Encouraged, I decided to take things just a bit further, drowning in curiosity as I was. "Could you ...tell me a little bit about what you meant?" I asked finally, treading very carefully. "I don’t know very much about your first time in prison, beyond what little Corinne told me, and I’d kinda like to know how it was for you then. If it’s not too hard for you to talk about," I added, giving her an out if she needed it.

"There really isn’t that much to talk about," she said finally, after a very long span of silence. "I went in, did my time, and got released. Nothing very remarkable."

I could have let it go at that, and perhaps I should have. Her body was sending me very distinct signals relating to the prudence of allowing slumbering canines to rest undisturbed. Still, for all those signals, I couldn’t let it go. She knew so much about my life while I knew so little about hers. And though I knew there’d probably never be a time when those two states would equal out, I wasn’t about to withdraw my foot from a door partly opened.

"Share?" I asked simply, softly as I could. "Please?"

Her breasts rose, then fell beneath the weight of an exhaled sigh. "I was very young and very tired. The trial had taken what little strength I still had left, and by the time that prison door closed behind me," she raised a hand briefly, then let it fall on the blanket, "there wasn’t anything."

I let the silence draw out for a moment before resuming my gentle, and careful, prodding. "Corinne said you just wanted to do your time quietly."

Her eyes tracked to mine briefly before slipping away once again. "Did she? I don’t remember telling her that." She shook her head. "What I do remember is being ...numb. Everything just sorta came down on me and I couldn’t feel anything." She shrugged. "And I really didn’t care if I never felt anything again."

"How did she save your life?" I asked, still finding it hard to wrap my mind around that thought. Even at her weakest, my mind still insisted on picturing Ice as a woman of uncommon strength and will, never needing someone else to do what she was supremely qualified to do for herself; save her own life.

"As I said," she resumed after a small pause, "I didn’t care about anything anymore. And when the predators came, I didn’t bother fighting them. Just let them do what they wanted to me." She laughed bitterly, a choked sound caught in her throat.

I couldn’t muffle the gasp that came from my own throat, much as I wanted to. Suddenly, I was very sorry I had pushed her into telling this particular tale. I wanted to tell her, beg her, to stop, but like a motorist drawn to the sight of a grisly car wreck, I couldn’t.

She turned again to look at me, sensing my distress. She smiled slightly, softly, though there was still that touch of old anger in her eyes. "Don’t be upset, Angel. After all, it wasn’t anything different than what I’d had people pay me to do before. Better in some ways, really. As long as I cooperated, I was pretty much left alone when they were through taking their pleasures from me."

In many ways, her dispassionate tone made things just that much worse, as if her heart and soul were so cold and dead that even the tale of her savage raping at the hands of strangers was of little more consequence to her than a dog passing by on the sidewalk.

But still, the tense, coiled energy of her body belied the casually spoken words, and I knew beyond the slightest shadow of a doubt that this poison within her had been too-long festering and needed to come out before it again released its toxins on a soul not fully mended.

I lay still and near, close enough to touch, but keeping my hands, and my words, to myself, knowing that if I interrupted this self-revelation with even so much as the slightest breath of a whisper, the story would be ended then and there, buried so deep it would never see the light of day again.

"One day, the leader of one of the other gangs caught sight of me and decided she wanted a sample of what I was offering to the others. She dragged me from my cell just as a member of the first gang was coming in to grab an afternoon snack." The bitter smile flashed briefly again. "There was a bit of a tussle over exactly whose ‘bitch’ I was, and after it was over, I became the new trophy of the leader of the rival gang."

"Why didn’t you fight!?" I demanded, my anger spilling over, not caring if I never heard the ending to the sordid tale. "Why didn’t you stand up for yourself? Why did you just let them do that to you? Didn’t you even care?" It wasn’t just simple anger I was feeling. It was rage. Clear and uncomplicated and utter rage. I could feel my teeth grinding against one another with the power of it.

"No."

One word.

Simple. Stark. Brutal.

Heartbreaking.

"Why?" I whispered through my anguished, and angry, tears.

"Why not? They were only getting a body, after all." She turned her head so it faced away from me. "My soul was already dead."

My anger vanished as if it had never been, leaving only a bone deep ache behind. "And Corinne?" I whispered because I had to know.

"I’d met her briefly when I was first locked up. She tried to convince me to fight them. Tried to tell me that I was worth more than being someone’s whore." She laughed. "I didn’t listen, though. Being a whore was something I knew, and if it gave me the oblivion I wanted, it didn’t seem a bad tradeoff. So I basically told her where she could stick her advice. Even offered to put it there for her."

The laugh came again, though this time it held more awe than bitterness. "She told me to go right on ahead and do it. At least it would show her that I still had some spirit left in me."

"You didn’t listen to her though, did you." I asked, already knowing the answer.

"Nope. At the time, I was too wrapped up in my own misery to recognize the hand she was holding out to me. So I left her standing there and went back to the life I’d chosen to live."

"What happened?"

"The gang leader who’d won me decided to put on a show for her friends, so she dragged me into the laundry room where she could have her audience. She’d just ripped my uniform off and was getting down to business when Corinne walked in, a broom in her hand. She told me that if I was too stupid to fight for myself, then she’d do the fighting for me."

She shook her head in amazement over the memories. "She was a tough old broad even back then. Took out nearly half the watchers before someone got in a lucky shot and stole her weapon from her. She didn’t give an inch though. Not one single inch. They jumped her, punching and kicking her, and she just stared at me, daring me to just lie there while they beat her bloody."

She looked up at the ceiling again, running a hand over her face. "God, her eyes. I can still remember them, burning into me, never showing any of the pain I knew she was feeling. She didn’t blink, not once. Not even when one of them kicked her in the gut and made her lose her lunch. And when I heard her ribs break, something in me snapped. Something raw. Dark. Angry. Something I thought I’d lost when I woke up in the hospital after the shootings."

I could see the tears sparkle in her eyes, but there was a savage joy in there as well. And pride. For Corinne. For herself. "I threw those idiots off of me and got up, half naked and all angry. I walked up to the biggest one and punched her so hard that I thought my hand had broken. And I kept on punching, and kicking, and gouging, until the only person left standing was Corinne. I grabbed her and hightailed us both out of there as fast as we could go." She shook her head again, black hair fanning over her face, partially obscuring it from my view. "It didn’t help any, of course. We both got solitary for a month. It was the shortest month I’d ever done, before or since."

Brushing her hair from her face, she turned to face me once again. "So you see, Angel, Corinne did save my life, in a manner of speaking. She gave me a reason to fight. She gave me a reason to live." She grasped my hand tightly and held it to her chest, letting me feel the passion in the mighty heart which beat there. "And if giving up a little privacy enables her to live out the rest of her life in comfort and love, then that’s a very small a price to pay for giving me my soul back. I’ll be forever in her debt."

She wound down then, like a toy soldier whose spring given out. She lay there looking at me, her eyes asking me to hear her words, to understand the message they imparted to me, and to simply accept without judging the path she’d chosen to travel so long ago.

And because I knew she needed to be strong, perhaps more at that moment than at any other, I laid myself down beside her, resting my head on her shoulder and wrapping one arm around her waist, showing my love and support without smothering her in it.

And when her arms finally came around me, one gently cupping the back of my head, I knew that somehow, God had blessed me with the ability to do the right thing, even if just this once.

I prayed, fervently as I knew how, never to be without that ability again.

*  *  *

I nearly shocked the starch out of Corinne when I saw her the next morning, giving her a hug that would have popped her eyeballs had they not been so firmly attached to her skull. The bemused look on her face as she pulled away said it all, but all she got in return was another hug, and a laugh from me.

Let her chew on that for awhile, I thought, leaving her to stare dumbfounded after me as I made my way toward the kitchen and some much needed coffee.

Ice was long gone by the time we sat down to a breakfast of eggs, coffee and toast in the dining room, and over an after-breakfast mug of tea, Corinne told me the rest of her tale.

It seems that to throw off any suspicion there might have been, Andre decided to take Corinne a wee bit south of Canada.

Mexico, to be exact.

To hear Corinne tell it, they spent two weeks of fun in the sun, ogling half-naked, tanned bodies as they paraded their wares up and down the beaches; she, the women; Andre, the men.. Then, after doing whatever checks men like Andre do to make sure the coast is clear, they hopped aboard another plane, bypassed the United States entirely, and landed in Canada. She entered the country legally, requesting, and being granted, a tourist visa with the possible option of applying for landed immigrant status sometime in the future.

I was surprised at that. As far as I knew, Canada was pretty much like any other country when it came to immigration laws. If you were young, able-bodied, willing to work, and didn’t have anything in your background which made it likely that you would plant bombs on schoolbuses or office buildings, you stood a chance of being welcomed.

Corinne, however, was elderly, frail, of an age where advancing medical costs would eat up a very large budget very quickly, and had a prison record that would make any immigration official worth his salt sit up and whistle—before he personally escorted her to the first plane headed for points south.

When I expressed my disbelief, she responded with a wicked grin and pushed over a document that contained her financial statement in all its multi-zeroed glory.

The coffee in my mouth sprayed halfway across the room.

"Seven million dollars?"

"And change, yes," she replied, wearing the mask of the eternally smug and loving every minute of it.

"Seven million dollars?"

Clicking her tongue at me, she reached up and placed a hand on my forehead, the way you would do if you were testing a child for fever. "Poor dear," her eyes alight with wicked compassion, "are you coming down with something? Perhaps a trip to the doctor is in order this morning?"

Scowling, I batted her hands away the dollar amount still repeating itself in my head like a jukebox record which had developed an unfortunate scratch.

"Relax, Angel. It’s not as if I’m taking afternoon tea with the Rockefellers, you know." Then she grinned. "Besides, you should be happy. It’s all yours when I finally shuffle off this mortal coil."

I looked up at her. "I can’t accept this, Corinne."

Her smile became hard. "Whyever not, Angel? Afraid to sully your hands with a little ill-gotten gain?" Her teeth flashed. "Blood money not good enough for you?"

"That’s enough, Corinne," I snapped, rising to my feet. "I don’t deserve that from you."

After a long moment of intense silence, she finally backed down, the smile slipping from her face. "You’re right. You don’t. I’m sorry." A plea then came to both eyes and voice. "Won’t you please sit back down, Angel? Forgive an old woman her foolishness?" She paused for just a heartbeat, then whispered, "Please."

A moment later, my anger receding but not yet gone, I sat back down, placing my hands flat on the table. I looked at her expectantly, using a raised-eyebrow expression that I’d only recently begun to truly master.

Reaching into her purse, she pulled out another document, which she carefully unfolded and slid across the table to me. I looked down at it, tracing the dollar amount displayed with my finger. It made the amount on the original statement look almost like pocket-change. Another document was then laid atop the first and I scanned it quickly, then read more carefully as the contents finally wove their way into my brain.

The paper I was reading was a receipt of sorts, which detailed the final disposition of the vast fortune on the document beneath. One half was used to set up a fund to help surviving family members whose loved ones had been killed in a violent crime. A quarter, and I smiled when I read this, went into a fund that helped feed, clothe, house and educate teens living on the streets. And the last quarter went into what was termed the "Fallen Angels" fund, to provide free legal counsel and representation for women who, like I, had been tried and/or convicted of killing their husbands as a result of domestic abuse.

I looked up at her, my eyes wide. "What ... ?"

"That’s the money I made from killing my husbands. Every last cent of it."

"But you said ... ."

"I know what I said, Angel," she interrupted, tossing my argument away with a careless flick of her hand. "But things change. And sometimes, if they’re lucky, people do as well." She smiled a little; one that was loving, a touch shy, and totally endearing. "In any event, sitting paralyzed in a wheelchair does give one quite a bit of time for quiet reflection. And while any remorse I might have had over the killing of my husbands had long ago turned to dust, the thought of living high on the money left behind somehow lost the allure it had previously given me." Snorting, she shook her head. "Never grow old, Angel. It makes you soft in all the wrong places."

Though the door was wide open and an entire army of people pled with me to step through it, I wisely refrained from any comment I might have made to her observation. The sparkle in her eye praised my restraint, though I was sure she had already thought up at least one hundred witty, and cutting, retorts.

Reaching out almost primly, she plucked the document that had started this whole conversation and held it up to the light. "This is what became of the sock money I’d earned working at the few menial jobs I’d managed to find before and in between husbands. When I knew the arrest was coming, I gave it, along with the other money, to an accountant friend of mine. And as you can plainly see, she had quite a way with numbers." Her eyes sparkled again with wicked wit. "Among other things."

I just grinned and rolled my eyes. God, I’d missed her.

"And it is yours, Angel. Yours and Ice’s, of course. To do with as you wish. You could use it to line the fireplace, for all I care. You just need to accept it." She smiled. "After all, I’m not going to be around forever and I’d like to know that I had some small part in making your lives, if not easier, at least a bit more interesting."

I winced. "If I agree to think about it, can we get off the topic of death? It’s not something I really want to talk about right now."

"Death happens to us all, Angel."

"I know that, Corinne," I replied, a bit more sternly than I had intended, the images of my lover too near death raising their heads in Technicolor glory. "I’d just like to stop having it threaten to visit quite so often."

She nodded at me, eyes bright with compassion. Then she turned to look out the large window. "Very well, sweet Angel. It’s a beautiful day, even for winter. Let’s let death take care of itself while we embrace life, hmm?"

I couldn’t help grinning. "You’re on."

*  *  *

After the breakfast dishes were dried and put away, and we had showered and dressed, we decided—or rather Corinne decided; I was just along for the ride at this point—that a little sightseeing was in order.

Though the temperature outside was beyond bitter, the sun was out and the walks clear of ice and slush. Feeling just a touch of cabin fever myself, even so early in the season, I found myself not really minding the prospect of losing the feeling in my fingers and toes.

After donning layers of winter gear (and in this, Corinne came supremely prepared) we headed out into the cold and toward our first stop of the day, which was, of course, Ruby’s house.

I’d called her prior, asking if she was available to meet a friend of mine who was visiting for the holidays, and she invited us over happily, seemingly excited at the prospect of meeting someone new. I found myself smiling at her excitement, picturing a wonderful meeting between two women I held dear; two women who, because they were of an age, would have a great deal in common and just might become the best of friends.

I couldn’t have been more wrong.

The beaming smile Ruby bestowed on us when she opened the door faded just a touch when her eyes took in the swaddled figure standing beside me. I could feel Corinne stiffen as Ruby backed away, inviting us in.

What the hell is going on here?

After setting our coats to warm and dry near the fire, we ventured into the kitchen, where Ruby bade us sit while she fixed coffee and a plate of fresh-made cookies that smelled heavenly and tasted even better.

After setting the mugs and plate down, she stood next to her chair, eyeing me expectantly, if a bit strangely. After a moment, I caught on, and gave her my brightest grin. "Ruby, I’d like you to meet a dear friend of mine, Corinne ... ." And there I trailed off, blindsided by my first major hurdle of the day.

Ruby, if you’ll remember, read the same paper I did. Introducing Corinne by her full name was inviting trouble I wasn’t prepared to deal with. My neighbor was still in the dark as to the true circumstances of my coming to Canada. And more than anything else, I wanted her to remain that way for as long as possible. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust Ruby; far from it. It was just that the less information she had, the less, or so I hoped, she would be hurt in the long run.

Not that I was inviting that sort of trouble, mind you. But, in the words of the immortal Boy Scouts, it’s always best to be prepared.

I only wished I’d remembered that particular motto prior to setting out for Ruby’s house that morning.

Corinne, however, master politician that she was, covered my slight stumble as smooth as oil over lard, grasping Ruby’s outstretched hand and giving it a firm shake, her smile genuine as it could be. For those who didn’t know her as well as I did.

"Corinne LaPointe, at your service."

Ruby returned the handshake, and the smile. "Welcome to my home, Corinne. It is alright if I call you Corinne, isn’t it?"

"Only if you allow me the same pleasure."

I could see Ruby visibly relax as she released Corinne’s hand and sat down at the table with us. "Corinne it is, then," she said, toasting her with a mug of coffee. Her eyes gained a speculative look. "Tyler tells me you’ve known one another a good long while."

Damn. I’d forgotten that Ruby knew me as Tyler. I found myself sitting very still, not daring to turn my head even the slightest inch, lest I detect whatever expression was on Corinne’s face. An expression which I was sure would not be even one iota to my liking.

And, of course, I was right on that count.

My friend’s voice oozed charm and hidden laughter. "A good long while indeed, Ruby. Why, when I first saw her, I thought ‘Now there’s a girl who can turn the world on with her smile.’"

Dead silence.

Then an isolated chuckle, sounding much like the lone backfire of a car with a bad muffler.

Then another chuckle, followed by another, until both of my so-called friends were just about fainting with laughter at my expense.

I felt my head turn slowly to my right, my eyebrows contracting as I shot my nearly convulsive friend my darkest of looks. Corinne returned my look with a twinkling, mischievous one of her own and subtly mouthed ‘sorry’, before she turned back to Ruby and started the laughter train rolling down the tracks all over again.

But with that single gesture, I felt what anger I’d had drain away, realizing Corinne’s joke for what it was, a successful attempt to lighten the tense atmosphere and set a suspicious Ruby at ease. So I gave a few calculated grumbles for show, and patiently waited until the last of their laughter died out, leaving a much more comfortable silence in its wake.

Oh yes, Corrine was good. She was very good.

Then she proceeded to prove just how good she really was by continuing with a story she was weaving out of whole cloth as she went along. "Yes, Tyler and I have known one another for quite awhile, as she’s told you. I was a teacher in the school where she’d come after earning her degree. In fact, she took over my class as I was set to retire. The children fell in love with her the moment they saw her." She smiled again, this one most definitely genuine. "We all did. She was an Angel come to earth. A very needed brightness in an otherwise dark and sad world."

Ruby smiled slightly at that. "Ahh. So that’s where she got her charming nickname."

"Indeed it was. One of my students came up to us after I’d introduced her—you know how charming first-graders can be—and asked her if she was an angel." She grinned. "And from that moment on, she was known as Ms. Angel to everyone."

It was one of the few times in my life when I was actually glad of my ability to blush. Corinne was depending on my reactions to prove the veracity of her story, and I didn’t let her down, blushing for all I was worth.

Apparently charmed, Ruby smiled and visibly relaxed her ramrod straight posture, actually allowing her shoulders to touch the back of the chair upon which she was sitting.

Inwardly sighing with relief, I relaxed as well, letting myself become completely absorbed within the web Corinne was spinning. If I had held any lingering doubts about exactly what the woman’s capacity was for getting people to believe exactly what she wanted them to, they vanished into the mist on that sunny winter’s day.

Though that realization probably should have given me pause, and might have had I been any younger or more innocent in the ways of my friend, but instead it gave me a sort of guilty thrill, like the thrill a young child gets when she does something she knows she’s not supposed to, and gets away with it.

The rest of the afternoon passed quickly by, and at the end of it, goodbyes were made with more warmth than the hellos had been.

Still, for Corinne’s undeniable charm and Ruby’s gentle warmth, there seemed to be a barrier between them that didn’t show any signs of coming down. Puzzled by that, I mentioned it to Ice after Corinne was tucked safely away, dreaming whatever naughty little dreams that steel trap of a mind conjured up.

Ice had laughed and enfolded me in her warm embrace. "Sounds simple enough to me."

Pulling away slightly, I fixed her with a stare. "It does, huh? Care to share, oh Wise One?" Then I laughed and lowered my chin down until it rested in the sweet valley between her breasts. "Or shall I beat you senseless with my fists of steel."

Her eyes widened in mock horror before ruffling my hair and settling me more comfortably atop her. "They’re jealous."

"Jealous?! Of what?!"

"Each other. They’re playing a little game of tug-o-war and you just happen to be the rope."

I looked at her, disbelieving. "You wanna tell me how you came up with that one?"

Her lips pursed slightly as she shrugged. "Easy. They’re two women who fulfill much the same role in your life. Mother figure. Confidant. Comfort-giver. And they both know it." She shrugged again. "And if I had to guess, I’d say each one is afraid you’re going to become too close with the other and leave the remaining one out of your life altogether."

"That’s ridiculous!"

"Maybe. Doesn’t make it any less true for them, though."

I thought about that for a moment, quite unsettled. Then I looked up again. "There’s a flaw in your theory."

Her eyebrow raised. "Oh?"

I grinned. "Yup."

"And that might be ... ."

"You." Rolling off of her warm, strong body, I adopted my best ‘scholarly’ pose. "You see, my dear Ice, if one were to follow your theory through to its logical conclusion, whatever little jealousy they might have between themselves would be vastly overshadowed by the jealousy they would have for you. You are, after all, number one in my heart, among other places."

"Perhaps," she admitted, "though there’s a flaw in your theory."

I could feel my eyebrow rumple. "Yeah? What’s that?"

Her smile was slow and sexy. "I’m not exactly the mothering type."

Laughing, I rolled back on top of her, slipping a leg between her slightly spread thighs, pleased by her immediate, and wonderful, response. "Thank God for that," I said in a voice which was suspiciously husky. "I can’t imagine doing what we’ve been doing for the last two hours with my mother."

Chuckling softly, she melded our bodies together and proceeded to spend the next two hours reinforcing that idea.

And in that theory, there were no flaws at all.

*  *  *

If Corinne and Ruby rubbed against one another like two dogs going after the same bone—and I’d finally come to the realization that Ice was right on that score--, Corinne and Pop, when they first met, gave the impression of age-old friends reuniting after just a few moments apart.

I stood by and watched in open-mouthed awe as the normally reticent Pop actually spoke in complete sentences to Corinne, playing the part of the perfect gentleman and escorting her into his station for some coffee, which was always warming on the hotplate near the cash register.

"You’re gonna catch flies if you’re not careful," Ice said, materializing beside me and wiping her greasy hands off on an oil stained rag.

"I just can’t believe it," I replied, leaning easily into her warmth. "It’s like ...it’s like ...I don’t know what it’s like. I mean, I’d hoped they’d hit it off, but ...wow."

She grunted as she leaned against me, peering with narrowed eyes into the interior of the station. "He does seem quite taken with her."

"I’ll say. I don’t think I’ve seen him talk that long to anyone."

Tossing the rag back into the garage, Ice blew on her hands to warm them, then stuffed them deep into the pockets of her jacket. "Yeah, well don’t go planning the wedding just yet, Angel. Corinne’s still a little too taken with the ladies, and I don’t think Pop’s the type who likes to share." She turned to look at me, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "And I really don’t wanna have to hide the arsenic."

"Ice!"

The grin in her eyes made it to her lips, and she reached out to ruffle my hair. "Relax, Angel. It’s okay to joke about these things sometimes."

"I know, but ...Jesus! I swear, I don’t know what gets into you sometimes."

She responded by taking in a deep breath, then letting it out gustily. "Fresh air and sunshine, sweet Angel. Fresh air and sunshine."

And with that, she walked back into the garage, leaving me to stare after her, bemused and grinning all at the same time.

*  *  *

And then it was Christmas Eve.

Cold enough to freeze a crone’s anatomy in her brass brassier, the night sky shown bright with stars hanging so low it was almost as if I could reach up and grab one to keep.

Leaving Corinne to take over the kitchen (and it should be noted that the aforementioned was a demand of hers and not a request of ours) Ice and I set off in search of a Christmas tree.

Simply walking into town and purchasing one of the many which stood, like wooden soldiers, on vacant lots was out of the question, of course. No, we actually had to search for and find our very own tree, one grown especially for us, willing to give up its life to make our holiday more festive.

I suppose I shouldn’t sound so sarcastic about it, since it was my suggestion, after all.

Borrowing an old, but sturdy, nine-foot toboggan and a saw from Ruby, we walked into a section of the woods which had suffered, several years before, a lightening-spawned forest fire which had burned away much of the old growth and left room for new life to flourish.

After a great deal of critical fault-finding by me and a greater deal of eye rolling by Ice, we finally found the perfect tree; one that was lush, bursting with that wonderful evergreen color and scent, and large enough without being too large. Framing it from afar with my hands like some psychotic photographer trying for the perfect shot, I pictured it standing next to the fireplace, bedecked with garland and trinkets, with a plethora of gaily wrapped presents underneath, and promptly announced my approval.

"You’re sure," Ice replied, lifting the saw yet again and brandishing it in a way which let me know that if I wasn’t, I stood a good chance of being a good two feet shorter than I already was in the very near future.

"Positive," I announced with a nod of finality.

Something sounding suspiciously like "It’s about goddamn time" came floating back to me as Ice turned away and began to clear the snowpack from around the base of the tree I’d selected.

"Wait!" I interrupted just as she had put blade to bark.

"What now."

Saw blade and white teeth glittered in the light of a half moon, but I did my best to ignore them both as I walked one more time around the tree, viewing it from all possible angles save, of course, from above. "Just making sure."

More words, intelligible but quite unrepeatable, floated up from the base of the tree as I completed my appraisal. "Alright. Go for it. Just make sure you cut off those branches near the bottom there. They look like they’re dying."

"Are you sure you wouldn’t like to do this your self, my dear?" came a silken purr. "After all, I wouldn’t want to ruin your perfect tree with my ineffective bumbling."

"Oh no," I replied airily, waving off her sarcasm-laced concern. "You can do it. I know how much you love working up a sweat."

Before I could even think to move, I was lifted in strong arms and tossed a good distance to land in a deep pile of snow. Laughing and sputtering and trying to dig mounds of the cold, wet stuff out of places it had no business being, I watched as the tree I’d picked finally surrendered to the might of my lover’s sharp saw and strong muscles. By the time I’d regained my footing, both saw and tree were safely stored aboard the toboggan and Ice was looking down at me, an incurably smug expression on her face.

Did I mention something about paybacks?

*  *  *

The gathering we’d arranged was in full swing by the time we arrived back at the cabin, tree in tow. Laughter and the muted tones of Christmas carols could be heard just outside the door. The porch windows were fogged from the warmth within and I could see surreal shapes seemingly float in and out of the mist on the other side of the glass.

Then the door opened and John Drew, Tom’s brother, came out to greet us, bedecked in a festive, if rather pornographic, holiday sweater. After enduring good-natured teasing over my need to assess ‘every damn tree in the whole damn country’, we finally went inside, the three of us carrying the tree over the threshold and into the living-room, where Ice had built a stand for it.

After the tree was up and suitably ‘ooh-ed’ and ‘ahh-ed’ over, we began to decorate it with the popcorn and cranberries Corinne had supplied.

Or, should I say, we tried to decorate it. Attempting to thread a tiny needle through a tinier cranberry while under the influence of a couple of cups of Corinne’s one-hundred-eighty proof eggnog became an exercise in futility rather quickly.

Ruby, whose blood-pressure medication forbade more than one cup of the stuff, primly took over threading duty while the rest of us, save Ice who’s never been much for imbibing, became progressively giddier.

Then Corinne set out a feast fit for royalty and we all followed our noses and grumbling bellies to the table like children after a day of hard play. Ice sat at one end of the table, Corinne at the other, and our guests—Pop, Ruby, the Drew brothers and their wives, and a smattering of others who we’d become friendly with—interspersed in between. It wouldn’t be stretching the truth any to say that that Christmas Eve dinner was the best I’ve ever eaten, before or since. Corinne is an outstanding cook, and forty five years in prison hadn’t diminished her talent one bit, for which we were all profoundly grateful.

Pleasantly stuffed and more than half-drunk, we finished decorating the tree while Ice and Corinne, over my staunch, if slightly slurred, objections, set about cleaning the mound of dirty dishes we’d left behind.

The evening passed slowly, as wonderful evenings sometimes will, in a warm and friendly haze that I’d often dreamed about as a child when Christmas Eve seemed to be nothing more than simply another day in my life.

As it drew to a close, Ice appointed herself the task of making sure all of our guests found their way safely home. Corinne and I stayed behind to tidy up what little mess there was, and then she went off to the comfort of her own bed while I stayed awake, awaiting my lover’s return.

I was feeling many things during that short wait, but pain definitely wasn’t one of them. Corinne’s eggnog could have loosened the limbs of a marble statue.

Ice returned quietly as I was staring into the flames of the fire, fascinated, in my gently drunken way, by the myriad of colors displayed. I wobbled over to greet her and she held me tightly, then kissed me in front of the tree it had taken so long for us to find.

And then, to put a perfect cap to a perfect evening, we made long, slow love on the thick rug in front of the blazing fire and I fell into a blissful sleep in the arms of the woman I loved more than anyone or anything in the world.

And as Christmas Eve gradually gave way to Christmas Day, yet another dream had come true.

*  *  *

Christmas morning dawned cold and blustery with more than a hint of snow in the air.

I awoke to a throbbing head and a stomach that was most definitely protesting my overindulgence of the night before. Rolling to my side, I pulled the covers up over my shoulder before realizing that where I had awoken was not the place I’d fallen asleep the night before.

Reaching out with my free hand while my eyes were still closed, I wasn’t surprised to find Ice already up and about, though the sheets were still warm from her body, so I guessed that she hadn’t been gone for very long.

Pulling her pillow toward me blindly, I burrowed my head into it, happily inhaling her scent as my sleepy body began to lose its hold on consciousness once again.

I had just begun to drift back off when the sound of Ice’s footfall on the top of the steps caused me to come fully awake. This time, my eyes deigned to open and I took in her sleep-tousled beauty, my hangover seeming to recede as a flush of welcoming warmth quickly took its place. She stood there in a loosely belted robe with nothing else beneath, the V in the robe providing a tantalizing glimpse of the creamy flesh it covered. A tray was easily held in her large hands, bearing what I hoped was some strong black coffee and an entire bottle of aspirin.

"Hello there, gorgeous. You lookin’ for me?" I asked in what I hoped was a sultry tone, but which was probably, in reality, a pale imitation, given the conflicting messages my abused body was giving me.

It got a smile out of her, though, and she crossed to the bed, setting the tray down on the bedside table next to the clock. "How’re ya feelin?" she asked, laying a cool hand on my fevered brow, sending my body into yet another bout of sensory overload.

"A minute ago? Like an entire family of cats had used me for a litter box. Now?" I grinned goofily. "Juuuuust fine."

Smiling crookedly and shaking her head, she climbed back into bed and sat with her back against the headboard, gathering me into her arms and resting me against her chest. Then, reaching one long arm out, she grabbed the coffee and held the steaming mug to my lips. "Drink this. It should make you feel better."

And so I did, contentedly sipping the strong coffee and swallowing the handful of aspirin Ice gave me. Then I relaxed back against her, absorbing the warmth of her body into mine, her very presence a better hangover remedy than all the coffee and aspirin in the world ever had a hope of being. When her hand came up to gently stroke my hair, my headache vanished as if it had never been.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure." Her deep, melodious voice rumbled up from her chest, against which my ear was pressed.

"How’d I wind up here? The last thing I remember, I fell asleep downstairs in front of the fire."

Her chuckle burred pleasantly into my ear. "Well, it was either carry you up here or risk Corinne waking up and wanting to join in on the festivities. I figured the first course of action was the wisest."

"Mmmm," I agreed, nuzzling my cheek against the smooth skin of her chest while one hand toyed idly with the belt on her robe. Then a thought struck me and I smiled. "Did Santa come?"

"Yup. And from the looks of things, his reindeer were much happier when they took off again."

I felt myself tensing just a little. "I thought we agreed not to go overboard this year."

Ice continued to stroke my hair, unconcerned. "Apparently, someone forgot to fill Ms. Moneybags in on the rules."

"She didn’t."

"Oh, she did, alright."

"Great."

At that moment, Corinne’s slightly off-key humming floated up to us from the living room, along with the gentle tinkle of silverware and porcelain. "Oh my, look at all these presents. Since no one else seems to be around, they must all be for me. How lucky!"

Smothering my laugh against Ice’s chest, I hugged her tight to me before releasing her and pushing myself up to sit on my own. "Sounds like our cue."

Ice rolled off the bed, coming to her feet and gently helping me climb out as well. Then she twirled my robe over my shoulders and belted it securely across my belly, straightening out the edges so they lay flat against my skin. "Ready?"

"Almost." Reaching out, I opened her belt, resettled her robe so that it completely covered all pertinent parts, then belted it securely. "There."

An eyebrow was raised at me.

"Hey! She’s already had a stroke. Do you want to give her a heart attack too?"

"I hardly think I have anything she hasn’t seen before, Angel."

"Maybe not," I agreed, "but it’s the way what you have is put together. One look, and she’d be in intensive care for sure."

Rolling her eyes, Ice grabbed my hand, and together, we walked down the stairs to see what Santa, in the guise of a little old librarian from Pittsburgh, had left for us.

Corinne outdid herself with the breakfast she served as we sat on the floor like children opening piles of gaily wrapped presents. And she further outdid herself with both the quantity and quality of the gifts she’d purchased for us. I felt a moment’s discomfort over this, but a quick look from her convinced me to gracefully accept them as an expression of her love and caring.

Mounds of much needed clothing turned quickly into mountains. Sheets, blankets and comforters guaranteed we’d never sleep on the same set twice. We received enough cookware to stock the finest restaurant, enough cleaning supplies to sanitize an entire hotel and enough books to fill the shelves of a good-sized library.

There were other, more ...private ...gifts as well, but if it’s all the same to you, I’ll keep the identity of those to myself, thank you. Suffice it to say that my face, when I viewed these gifts in all their glory, would have far surpassed Rudolph’s red nose in brightness.

After giving Corinne her presents from us, Ice and I exchanged our own gifts. Because money was still very much an object—we were determined that we would repay every cent of the material charges that went toward the building of our home—we’d agreed to keep Christmas simple that year.

So we exchanged the few practical gifts we’d bought for one another, and then Ice handed me a small box wrapped in simple gold foil. The look on her face, almost shy, told me this was a special gift.

I took it into my hands, testing its weight. It was quite heavy for its small size and I hadn’t the faintest glimmer of a clue what lay inside. I looked up, questioningly, but her expression betrayed nothing.

Slowly, I opened the wrapping to reveal a plain white box about the length and breadth of my hand. Prying the cover off, I gently nudged away the tissue paper covering the object, then stared inside, my breath temporarily taken away.

Inside lay a beautifully carved wooden horse.

Now, in order for you to appreciate the enormity of this seemingly simple gift, I find the need to backtrack just a little.

Well, more like a lot. Back to my childhood, to be exact.

When I was growing up, I had an Aunt, Rose, whom I worshipped. There was a strong bond between us and though I didn’t see her often, she was always in my thoughts and in my heart. She was married to an Army Captain and moved from place to place very frequently. Most of those places were overseas. Every time they were stationed somewhere new, she would send me a little gift what was unique to the country they were living in.

In hardly any time at all, my room was full to bursting with gifts from all over the world; dolls, carved animals, clocks, books, all manner of assorted trinkets.

One year, when they were stationed more or less permanently in Germany, a year that had been a very hard one for me in terms of my steadily souring relationship with my parents, she sent me a beautifully carved wooden horse, his saddle and bridle brightly painted in the style of the Bavarian artisans.

Inside was a little note, penned in her hand, which I have to this day.

Tyler:

I know things have been hard with your parents. I wish I was there to help see you through the rough times. Know always that you’re in my thoughts and prayers.

Since I can’t be there in person, I’m sending you Alwin. My friends here call him a ‘dreaming spirit’ and he’s a good friend to have around.

When things in your life aren’t going so good, just hold him close, close your eyes, and dream of faraway lands where all your troubles are gone. Let him take you there and he’ll always protect you.

One day, I know, those dreams will become a reality for you and you’ll find a place where you are cherished and loved as much as I cherish and love you.

Until then, please accept Alwin as a token of my love and keep him close to your heart as you are in mine.

Yours,

Rose

From that day forward, Alwin never left my sight. He was with me when I woke up in the morning, when I went to school (my schoolmates took to calling me ‘Linus’ briefly), when I played, and when I went to bed at night.

Rose was right. He was a good friend. He was never angry with me. He never talked down to me. He never ignored me. He listened to my troubles, and to my joys, without ever once belittling me.

He might not have licked my face or wagged his tail, but then I didn’t have to clean up after him or feed him, so that was a pretty even trade, as far as I was concerned.

And then one day, in a fit of rage over a transgression I can no longer remember, my father took a hammer to that horse, making me watch as he pounded it into splinters, and then into dust, taking my dreams with it as he did so.

I was heartbroken as only a young girl who has lost her best friend can possibly be and retreated from the room in tears, refusing to speak to my father, or to my mother who’d watched the incident without once trying to stop him, for an entire month.

It was the one thing I’ve never forgiven him for, not even to this day when his body is nothing more than dust in the ground and forgiveness means no more than the letters it’s formed from.

And I’m not sure I ever will.

I’d mentioned Alwin briefly in passing to Ice when I saw a similar horse in a store window we were passing one day, though I never told her what happened to him, nor exactly what he meant to me as a young girl.

Yet she must have picked up something from my wistful tone of voice, because before me that Christmas morning lay an exact replica of that long destroyed wooden horse, right down to the brightly painted saddle and bridle and the inquisitive look on his face.

With slightly trembling fingers, I plucked the horse out of its nest of tissue paper and held it up for closer inspection. It was absolutely perfect in every single detail.

"Where did you get this?" I breathed, Pop and his ability to find just about anything for anybody immediately coming to mind.

"Actually, I carved it," she replied, her face slightly flushed with the admission.

"But how ... ?"

"I thought there was a little more to the story then you were letting on, so I spoke to Ruby about it one day. She was more than happy to fill me in on the details. She’s got a damn good memory." She chuckled. "Anyway, after she filled me in on all the pertinent details, I went to work." She peered at the horse for a moment, then at me, a question in her eyes. "Was I close?"

"Close?! My God, Ice, it’s perfect! There isn’t one single difference between this and the one I had as a child!" Looking over the horse yet again, I realized that my words were completely true. It was perfect.

She smiled, a relaxed, genuine, beautiful one that reached into her eyes and beyond. "I’m glad. Ruby told me how much that horse had meant to you. And how your father destroyed it." The smile slipped from her face. "Again, I’m just glad that bastard’s dead, because I’d take great pleasure in killing him for what he put you through."

"Ice ... ."

Waving off my concern, she continued. "In any event, I just wanted to give something back to you that had been taken from you." The smile returned. "You’re not a little girl anymore, but you can always use another friend."

Grinning right back at her, tears shining in my eyes, I reached over and hugged her tightly to me, realizing that the words my aunt had written so long ago had finally come true. My dreams did become reality, and with them, I found a place where I was cherished and loved.

Thank you, Rose.

After a long moment, I pulled away and reached under the tree, retrieving the gift I’d placed there the night before while Ice was escorting our guests back to their homes. "Here. This is for you."

She looked at me questioningly for a moment as she accepted the gift, its size and shape immediately giving away its contents. Unwrapping the paper I’d put on for festivities’ sake, she pulled out my gift, a record in a jacket that was devoid of any artistry, as I had requested from Pop.

I smiled. "Go ahead. Put it on."

Rising gracefully to her feet, she walked over to the sound system and removed the dust cover from the turn table, carefully removing the album from its protective jacket and placing it on the spindle. Turning the system on, she carefully moved the arm over and set the needle down in the first groove, then stepped back, head cocked intently.

When the first strands of music swelled out into the room, I saw her body stiffen to statue-like rigidity. Her face paled, and I wondered if I had just made a horrible mistake.

Then a voice, more beautiful than any nightingale’s joined with the music and I saw her chest hitch once, convulsively, before it settled down again. Her eyes, a brilliant blue, slipped closed as the music continued to swell from the speakers.

"Dear God," Corinne whispered beside me, her hand coming up to her chest. "Is that Ecaterina DuPrie? I absolutely adore her work!"

Living with Ice for as long as I had, I knew my opera singers. I smiled, not taking my eyes off my raptly listening partner. "I didn’t know you were such a connoisseur, Corinne. That’s exactly who it is."

Corinne laughed softly. "Figures you’d know. What a wonderful gift! To have anything by Ms. DuPrie is a treasure indeed. It must have taken you ages to find."

"It wasn’t as hard as you might think," I whispered back, still watching Ice.

The first stanza of the aria had ended, and when the second stanza began, I saw her chest hitch again, but this time, when the Prima Donna’s voice sounded clear and beautiful, Ice lifted her own voice to the heavens, matching the singer note for note.

I felt a chill go down my spine.

Apparently, I wasn’t the only one. "My god in heaven, that is absolutely uncanny! I never knew she could sing so beautifully!"

I led my proud smile say it all.

"It’s like hearing a voice from beyond the grave," Corinne murmured, almost reverently. "Ice sounds exactly like her!"

"She should."

"Why?"

"Ecaterina DuPrie is her mother."

Corinne’s brief slump against my side finally took my gaze from my partner. "Are you alright?"

"Never tease an old woman, Angel," she growled. "Our hearts can’t take it."

"I’m not teasing, Corinne. I thought you knew."

She looked at me, eyes wide. "Knew? How in the world could I know something like that?" She peered more closely at Ice, as if truly seeing her for the first time. "Though perhaps I should have guessed. They do bear some striking similarities."

Before I could reply, the aria ended and one of those similarities—from what Ice had told me—made its appearance felt when my lover opened her eyes. Her expression seemed rather dazed, as if she’d been dealt a hard blow and was only now beginning to shake it off. Her hand moved in a dream-like fashion toward the sound system, removing the needle from the record before another song could begin.

Then her expression cleared and her eyes drilled into mine.

Unable to keep from obeying the unvoiced command, I found myself rising to my feet, my gaze trapped helplessly within the surreal magnetism of hers.

After a long moment that seemed to span an eternity in which entire galaxies were born, lived out their lives, and died in brilliant blazes of glory, I felt, as much as saw, her step toward me, and saw, as much as felt, her body crush itself against mine, the entire length of her trembling. Her face, flushed and hot, pressed itself against the curve of my neck and I felt the gentle rain of tears scald a sweet brand upon my skin.

"Thank you," she whispered once, and then again, and then again, until it became a mantra, a prayer, a benediction.

Holding her tight to me, I reached up one hand to stoke her hair and her back, awed and humbled beyond measure at the gift Ice was giving me at that moment; that one unguarded moment where all barriers were down and only one thing was left standing.

Her soul.

Only the sound of Corinne moving away to give us our privacy broke the timeless lock of our embrace. Ice pulled away, but instead of hiding her tears, she seemed to bear them proudly, her carriage erect and her gaze unswerving. "It’s alright, Corinne," she said in a voice which was still husky. "You don’t have to leave."

Smiling slightly as Corinne took an uncertain step forward, she held open her arms and welcomed our friend into her embrace, enfolding her tenderly and placing a kiss upon her cheek.

When the gentle hug ended, Ice turned back to me. "How?" she asked simply.

I grinned. "You can thank Pop for the legwork. I gave him my request and he ran with it."

She took in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. "I will." She then shook her head in amazement. "I haven’t heard that voice in fifteen years. I didn’t realize how much I missed it. Until now." The look in her eyes was incredibly tender and I fought hard against my own tears resurfacing.

Then a thought struck me, and I sobered. "The ...um ...last two tracks on the other side are from Werther."

She nodded in understanding. "I might wait awhile to listen to them."

I realized immediately what she meant and I knew that I wouldn’t be hearing those particular songs for a good long while, if ever. Ice would need to be alone to deal with the feelings dredged up by that music and it was a privacy I would willingly grant her. I nodded, smiling.

"Thank you," she said again, her voice soft.

"You’re welcome." And then I intentionally echoed her words. "I just wanted to give something back to you that had been taken from you." And unspoken but still heard between us: the sound of your mother’s voice.

It was a Christmas I would always remember.

PART 6

WINTER TOOK ITS own sweet time stepping aside for spring, but it finally did and seemingly before I knew it, a year had passed since we first set foot upon Canadian soil. So many things had happened in my life since then. A year seemed much too short a time span for them all to have taken place.

And yet, there I was, standing on my own porch, looking out of my own window, down across my own land, watching sailboats promenade across a vast expanse of deep blue lake.

I pinched myself, just once, and when it hurt, I was convinced that what I was seeing was truly real and not the fevered dreamings of a sad young girl or a prison inmate desperate for freedom.

I was totally alone in the house, but the solitude was welcome and comforting after the bustle of the holiday season and the long, gray winter that followed. Ice had left sometime before sunrise, intending to get in a nice long run over grass newly sprung from the once frozen earth. Corinne, for her part, had announced her cabin fever quite loudly to one and all, both of which were me, and had left an hour before to do some exploring. She departed with the look I imagine a fox gets when he’s contemplating the chicken coop across the barnyard, and I spared a moment of pity for whomever her explorations pitted her against that day.

I suddenly felt the urge to get outside myself, and after donning a light jacket—yet another gift from Corinne—I stepped out into the warmth and sunshine of the newly born spring, taking in a deep breath of fresh air and smiling for all I was worth.

Walking down the small hill that separated the house from the lake, I stepped out onto the tiny green dock which I’d painted the day before, continuing to watch the sailboats as they fought both gravity and wind to remain upright in the water.

I spared a moment for wistful longing before remembering that I too knew how to sail.

My decision quickly made, I stepped back onto the shore and walked to the small cove where Ice and I had placed the Hobie after making it once again ready for sailing that past weekend. After readying the rigging, unfurling and hoisting the sails, and attaching the sling, I gently pushed the boat out into the shallows, then stepped aboard, my boot momentarily sinking into the icy water and causing my whole body to tense up in chilled reaction.

Still, I’d made up my mind and wasn’t about to let a little cold water dampen my enthusiasm, and so, with a healthy shove that chilled my body even more, I managed to catch the wind and started off toward the center of the lake, icy spray piercing my face with its needled drops.

The freedom I felt was incredible as I carved out a line and stuck to it, battling the wind and the water for my right to fly.

And fly I did, over the glassy blue lake, like a colorful bird just skimming over the water with one eye open for breakfast, controlling nature with a flick of my hand or a twist of my body, my smile, I’m sure, fierce and proud and wild and free.

When my soaked clothes and icy skin began to get the better of my endorphins, I turned for home. As I drew closer, I noticed that someone had taken up residence on the green dock. Still closer, I noted that ‘someone’ as Corinne, who’d appropriated a deck chair and her dark shawl, and was sitting quite comfortably, watching me as I approached, a grin on her face.

I resisted—only just—cutting sharply to the left and spraying her with a nice fan of icy water. Instead, I behaved myself and brought the Hobie in for a gentle landing against the sandy shore, then hopped from the boat and tugged it partly onto the beach, lowering the sails so it wouldn’t decide to take off again, preferring the water to a land-bound existence.

As I turned toward my friend, I suddenly found myself with a face full of towel. Grabbing it before it fell to the sand, I vigorously rubbed my chilled cheeks and icy hair, restoring circulation as best I could while I walked toward the dock. "Thanks."

"More than welcome, my dear. You’re quite the sailor. I’m impressed."

"Thanks," I said again, stepping on to the dock and draping the towel over one of the posts to dry in the warm spring sun. "Just another little something I picked up from Ice. She’s a great teacher."

"Indeed she is. But the best teacher in the world can’t help someone who doesn’t have at least a bit of natural ability. You, Angel, looked as if you’d been sailing all your life."

Feeling another blush coming on, I hid it by turning back toward the lake, watching the sailboats as they continued to make their way around the lake in endless circles.

Corinne chuckled, then reached under her chair and came up with a thermos, from which she poured a steaming cup of tea and handed to me. Taking the warm drink gratefully, I inhaled the wonderful scent and took a bracing sip, feeling the heat warm my insides in a most pleasant way. "God, that’s good." I took another sip, then turned back to look at her. "So, did you have fun ‘exploring’?"

Her teeth flashed white in a predator’s grin. "Oh yes. A great deal of fun. It’s amazing what sorts of rocks one can turn over when one has the right tools for the job."

Snorting, I finished the rest of my tea and handed the cup back to her. "It’s good to know you love your work."

She laughed. " Oh, I do indeed. Small towns like this have such juicy little secrets. The people hold to them so tightly, as if in giving them up, they’d somehow lose an important part of themselves." Her delighted laughter sounded again. "I do so enjoy poking holes in balloons of contention."

Shaking my head, I lowered myself to the sun-warmed wood of the dock, enjoying the feel of the gentle breeze against my slowly drying body. "So," I said after a moment, "what balloons did you manage to pop today?"

Corinne’s eyes went wide in mock surprise. "Am I hearing correctly? My little Angel actually wants to hear gossip? And here I thought that was beneath you."

I scowled at her, then closed my eyes and tipped my face toward the sun. "Fine. If you don’t want to tell me ... ."

Never one to resist a challenge, even if it was being made at her expense, Corinne remained silent for two whole seconds before beginning to tell her tale. "Were you aware that there’s a bit of a feud between a certain rather rotund and fashion-challenged innkeeper and a gentleman of your acquaintance who just happens to own the business establishment across the street?"

My head lowered, my eyes opened, and I found myself suddenly very much interested in her words. "What kind of feud?"

Her expression was one of a fisherman when he knows that his prey has been caught, hook, line and sinker. "Well," she said after a moment, "it seems that your friend Millicent ... ."

"She’s hardly my friend, Corinne."

"In any event," she said, her tone telling me exactly what she thought of my untimely interruption, "it seems that Millicent filed suit against Pop for having what she called an ‘unzoned eyesore’. She demanded that the old cars be removed post haste and the lot tidied up so that her guests would not have to be forced to look at lumps of rusted metal every time they peered out of their windows."

"And Pop refused, right?"

"Correct. He told her in no uncertain terms that both he and his eyesore—which is correctly zoned, by the way—were here to stay, and if she didn’t like that fact, she was free to ... well, I’m sure you can get the appropriate picture without my having to paint it for you, no?"

"Good for him! What did the courts say?"

"What could they say? He has a permit and the ability to do with the land what he wishes, short of putting up a waste treatment plant or a topless bar, of course. She lost. And so, of course, she simply filed again."

"Damn. She obviously doesn’t know the meaning of the phrase ‘graceful loser’. How long has this been going on?"

"Ever since she first took over the Silver Pine from her deceased aunt, I believe."

"Wow. I wonder why he never told us about it." I looked up at her. "How did you manage to pry it out of him?"

She contrived to look pious. "A lady never boasts about her sexual prowess, my dear."

I almost choked on my own saliva. "Yeah. Right."

She laughed. "Actually, that little tidbit didn’t come from Pop. Doreen Symmonds gave it up quite easily after I stopped by and was conned into reading a few chapters of those torridly awful romance novels that warm her house with their tawdry splendor."

The mental picture of Corinne reading such stories to a raptly listening, and no doubt intently sewing, Mrs. Symmonds almost dumped me into the lake as I collapsed against the floor of the dock in laughter. She waited out my small storm with tolerant amusement, and when my gales of laughter finally wound down to isolated chuckles, she continued. "Doreen has a great deal of interesting knowledge—dirt, I believe it’s called these days. She’s lived here far longer than anyone else, and because of her blindness, I think people believe her deaf as well."

Serious again, I sat back upright, resting my arms atop my crossed legs. "Did she have anything else interesting to say?"

"More than can be told in one sitting, to be sure. She’s a veritable fountain of information just waiting for a coin to be tossed her way."

"Anything else on Millicent and Pop?"

"Well, it appears that Millicent’s hatred of Pop doesn’t extend to owners of gas stations, and their attendant eyesores, in general. From what I’ve heard, she’s been seen courting a rather repulsive gentleman by the name of Conrad who just happens to own the station in the next town to the north."

I could feel my face drawing up in a grimace. "Yeah. I’ve seen him a few times. He’s been trying his damndest to get Ice away from Pop and work for him. Ice has come very close to rearranging his face for him more than once. Not that you’d be able to tell if she did, though. That man looks like a truck ran over him, stopped, backed up, and ran over him again for good measure. Millicent’s probably the only woman on this planet who’d look at him twice."

"I hear he’s as rich as sin."

"That’d do it."

"Trying to take Ice away would make sense," Corinne mused. "He managed to sway Pop’s original mechanic into his fold. I imagine he feels that if he lured Ice away as well, especially as good and popular as she is, Pop would be forced to shut down and Millicent’s problems would be solved."

"That’s not gonna happen," I replied with some heat. "That bitch is gonna have to try a whole lot harder than that." I could feel my muscles tense as my clenched fists beat a tattoo on my thighs. "God damn her! What gives her the right to act like such an ass?"

Corinne laughed. "Since when did someone need a right to act like an malicious fool, Angel? Dear God woman, you’ve been dealing with people of her ilk for five full years! Did you just think them confined to prison?"

"Of course not, Corinne. It’s just that ... ." I sighed, then looked up at her again. "Pop is my friend. And I don’t like to see my friends screwed with. Especially not by the likes of her." I came to my feet. "I think that woman needs to be knocked down a few pegs."

Corinne held out an arm. "Relax, Angel. Act in haste, repent in leisure, and all that. The best way to teach someone like dear Millicent a lesson is to use her own tactics against her."

Stopping as Corinne’s sage advice reached my ears, I resolutely let go my anger, knowing she was right on that count. I turned back to her. "Fine. As long as I get a part in whatever play you’re putting on."

She smiled enigmatically. "Oh, I think I might be able to come up with a role for you, sweet Angel."

As someone has been known to say however, the best laid plans of mice and men ... .

*  *  *

Late that very same night, I was awakened from a deep, dreamless sleep by the incongruous sound of a bell ringing. Immediately thinking of midnight phone calls and the bad omens they portended, I shot straight up in bed, looking around wildly. "Ice?"

"Right here," came a voice to my left. Turning my head in that direction, I saw her shadowed form bent over at the waist and apparently tugging her pants on.

"What’s going on? What’s that ringing?"

"Fire bell," she bit off as she stood once again to her full height and dragged a T-shirt over her head, settling her hair outside of the collar.

That got me up and moving. The town didn’t have a fire-station. In fact, the nearest one was almost forty miles away. So when the fire bell sounded, everyone ran to pitch in. It was either that or sit back and watch the entire town and half the surrounding forest go up in a puff of smoke.

"Hang on a minute, I just need to find my ... ah, there they are." I stepped over to the railing to retrieve jeans that had been flung there in the heat of the moment. My shirt, thankfully whole though a bit worse for wear, lay on the floor nearby and I pulled it on quickly, running my fingers through my hair. I slipped my feet into my ratty sneakers and turned to face my waiting lover. "Ready."

"Let’s go, then."

After pausing briefly to reassure a concerned Corinne, we stepped outside into the chilly spring night. The thick scent of smoke was heavy in the still air. I sniffed. "Smells like burning rubber."

"It’s Pop’s place," Ice retorted, pointing over the treeline toward the town. A thick plume of oily black smoke could be seen rising above it, alive and malicious in the light of a waxing moon.

My body came alive with tension. "Shit! The gas pumps!"

"I know. Let’s get moving."

We jumped into the truck, and Ice floored it, leaving me to hang on for dear life as we flew down the cracked and pitted street that connected our small neighborhood to the town itself. The stench of burning rubber became thicker and more cloying the closer we got, and as the truck came around the last bend, the sight of hungry flames licking upwards filled the windshield.

It seemed that almost half the town was already in attendance, with more arriving every minute. Several bucket brigades had already been formed, and men and women were busily spraying water from hoses attached to the businesses to the left and right of Pop’s garage.

Thankfully, the fire appeared, for the moment, to be contained to the junkyard, which was perhaps fifty yards away from the islands that held the gas pumps.

"Promise me something, Ice," I said as we jumped from the truck and ran to join the helpers.

"What’s that?"

"No running into burning buildings to save a litter of kittens, alright? I’ve already been through that once with you. I don’t think I could bear going through it again."

Her teeth flashed in the light of the fire. "No promises, Angel, but I’ll try my best."

She moved off into the line of fire, as it were, while I stepped up to Mary Lynch, who was directing the helpers to keep everyone organized and focused on their tasks. Mary pointed me in the direction of another rapidly forming bucket brigade and I gladly pitched in, grabbing and passing on each water-filled bucket that came my way.

As I became engrossed in the rather mindless work, I spared a moment to look around at the beehive of frantic, yet controlled, activity, feeling a surge of pride for a town which had, over the course of a year, become mine. There was no arguing or jostling or trying for glory. Everyone did their jobs without fuss or complaint, their entire focus on one goal and one goal only. To help out a friend in need.

After five years in jail, it felt good to be part of something like that.

Millicent, however, was conspicuous by her absence.

Turning my head, I looked at the darkened inn across the street, swearing that I could see a curtain flutter in one of the upper rooms. The anger which had left me hours before returned in full force. I’ll bet my last dollar that bitch has something to do with this.

Still watching the Inn, I noticed something out of the corner of my eye and shifted my gaze downward toward the row of hedges which bordered her property. My eyes were past the point of burning tears from the smoke, but as I continued to watch, I saw again what had attracted my attention.

The bushes moved.

Then they moved again.

"Son of a bitch. Here, hold this." Blindly thrusting the bucket I was holding into the hands of the next person in line, I broke free from the bucket brigade and started off across the street.

Whoever was watching the fire obviously saw me and tried to bolt. The bushes moved violently again, and I broke into a sprint. "Oh no ya don’t!"

Running as fast as I could, I launched myself in a flying tackle, managing to wrap my arms around the ankles of the person trying to flee, and bring us both hard to the unforgiving ground. Getting quickly to my knees, I rolled the person I’d tackled over and saw the snarling face of a young man—no more than a boy, really—hot-spots of adolescent acne clear on his face.

Gritting his teeth, he began to struggle, but I held him rather easily, straddling his heaving chest and placing my knees squarely on his biceps, effectively pinning him. "Get offa me!" he yelled in a high, cracked voice.

"Not until you tell me what you were doing in those bushes."

"What the hell do ya think, I was doin, lady? Jerkin off?? I was watchin the fire!" He renewed his struggle to escape, becoming more red-faced with the effort. "Come on, lady! Get offa me. I wasn’t doin nothin wrong!"

"I think you’re lying," I replied, staring down at him and adjusting to the frantic movements of his body beneath me. I inhaled deeply and tried not to choke on the smoke which filled the air. "You smell like gasoline. I think you started that fire."

"I didn’t start nothin, bitch." Seeing his struggles were fruitless, he opted for staring sullenly at me. "Maybe you started it and are lookin’ for someone ta blame."

I smiled coolly. "I think we both know that’s not the truth." Then I tried another tactic. "If you didn’t start the fire, maybe you saw who did? After all, you had a front row seat over there, didn’t you?"

"I didn’t see nothin." His face was closed, walled off. That expression wasn’t exactly something I was unfamiliar with.

I sighed. "Fine." Then I moved off of him, coming to my feet and offering him a hand.

Swatting it away, he jumped to his own feet, smirking at me. "Bitch."

I allowed him to turn, and as he did so, I grabbed his wrist and wrenched it up high and hard behind his back. He came to his toes immediately, squeaking in pain. "What the fuck are ya doin?"

"You’re a witness to a crime. You didn’t think I was just gonna let you go, did you?"

"I told ya, bitch, I didn’t see nothin!"

"Yeah, I know. You didn’t see anything, you didn’t hear anything, you didn’t do anything. A regular Casper Milquetoast, you are."

"Huh?"

"Never mind. Just move."

And move we did, right back toward the still burning fire, with my reluctant captive struggling every step of the way. Though he was a good five inches taller and fifty or so pounds heavier than I was, I had little trouble marching him back the way we’d come. After all, it was I move I’d practiced on Ice more times than I cared to count, and if I could to it with her, I had no doubt that I could immobilize Mr. Universe if I had to.

For a second, anyway.

We passed the first line of helpers, most of whom gave us curious glances as we walked through the area of controlled chaos. They returned quickly to their tasks, though, and we moved forward pretty much unmolested.

When the smoke became too thick for breathing, I stopped, eyes darting around, trying to find my partner through the haze of oily smoke. Which was, of course, trying to find a needle in a mountain of haystacks.

"Ice!" I shouted, trying mightily to be heard over the din of the fire and the shouts of the helpers. When there was no answer, I tried again. "Ice!! I need to see you for a second, please!!"

After a long moment, the smoke seemed to coalesce and take on human form. Then my lover stepped through the fumes, her hair drenched with sweat, her face black with soot from which two icy sapphire chips sparkled, her clothes dirty and pasted to her body, and a large axe gripped surely in one hand.

If a Hollywood casting director had been there looking for someone to play a demon from hell, he would have hired her on the spot, no questions asked.

The young man standing in front of me stiffened, and I could feel his pulse-rate double beneath my hand. He renewed his efforts to break free, but I held him easily, watching as my partner approached, a no-nonsense look on what could be seen of her face. "What’s going on?" she asked, still holding the axe, her voice harsh from the smoke she’d inhaled.

"I found my friend here hiding in the bushes across the street," I replied, noticing out of the corner of my eye that Pop, almost equally soot-covered and sweating, moved out of the smoke to join us. "He seems to have been affected with a sudden case of stupidity, so I figured I’d bring him over here and let you wise him up."

Reaching out with her free hand, Ice grabbed the young man by the front of his T-shirt and jerked him forward until their faces were scarcely an inch apart. I quickly let his arm go, fearing that the sudden pressure would tear it free from its socket.

"Did you start this fire?" Ice growled, the harshness of her voice only magnifying the malevolent effect.

Stepping to one side, I looked up, noticing that the surly youngster’s eyes were now wide as saucers while his face paled to the color of curdled cream, unfortunate acne standing out in spots of high color on his cheeks, forehead and chin.

"Answer me!" Ice growled again, shaking him as a terrier might shake a chew toy.

I knew he was past the point of forming coherent words, and was just about to step in when Pop, apparently having the same idea, put a blackened hand on Ice’s arm and stepped closer to the pair, peering up into the face of the unfortunate boy. "You’re Duke Johnson’s boy from up-country, ain’t ya? I seen you around a few times when I’ve been up that way."

As if desperate to ingratiate himself to one who wasn’t about to rip his head off and chop up what was left into tiny pieces, the boy nodded frantically, his Adam’s Apple bobbing as he gulped past the pressure Ice was putting on his throat.

Pop nodded. "Thought so. What you doin so far from home, boy? Ain’t you got school in the mornin?"

He nodded again, which, of course, didn’t come close to answering either question.

"Ease up on him a little, Morgan. Boy looks like he’s gonna pass out and piss himself all at the same time. Let’s see what he’s got ta say."

Ice relaxed her grip just slightly, allowing the boy to stand comfortably on both feet once again, but didn’t release him entirely, in case he thought about doing something stupid. Like running, for instance.

The way she was staring at him, I thought breathing might be another example in the ‘doing something stupid’ department, unless she got the answers she was looking for.

Pop’s eyes were compassionate. "Who put you up to this, boy? Just gimme a name, and you’re free to go."

"I didn’t do nothin!" Instead of surliness, the young man’s tone had changed to one of petulance, with a dose of good, old fashioned fright thrown in for good measure.

"I know your father, boy. He’s a good man. Don’t think he’s got it in him to raise stupid sons. Just tell me who set you up for this and he won’t have ta visit you in the jail."

At the mention of jail, the boy’s lip trembled slightly, but he remained stubbornly silent.

Pop took off his cap, slapping it against his thigh. "God damn it, boy! Don’t you realize just what a shitpile you got yourself into? If I hadn’t been nearby when you threw your damn cocktail in there, you wouldn’t just be lookin at arson. You’d be lookin at murder, a dozen times over."

"What are you talkin about?"

"I was wrong. Your old man did manage ta raise a stupid kid. Can’t you see how close you came to explodin my gas tanks?!? This whole town coulda gone up, and most of the people too! Yourself included, ya shit-fer-brains idiot!"

The boy’s legs buckled at that, and the only thing that kept him on his feet was Ice’s firm grip to his shirt. Pop brought his face up close, much as Ice had done the moment prior. "Who done this, boy. Who put you up to it. A name’s all I need. You gimme that and you’re free to go."

There was a long moment of silence, punctuated only by the shouts of the people still fighting the slowly diminishing fire. Then the boy looked up, his eyes bright with tears I knew weren’t caused by the smoke. "I didn’t do nothin. I didn’t see nothin. I told ya that already. Can I please go home now?"

Pop sighed, then placed his cap back on his head. "Let ‘im go, Morgan." He nodded at her look to him. "It’s alright. Let ‘im go. I think he’s learned his lesson for the night. Ain’t that right, boy."

The boy nodded, then turned to leave as Ice released her grip on his shirt. Pop stopped him with one hand on his arm. "One more thing, son. If, when yer walkin home, yer good sense does return to ya, I’d suggest going up to the coward who put ya up to this and tellin’ him next time not ta send a boy to do a man’s work. Tell him next time he wants ta fight, do it himself. Got that?"

"Yeah. I got it."

"Good. Now get yer ass outta here before I change my mind and let my big friend with the axe here chop ya up fer firewood."

As if shot from a cannon, he took off, not pausing even once to look back, and disappeared quickly into the woods, leaving only the stench of his fear behind.

Snorting in disgust, Ice hefted her axe and, without a word to either of us, went back to fighting the fire.

"Why’d you let him go like that?" I asked Pop, disbelief plain in the tone of my voice.

"Wasn’t worth the hassle of keepin’ him around, Angel. He’s just a little fish in an even littler pond."

"Yeah, but that little fish almost destroyed this entire town."

"And he knows it, too." He turned to me, his eyes wise even beyond their advanced years. "He had the fear o’ God scared into him tonight, Angel. Somethin’ a whole lifetime in prison wouldn’t do. And when he comes ta realize just how close he came ta endin’ it all, he’ll go right up to the idiot that set him up and give him my message. Killin two birds with one stone, and all that."

"Screw the two birds, Pop. You know who set him up as much as I do," I replied, gritting my teeth in anger.

His eyes went wide for a second, then narrowed. "So, ya heard about that, huh?"

"Yeah. I heard. And I’m not gonna let her get away with it."

"Don’t go doin’ nothin rash, Tyler. Don’t wanna go visitin you in the pen any more than I wanted ta put that boy in there."

"Oh, I’m not planning on doing anything rash. Unless you count ripping her fat little head off and shoving it up her ass as being rash."

He laughed. "Morgan’s rubbin off on ya, I see."

"No. I come by this naturally, Pop." I crossed my arms over my chest. "I’m mad as hell at that witch for what she’s doing to you. Why do I seem to be the only one?"

He smiled, the tender expression at odds with the definite blaze of anger in his eyes. "You’re not the only one, sweetheart, though I gotta say you win the prize for originality."

"Then why don’t you do something about her? Why just let her get off scot free? Does someone have to die before justice is served here?"

"Naw. No one’s gonna die, Tyler. She’ll get what’s comin’ to her alright. We all just gotta wait a little." His eyes glittered. "Ya know what they say about revenge, right?"

I sighed. "Yeah. It likes to be refrigerated."

He grinned. "Somethin like that, yeah." Then he threw a companionable arm around my shoulders. "C’mon, then. Let’s get back to fightin this fire before Morgan there gets all the glory fer puttin it out single-handed, eh?"

Sighing again for effect, I caved in to his gentle entreaty. There wasn’t much else I could do about it, after all. But as I walked back toward the fire, I entertained myself with visions of my fingers wrapping around Millicent’s bejeweled and fleshy neck as her beady brown eyes popped out like a couple of over-ripe grapes.

Oh yes, revenge might be a dish best served cold, but even the best ice cream in the world didn’t have so sweet a taste.

*  *  *

Dawn began to lighten the sky to the east when the last of the fire was finally laid to rest. Only those overcome by the heat and smoke had left. The rest stayed and fought side by side until finally the battle was won.

Beyond exhausted, I gratefully dropped the last water-filled bucket to the ground at my feet, wiping sweaty, blistered and raw hands uselessly against an equally sweaty, not to mention black with soot, shirt. I took in a deep breath before realizing my mistake, then almost collapsed when spasms of coughing shook my already weakened body. Spots flashed before my eyes and I fought to regain my breathing before I passed out on the muddy ground.

Feeling a cool hand to the back of my sweat-sticky neck, I looked up into the concerned eyes of Corinne. Coughing a few more times, then gratefully feeling my lungs begin to accept the gift of fresh air, I slowly straightened, every muscle in my body tight and aching. Smiling, she handed me a tall glass which was filled to the brim with her special sweet tea that I adored.

I held the glass up to my brow for a moment, relishing the chill against my flesh. Then I gulped down the entire offering, almost moaning in pleasure as it hit my belly and cooled me instantly. "You’re a goddess, Corinne. Thanks."

Rescuing the glass from my hand, she poured another tall drink from her thermos and handed it back to me. "Think nothing of it, Angel. Drink up, now. You’re about to fall right over."

"You don’t know the half of it," I replied, gulping down the second drink as quickly as I had the first and feeling the icy needles of too much cold too quickly spiking into my brain. "Owww."

Laughing gently, Corinne took back her glass as I rubbed at my forehead, willing the sharp pain to recede.

It calmed gradually, disappearing completely just as a warm, and very welcome presence made itself known at my side. Feeling a grin surface, I looked up at a soot-covered partner who looked nearly as exhausted as I felt, her eyes red rimmed and puffy. "Hey, stranger," I said, bumping her thigh with my hip.

"Hey." She cocked a questioning eyebrow at me. "You alright?"

"Nothing a year’s worth of sleep won’t cure. You?"

She shrugged. "I’m fine."

I looked at her, assessing the truth of her words. She bore several fresh scrapes to the left side of her face, and peeking beneath the ruins of a once pristine T-shirt, an ugly red burn stood out angrily on the smooth skin of her muscled belly. "What happened?"

She looked down as if noticing the burn for the first time. "Got a little too close to the fire, I guess. Doesn’t hurt."

"It will."

"Maybe."

Corinne pressed the glass of tea into her hand and she quaffed it quickly, then handed the glass back and lifted the half-filled bucket laying at my feet and dumping its contents over her head. Groaning, she shook her head, spraying us all with the droplets that flew out from her hair.

As my skin greedily took in the precious moisture offered, I turned to look at the charred remains of Pop’s automobile graveyard. There wasn’t much left. "At least we kept the tanks from going up."

"True enough," Ice replied, gliding an arm around my shoulders and hugging me into her side.

Tearing my gaze away from the carnage, I looked toward the Inn. Once again, I could swear I saw the curtains twitch just a little, as if released by a hidden hand. I turned back to Ice. "She did this, you know. She might not have been the one to start the fire, but she’s just as guilty."

Ice nodded. "I know."

"Well, if you know, and I know, and Pop knows, and everybody in this whole damn town knows, why isn’t anybody doing anything about it?"

She squeezed me tighter for a minute. "You know why, Angel. This is Pop’s show. And as much as I want to rearrange the bitch’s arms and legs for her, we need to let Pop take the lead on this one."

"But for how much longer? Damnit, Ice, he’s already been beaten to a bloody pulp, had his shop trashed, and now this! I know he’s an adult and this is his life, but when is it going to end? When is that bitch going to stop getting away with it?"

She looked down at me, her eyes steel-gray in the light of a new dawn. "Pop or no Pop, Angel, she will not get away with this. That I promise you."

After a moment, I let go my anger and relaxed against her. After all, who knew better than I that when Morgan Steele made a promise, you went to the bank with it.

Released from the false energy of both my anger and Corinne’s caffeine-and-sugar laden tea, I slumped wearily against Ice’s side. "Can we go home now? I think I can hear the bed calling from here, and if I don’t get there quick, I’ll just fall asleep in this nice juicy mud-puddle instead."

She hugged me tight. "Sure. This mess will still be around to clean up later. Let’s go."

Saying our goodbyes to Pop and the other firefighters, we then collected Corinne, squeezed into the truck, and headed for home, weary to the bone.

And after three successive showers finally managed to clean the soot and smoke from my body, I climbed into my big, soft, clean and oh so wonderful bed and fell asleep before my head hit the pillow, leaving my angers and my worries to wait for another day, when I was more equipped, not to mention awake, to deal with them.

*  *  *

The next several days passed quietly, though not without activity. The fire had left behind huge clumps of twisted, charred metal only vaguely resembling the cars they once were. Shattered bits of safety glass lay glittering under the mid-day sun like a tiny galaxy being viewed from above by an omnipotent god. Charred upholstery, tires, and hundreds of other items rendered unidentifiable by the conflagration waited patiently to be cleared away.

I lobbied hard against such a clean up, reasoning—quite logically, I thought—that it would be just desserts of the highest order to have Millicent and her guests be forced to look down upon the true eyesore her efforts had wrought.

Pop, however, was a better person than I that day, and lobbied just as hard to clean the mess up. His reasoning that other people would have to look at it too couldn’t be argued with, and finally I put away my snit for the day and pitched in, though not without a few half-muttered curses that even had Corinne looking at me with newfound respect.

Then one morning, while coming downstairs after changing the sheets on our bed, I spied Corinne standing before the mirror on the back of the bathroom door, putting the finishing touches on the outfit she’d chosen for the day.

And a fine outfit it was. A simple black dress and matching shoes were complimented by tasteful—and obviously expensive—jewelry. Her hair and makeup were done to perfection, and when she turned to face me, I suddenly saw just what it was that attracted so many to her, both in the days of her youth, and now, when that youth was a far away thing, never to be seen again.

She was, in a word, beautiful.

"Wow!" I commented, giving her my best wolf whistle. "Don’t you clean up nice."

"One does one’s best with what one has," she replied, her twinkling eyes and smug grin belying the false modesty of her words.

"Who’s the lucky guy?" I grinned. "Or girl."

"Getting a bit nosey are we?"

"What can I say? I learned from the best," I replied, reaching out to straighten her collar.

"Well, if you must know, I’m about to pay Millicent a visit."

I could feel my nose wrinkling. "I thought your standards were higher than that, Corinne."

She laughed. "Oh, you can be sure that they most definitely are. I’m considering this a little fact finding mission. That stubborn mule of a gas station owner won’t let even the tiniest hair springing from Millicent’s moles be harmed. He wants irrefutable proof that she was behind the attacks against him. I intend to give him that proof."

"Ahh," I said, nodding. "Would you like some company?"

She looked at me critically. "I don’t know if that’s wise, Angel. Millicent doesn’t seem predisposed toward having warm feelings for you, especially given recent events and the part you’ve played in them."

"True. But I hardly think that’s an obstacle the great Corinne Weaver can’t overcome." Playing to her ego was a sure-fire way to get myself a seat of honor at the main event. Besides, it was only the truth, and we both knew it.

Her eyes softened and she acknowledged my tactic with a slight tilt of her head, causing me to display my triumph with a toothy grin. Still, she couldn’t help putting a touch of the martyr in her voice. "Oh, very well. If you feel you must come along, hurry up and change. I’m not getting any younger, you know."

"But you’re aging beautifully," I said, dodging in and giving her a teasing kiss before darting away and running up the stairs to change into something more presentable. From the floor below, I heard her muttering something about impertinent brats and their need of a good strapping, and I couldn’t help but laugh.

After changing into a pair of clean, pressed shorts and a simple green top, I slipped a pair of sandals on and walked back downstairs to join Corinne, bearing her scrutiny stoically.

"The innocent little girl look. I like it." Her dark eyes twinkled. "I like it a great deal, in fact."

"Down, Fido," I joked. "Let’s just get this show on the road, ok?"

"Spoilsport."

"Chicken-hawk."

Her laugh sounded its music behind me as I made for the door.

God I had missed her!

*  *  *

Twenty minutes later, we found ourselves standing outside the open door to the Silver Pine. The bustle of workers busily readying the Inn for its upcoming season filled the space around us. Looking around, I wasn’t surprised to find many of the same people who had fought the fire were there, sprucing up the arsonist’s business establishment.

Though it looked to all the world like Millicent had gotten off without a hitch, in reality, she was being watched like a hawk by those working for her. With so many townspeople in and around her home, she couldn’t blow her nose without it becoming town gossip within seconds.

The men and women up on ladders, or raking the grounds, or bearing buckets and scrub brushes gave me little grins or covert winks as our gazes met, as if to assure me that they were on the job and ready for action.

Millicent came to the door then, wearing a dress the exact shade, not to mention size, of a huge wad of bubblegum in a teenaged girl’s mouth. Her lipstick, a frosted pink that had last been popular during the disco era, tried its best to match, but failed miserably. Even the ribbons entangled in poor Puddles’ fur couldn’t come close to the true atrocity that was Millicent’s dress. Her feet were adorned with dainty slippers more suited to the ballet, and which were straining at the seams from being forced to carry a weight far heavier than their maker no-doubt intended. And, of course, the jewels were out in full bloom, covering what seemed to be every inch of exposed skin.

Since I was closest to the door, she spied me first and her face took on that sour lemon look I’d come to associate with her. I gave her my best smile, then stepped aside as the great Corinne moved forward to take center stage in the play she was directing.

Her lips hinted at a somewhat regal half-smile as she assessed Millicent from head to toe, looking at her as if she might just be a rival for a cherished mate’s affections. "Ms. Harding-Post, I presume?"

Millicent reacted immediately, her carriage becoming more erect, as befitting one meeting a social peer for the first time and not wanting it to get back to the powers that be that one was slacking off in one’s duties. "Yes. And you are?"

"Corinne LaPointe. Of the LaPointes of North Hampton. Perhaps you recognize the name?"

Like the biggest large-mouth ever landed, Millicent took the bait, her face breaking into a beaming smile. "Indeed I do, Mrs. LaPointe. Indeed I do! It’s so wonderful to meet a fellow Islander. Won’t you please come in?"

"I’d be delighted. My wonderful niece has told me so much about you, Ms. Harding-Post. It was all I could do just to wait the respectable amount of time before coming to pay you a visit."

Millicent tittered coyly, her broad face dimpling. "Oh please, Mrs. LaPointe. Millicent, if you don’t mind. Such formality is for those beneath one’s station, don’t you agree?"

"Oh, I do indeed, Millicent. Perhaps you’ll return the favor and call me Corinne, yes?"

"It would be a great honor, Corinne. Won’t you please come in?"

"Your invitation is most welcome, Millicent. Thank you."

One of my father’s many down-home sayings chose that moment to pop into my mind. When a shit storm’s blowin your way, Tyler, best thing you can do is get out of the way and plug up your nose.

And so I did, stepping aside so that Corinne could pass in front of me. Though this time, instead of plugging my nose, I held tight to the laughter that was threatening to erupt as I watched the genius that was my friend.

Following close behind, I couldn’t help but watch as Corinne took in the interior of the Bed and Breakfast with what seemed to be wide-eyed, and appreciative, wonder.

"What a beautiful home you have, Millicent! You simply must give me the name of your designer."

Millicent’s eyes narrowed just a touch. "Why? Are you thinking of opening up a business here?"

"Me?" Corinne’s hand came up to her chest and she laughed. "Oh no, my dear. My dabbling days are long over, I’m afraid. I’ll leave the fine art of business to those much younger and more beautiful than I."

If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I would have found it impossible to believe that Millicent Harding Post could become even larger than she already was, yet there it was, plain as day, her body seeming to puff up with the praise she’d received, much as a peacock’s will when spreading his plumage.

I wondered if asking for quick directions to the bathroom was out.

Millicent uttered that queer tittering laugh again, flapping her hand at Corinne. "Nonsense, dear. You’re absolutely charming, and I mean that in only the best of ways!"

"How kind of you to say, Millicent."

"I only speak the truth, Corinne." Bustling us into the lobby, she indicated a rather uncomfortable looking couch which sat catty-corner to the overdone fireplace monopolizing one wall. "Won’t you please sit down? I’d offer you the grand tour, but I’m afraid the horrid winter has done just dreadful things to the rooms upstairs. They won’t be fit for man nor beast for a month, at least!"

Corinne nodded in commiseration. "I understand perfectly, Millicent. Your hospitality is a gift beyond measure." She sat down on the couch, the very essence of regality. I stood next to her, wondering if it was proper to sit next to such royalty, or if it was more proper that I kneel by her side, a footman bearing scepter and crown. She looked at me, the faintest hint of amusement in her eyes. "Please sit, Tyler. You’re offending our hostess."

Even though said in jest, the mock rebuke stung and, true to my childhood programming, I sat down quickly, eyes cast to the floor. "Yes, Ma’am."

"There’s a good girl," she replied, patting my hand.

I looked up, first at Corrine, then at Millicent.

Oh, how I ached to wipe that look of smug condescension from her face.

With an axe.

Not that anyone would notice the difference if I did.

Corinne must have caught my tension, because she squeezed my hand briefly before releasing it and clasping her hands primly in her lap.

"Would you like some tea?" Millicent asked.

"Only if it isn’t too much trouble, dear."

"Oh, no trouble at all. I was just about to fix myself a cup when you came calling. Be back in a flash."

I maintained my silence for all of a second after she left, taking her stench and her oh-so-refined air with her. Then I did a slow head turn until Corinne was fully in my sights. "Is it permissible to vomit in the potted palm, my Lady?"

Corinne laughed, her whole body shaking with mirth. "Patience, dear Angel. In order to grow a proper garden, one needs to visit the cow pasture first."

"Yeah, but I’m only wearing sandals."

"Just relax and follow my lead."

I sighed. "I’ll try. It’s not gonna be easy, though."

She smiled. "I have all the faith in the world in you, Angel."

Though it should have, her statement didn’t make me feel any better.

Millicent returned after a short time, rolling in a silver tea-cart upon which various tea accouterments were tinkling when they jostled together as the wheels rolled along from rug to hideous rug.

Stopping the cart nearby, she then proceeded to pour out the tea and hand us delicate china cups brimming with the dark, steaming brew.

Corinne sipped hers, smiling in appreciation. On cue, I sipped my own tea, not really tasting it for the bile still in my throat.

Apparently satisfied with Corinne’s tacit approval, Millicent poured her own tea, then sat down in the armchair on the other side of the fireplace. Puddles promptly jumped into her somewhat more than generous lap and helped herself to a long drink, her entire body shuddering in what looked to be the throes of ecstasy.

"So," Millicent said after rescuing her tea from Puddles and drinking down the rest of it without a thought to how it must look, "what brings you here, Corinne? Surely it isn’t the scenery. Or the populace." She said the last with a visible shudder.

"My niece," Corinne answered succinctly.

Millicent’s eyebrows raised. Mine almost went up as well. "Oh?"

"Yes. Tyler is very much loved by her family, but I’m afraid she’s become a bit much even for them lately." She leaned closer to Millicent, as if imparting a dark secret. "Left her poor fiancée at the altar. My brother is heartbroken about it. Simply heartbroken."

"Oh, how truly sad," Millicent replied, shaking her head in sympathy and looking at me as if I’d suddenly grown Vampire teeth and might bite. "However is he coping?"

"Not very well, I’m afraid. Her mother took ill, as one might expect, and it’s all he can to just to coax the poor dear out of bed in the morning. They had such high hopes for this marriage. It was the perfect match. Hand picked, you know."

"Is there any other kind?"

"Not for us, no." She turned to me and smiled. "Tyler’s always been a bit headstrong. Many children are these days, no matter how much love and guidance their parents give them."

"I think it’s in the water," Millicent pronounced with God-like authority.

"It may well be at that. She announced, bold as you please, that she wanted to see a bit of the world first before settling down and becoming the proper wife to a prosperous young man. Being young once myself, I could empathize with her passions. Little did I know, however, just what sort of passions they were."

Looking in my direction once again, Millicent’s face screwed up in that sour expression I so detested.

Corinne smiled. "I see you’ve met her."

"Not to talk to, certainly," Millicent said in a haughty tone. "But in passing, yes. Utterly base and without any hint of a redeeming quality whatsoever."

"Yes, but with a sort of magnetism that a young woman like Tyler can’t help but be attracted to. Even I felt myself drawn, if only for a moment."

Millicent’s eyes went round. "You did?"

"Oh yes. She has a power. Demon-given, I’m sure, but a power nonetheless. And without the benefit of experience which you and I have in spades, poor Tyler was powerless against her attentions. It happens to the best of us, sometimes."

"They recruit, you know," Millicent said, her voice once again full of authority. Then she looked at me once more, scanning me intently from head to toe. "And your niece is exactly the type they like to prey on. Young. Innocent. Mildly attractive."

Corinne’s quick hand on my wrist was the only thing that stopped me from ripping the woman’s tongue out and feeding it to her.

"Really? I find her quite attractive. She reminds me a little of myself when I was younger."

"Oh, no offense meant, Corinne," Millicent said hastily, to cover her faux pas, no doubt. "The family resemblance is quite striking, if I may say so. Quite striking. Why, in the right light, you look as if you could almost be sisters."

I resisted the urge to look around for the cow I just knew had to be hiding somewhere.

Corinne smiled as if the compliment was nothing but the utter truth as she saw things. "You’re very kind to say so, Millicent." She sighed. "One of the unfortunate truths of life is that age does catch up with a body. I try my best to stave off its effects for as long as possible."

"And you’re doing a magnificent job of it, Corinne. Simply magnificent. Why, I’m surprised you don’t have suitors surrounding you like birds to a fountain. Even in this corner of God’s hell."

"Oh, there’s been some interest, to be sure. But honestly, I hardly see myself as pairing up with an elderly gas-station attendant, do you?"

Bulls-eye!

"Oh, not him. He’s a perfectly dreadful little man. And a bit of a pervert as well, if you don’t mind such base language. I simply can’t think of a better way to describe him."

"I don’t mind at all." Which wasn’t, of course, near to being the truth. Though she didn’t show it outwardly, I could feel Corinne’s temper click up a notch based on the sudden, if imperceptible to anyone but me, stiffness in her body. "Has he made improper advances toward you, Millicent?"

"No. Well, not exactly. But every time I see him, it’s as if he’s undressing me with his eyes." She shuddered.

I almost swallowed my tongue at the mental image.

I could tell by the silent tremor next to me that Corinne was trying desperately to hold back a laugh. It was a very close call.

"How simply dreadful for you, poor dear," she said finally in a voice which was not quite her own. Then, because she was about a millisecond away from losing her composure, she turned her head to look out of the window, a broad grin cracking the staid plains of her face as she did so.

I almost hated her for a moment, jealous of her ability to take such a needed escape while I had to sit still and proper, playing the part of a lost little girl who’s finally seen the light. A quick vision of Pop’s face as he surveyed the damage Millicent had caused sobered me quickly and sent a warm, welcome flush of anger through limbs made stiff with inactivity. I kept my eyes glued to the tea-cup, studying the dainty pattern of trailing roses so as not to betray my emotions.

After a long moment, Corinne finally turned back, her face fully settled once again. "Unfortunate view," she commented, not bothering to point out the picture of Pop’s burned out junkyard that stared in through the large window. "Does it effect your business any?"

Millicent’s lips thinned and a very real anger sparked in her eyes. "You don’t know the half of it. Why, when I first learned this place had befallen me, I had such high hopes. An entire society of wealthy friends have a taste for slumming, provided the proper accommodations are available, of course. Why, my volunteer circle alone could feed and house this entire backwater hellhole for years! Not to mention my friends at the country club. My only thoughts were to do right by this place, backward though it is. To show its people a touch of class, to help the needy, to be a good neighbor." Fat, crocodile tears beaded in the corners of her eyes, their very presence turning my stomach. "And what was I given in return? Hatred. Suspicion. Cruelty."

Pulling out a lace handkerchief as large as a tablecloth, she dabbed her eyes as her gelatinous body quivered with imagined grief.

It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, not giving into the almost insane urge to rip that handkerchief out of her hands and knot it around her neck like a noose. The tea sat sour and curdled in my belly and I had to swallow a few times just to make sure the joking threat I’d made to Corinne about baptizing a houseplant didn’t become a reality.

For her part, Corinne sat still and quiet as a churchmouse, a smile frozen on her face as she watched Millicent play out the part of well-meaning but horribly mistreated philanthropist.

It might not have been so bad, even for all that, had Millicent not kept peeking up at Corinne, a flat sheen of cool calculation in eyes filled with false tears, to judge the effect her mournful display was having.

After a few more heartbroken sobs were manufactured for good measure, she wiped her face, then replaced the handkerchief in a hidden pocket somewhere on her person. I mourned the loss of so fine a weapon.

"So you can see that this hasn’t been an easy road to travel. Out here, all alone, without one friend to call my own." She affected a deep sigh, swelling her already huge bosom to truly astounding proportions. "But, as always, I shall persevere, despite whatever these cretins try to throw at me."

"Have you tried to fight back?" Corinne asked in as compassionate a tone as she could manage under the circumstances.

"Indeed I have. I filed suits, I called in the police, I did everything I could think of. Nothing. No help for the inconvenienced." She laughed bitterly. "Justice, they say. Ha! They wouldn’t know justice if they tripped over it."

"I can’t say I’m a bit surprised," Corinne replied. "These Canadians have a way of protecting their own when it comes to outsiders. You simply wouldn’t believe all the hoops I was forced to jump through just to rescue my beloved niece." She smiled; one that was hard with knowing. "Sometimes, I’ve found that it’s best just to take matters into one’s own hands."

Millicent’s face then took on a cast of a young girl with a very deep secret and I knew the moment was at hand. I felt myself lean forward as adrenaline rushed its way through my body, speeding my heart. "Do you?" she asked in a very small voice.

"I do indeed. Sad as it is to say, gone are the days when one’s station in life guaranteed one good service, Millicent. Now it’s every person for himself. There are no free rides anymore."

I could almost feel the internal debate that was raging inside Millicent. Her eyes seemed far away as she nervously chewed on her bottom lip. Then she looked up, her eyes filled with something I’d never seen in them before: trepidation. "Have you ever done something like that?" she asked finally.

Corinne grinned. "I’m here, aren’t I?"

Millicent’s entire body relaxed with the statement and a huge smile of relief came over her face, making her look, for just a second, mildly attractive. Still, she didn’t spill the beans, and so Corinne decided to nudge the boat just a little. "Surely there is someone in this tiny little town who detests the man as much as you do. There simply must be. Towns this size have entire graveyards of skeletons hanging in closets and a veritable mountain of rocks waiting to be turned over."

"Oh no, not here. Believe me, I’ve looked." Then she stopped, aware that she’d just given much too much away. She looked at me, then over to Corinne.

"Don’t worry about Tyler, Millicent. She’s learned her lessons well. Haven’t you, Tyler."

I contrived to look the part of the successfully reprogrammed. "Yes, Ma’am," I replied, twisting my hands a little and lowering my eyes for good measure.

Millicent seemed satisfied with the gesture. "I have been speaking with a few good gentlemen outside of this town, however. Men with a some bones to pick with a certain Mr. Willamette. Large bones. Old bones."

"And are they willing to help you with your problem?"

Millicent’s answering smile was coy. "Oh, they already have. Accidents have a way of happening, you know. Quite without warning. His place is a deathtrap anyway."

Corinne nodded sagely. "And has this helped any?"

"It’s much too soon to tell, of course. I’m confident that it will, eventually. I want this badly, and I always get what I want. Always."

"I can see that you are a person who does, yes."

Then, like a message from Providence, the phone rang, and Millicent heaved herself up to her feet to answer it.

A long, meaningful look passed between Corinne and I. We’d come for answers, and we’d gotten them. In spades.

Neither of us was sad to see the conversation come to an end when Millicent rushed back into the room, her face flushed with some unidentifiable emotion, and tell us that an emergency had occurred and she needed to be elsewhere.

We excused ourselves gracefully and left, filled with a knowledge neither of us particularly wanted to have.

It made for an interesting walk home.

*  *  *

"You wanted proof? Now you’ve got it. Question is, what are you going to do with it?" Corinne sat back in her chair, fingers running relentlessly over the polished wood of the dining room table, and pinning Pop to his seat with her eyes.

He seemed to shrink a little before coming back into himself and mirroring her position in his own chair. "Don’t know yet. Didn’t expect you to come up with it quite so fast."

She smiled. "That’s just because you don’t know me well enough. You’re not the only person in this little town who can get what he wants, when he wants it."

"S’ppose you’re right." He lapsed into silence once again.

"Well?"

"Corinne ... ." I interjected softly, reaching across the table to lay a hand on her constantly moving wrist.

Turning her head, she shot me the same look she was using on Pop, but when I didn’t shrink from it, she gradually relaxed and huffed out a dramatic sigh. "Fine. If he doesn’t want to act on the information, there’s not much more I can do, is there."

"Didn’t say I wasn’t gonna act on it, Corinne. Only that ya didn’t give me any time to think on it."

She turned back to him. "Time? Dear god, man! You’ve had time to think about this since Millicent sent over those thugs to beat you within an inch of your life!"

"Now don’t go sayin that, Corinne. No one knows for sure she was behind what happened there. Them guys are scum, pure and simple. No needin’ to think any harder on that."

Corinne slowly shook her head, disbelief plain as day on her face. "For a man who supposedly knows it all, you’re painfully naïve at times, Willamette."

Pop narrowed his eyes at her. "What’re you sayin, woman?"

"Just what it sounds like. I find it hard to believe that you don’t know that that pump jockey Millicent’s been seen around just happens to be the brother-in-law of the owner of the Rusted Nut. From what I’ve heard, those two men are thick as thieves."

"I knew that."

"You knew that and ...what? You put two and two together and came up with seventeen? Twenty? What?"

I tried again, alarmed at the plum cast that was taking over Corinne’s face. "Corinne, please calm down, ok? This isn’t getting us anywhere."

She looked from me, to Pop, and back again. Then she pushed herself up from the table. "I need some air."

And with that, she left.

I began to stand up to follow her, when a slow shake of Ice’s head sat me right back down again. Sighing myself, I looked around the table. Pop, Ice and I weren’t the only ones who had been treated to Corinne’s somewhat uncharacteristic outburst. Tom Drew and Mary Lynch had both come calling, curious as to what had gone on behind Millicent’s closed doors earlier in the afternoon. Because they were both on the front lines, so to speak, by virtue of their professions and the work they were doing on the Inn, they’d both been invited to the impromptu strategy session.

"Why don’t we just call the police?" Mary said, logically. I couldn’t help my heart rate as it sped up at the mention of that particular word. I looked over at Ice, who returned my look steadily. "I mean, if we spelled it out for them, with Corinne telling what she knew, wouldn’t they at least investigate?"

Pop shook his head. "No. No cops. I’ve had my fair share of dealins with them in the past and I don’t want em in here, investigatin all over everything. Cause more trouble than it’s worth, getting them involved."

"But ... ."

"No cops. I ain’t gonna say it again."

Tom Drew spoke up next. "Well, if you won’t let us beat her up or burn her down, why don’t we just squeeze her out? She won’t be able to run that Inn without us there, fixing what breaks."

"Sure she will," Pop said. "She’ll just call fer help up-country, like she been doin’ all along. Then we’ll have even more strangers tied up in this mess."

"But ... ."

"He’s right," Ice commented softly, speaking for the first time since the meeting started. "If you try to shut her down by withholding needed services, she’ll only go somewhere else for them and you’ll lose the only excuse you have to keep an eye on her from up close."

"Then what do we do?" Mary asked her.

The entire table looked at Ice. Myself included. Even without knowing anything of her past, all you had to do was stand in her presence for more than a second to know, with absolute certainty, that this was a woman who got things done. A woman who had the answers, even if you didn’t want to hear them. Even if you didn’t know what the question was to begin with.

She met each of our gazes in turn, long fingers trailing over the tabletop. After a long moment, she spoke. "If it were up to me, I’d teach Millicent Harding Post exactly what it means to mess with one of my friends." Her voice got that dark and dangerous edge that never failed to raise the hairs on the back of my neck. I could see the same reaction in my friends around the table as well. "But it isn’t up to me. It’s up to Pop. And until he can’t speak for himself anymore, I, for one, am gonna abide by what he says." Then she met Pop’s gaze squarely, her expression unmistakable. "For now."

Nodding his understanding, Pop turned to look at the rest of us. "Look. I didn’t say I was rulin out any one of your ideas. Just need some time ta think on ‘em is all. Things ain’t the way they used ta be when I was some younger." He paused for a very long stretch of time, then continued, his gaze fixed on the table. "I killed a man once. I killed men in the War, yeah, but this was the first one I did just ‘cause I was angry. The first one I looked in the eyes when I done it." He shook his head, his eyes long ago and far away.

"He was thinkin’ ta force his attentions on Maggie, my wife. And when he wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer, he said he’d show ‘er." He laughed. "Well, I showed him. I showed ‘im just what it means to a man ta see his wife in danger. Bout damn near ripped his head of his shoulders. I meant ta kill him, and that’s just what I did."

When he looked up again, his eyes were ancient seers of a distant past. "Learned a lot about myself between then and now. And one of the things I learned is that I c’n take a lot more when it’s comin at me than when it’s comin’ at someone I care about. So all I can ask of ya is ta let me do some thinkin. She ain’t goin nowhere, an neither am I. Deal?"

Nods around the table.

He nodded right back. "Alright then. Guess it’s about time we busted up this little shindig. Tomorrow’s chores ain’t gonna wait for us."

And that ended the meeting. Chairs scraped against the wooden floor as seats were pushed out and people rose to their feet, stretching out weary bodies. There was very little talk as our guests excused themselves and walked out into the cool darkness of the late spring night. As I waved to them, I searched the darkness for a glimpse of Corinne, but she was nowhere within my sight.

Ice came up behind me and laid a hand on my shoulder. "Go ahead and hunt her down. She’s probably by the water. I’ll stay here and clean up."

"Are you sure? I could ... ."

"Nah. G’wan down. I think she needs someone to talk to, and you’re better at that than I am."

Grinning, I squeezed the hand that still lay on my shoulder. "I dunno. You seem to be softening up just a little in your advancing years." Then winced as the hand became a vice on my flesh, fingers digging in just enough to give me a glimpse of the somewhat astounding physical strength I knew was there but didn’t always see. "Uncle!" I cried, though she wasn’t hurting me.

The grip relaxed, but didn’t release, and the next thing I knew, I was being spun around, held firmly, and kissed so soundly that the room around me also began to spin.

And then I was alone as my lover retreated back within the depths of the cabin.

Ice soft?

Never in a million years.

*  *  *

Corinne was exactly where Ice had said she would be. Sitting on the dock, her back propped against one of the tall wooden supports, staring out over the night-dark water. It was still a little too early in the season for the frogs to be singing chorus, and the only sounds were the gentle lapping of waves against the wood of the dock and the gentle, but somehow mournful, wind as it blew through the pines and sent ropes hitting against aluminum boat masts.

What little moon there was highlighted the silver in her hair. She turned slightly as she heard me coming and gave me a wan little smile, suddenly looking far older than her stated age. My heart squeezed a little at that. It hurt to see her looking frail, this strong woman I so loved.

"Did Ice send you out to find me?"

Smiling, I walked out onto the dock and lowered myself to sit cross-legged next to her. "Nah. She just gave me a likely starting point. I came here on my own." I laid a hand on her arm. "Did the fresh air help?"

"Not as much as you might think."

"I’m sorry, Corinne."

"Nothing to be sorry for, Angel. I don’t normally lose my temper like that, as you well know." She turned her head to look over the water again. "I was incarcerated for so long that I think I forgot what it was like to fight for justice on the outside." Her voice was soft, and a touch sad. "In prison, meting out justice was a simple thing. Do unto others. And if that doing got you some time in solitary, well, that was only the accepted manner of things. Out here," she held out an arm, encompassing everything, "things aren’t so simply undertaken. Meetings by committee. Democracy. Strategy sessions." She laughed, softly. "Sometimes I wonder whether I wasn’t happier in the Bog."

She must have felt my reaction to that statement, because she turned to me and held my face in her hands. "I didn’t mean that the way it sounded, Angel. I love you. I love Ice. And I love the life you’re allowing me to share with the two of you." She smiled. "Don’t be bothered by the crazed ramblings of an old woman. We’re not known for making sense in the best of times."

Returning her gentle smile, I caressed the backs of her hands with my own. "I love you Corinne. We both do. You’ve made such a difference in our lives and I don’t know what either one of us would have done without you. So please don’t put yourself down or call yourself old and crazy. To me, you’ll always be one of the most wonderful women I’ve ever known. Bad temper and all."

Leaning in, she kissed me softly on the lips, then pulled away, smiling. "If Ice didn’t already have your heart, Angel ... ."

Not letting her get away with it, I pulled her into a tight hug and kissed a still-smooth cheek. Then, releasing her, I stood up. "You gonna come back to the house?"

"In a bit. It’s a nice night out. I think I’ll watch the water and do some thinking."

"Alright. Goodnight, Corinne."

"Goodnight, sweet Angel. Sleep well."

"You too."

*  *  *

On my way back to the cabin, I could hear the soft, soothing strains of music as it filtered through the speakers Ice had set up outside the house. Which was at definite odds with the sounds of flesh hitting canvas and a chain squealing out its anger over the abuse.

Rounding the corner, I took in the sight of Ice working off the day’s frustrations on the heavy-bag which hung from beneath the roof. She had on a pair of gray shorts which clung to her body like a snake’s second skin and a matching sweatshirt cut off at the midriff and shoulders, displaying her sculpted body wonderfully to my appreciative eyes.

Her movements were tight, precise, controlled, yet also had an almost balletic, wild and free air to them, somewhat akin to a big cat’s stealthy stalking of a potential meal.

A quick double-kick, first low, then almost impossibly high, was immediately followed by a fist, and then an elbow to the middle of the canvas bag, rocking it wildly on its chain anchor.

A spinning kick, a flurry of punches too quick and too numerous to count, and a final thundering kick that almost blew the cabin off its foundation, and she came to absolute stillness, her body covered with a fine sheen of sweat, but her lungs heaving not at all.

Opening her eyes, she saw me and smiled, then reached down and grabbed a towel that was lying on the ground beyond my sight, wiping her face and neck with it. "Corinne alright?"

"Yeah," I replied, coming closer and feeling the charged energy still flowing through her. "She’s still a little upset, and maybe a little confused, but she’s calmed down a lot from earlier. She’s gonna be fine."

"Good to hear." Putting the towel back down, she lowered herself to the ground and leaned back against the house, closing her eyes again and tilting her head, allowing the gentle breeze to dry the sweat from her body.

I sat down next to her, close, so that our shoulders were just touching and enjoyed the quiet spring evening.

"Ice?"

"Mm?"

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"Are you happy?"

Blue eyes opened and she turned her head toward me, surprise written clearly on her features. "What brought that on?"

"I don’t know, really. I’ve been meaning to ask you for awhile now, but things just keep coming up and it gets shuffled back behind other stuff. But I want to know. Are you?" I swallowed. "Happy, I mean?"

Turning away and once again resting her head against the foundation, she was silent for a long moment before she finally spoke. "For a very long time, Angel, I would have told you that I didn’t even know what the meaning of that word was."

"Not even when you were young? With your parents?"

"When I was young, yes, I remember being happy. But those memories are faded; almost as if that happiness belonged to another person entirely and I was simply hearing their story. And then, after the killings and my incarceration, I didn’t feel anything at all."

"And after prison? When you had a family again?"

"The Briacci’s were very good to me. They treated me as a member of their own family, it’s true. But by then, given everything that had happened before, any thoughts of happiness had already been pretty much burned out of me. Oh, I could still feel. Satisfaction, mostly. Pride in my work and my abilities. Anger. Rage."

"How about with your lovers?" I couldn’t help smiling, though I know she couldn’t see me. "You said you had a few."

She laughed softly. "Oh, I had more than a few, Angel. But I wasn’t with them for happiness. Physical release, yes. Not happiness."

"Not even with Donita?"

"No. Though she lasted the longest of any of them. We were much too different, and the life I lived with her was based on a lie. She never knew, until the end, exactly what I did for a living. And when she found out, she was very hurt."

"But she still cared enough for you to want to defend you in court."

Ice nodded slowly, her eyes still closed. "Yes. And I cared enough for her not to let her."

Which meant that Ice cared for her a great deal indeed. My estimation of the beautiful lawyer, already impossibly high, went up another few notches.

"And after?" I asked, surprised at how small my voice sounded.

She smiled then, a grudging one that battled hard for its right to take its place on her lips. "I met you," she said simply. "And everything changed."

"How did it change?" I asked, honestly curious. We had never really spoken of this. I knew Ice’s feelings, her love for me, ran very deep. But how they came to be, I had really no idea. At least, not one that could be confirmed. Or denied.

"It’s hard to put into words," she replied after a moment. She still had her eyes closed, her face turned partially away, and so was even harder to read than normal. "It was as if, in looking at you, I was given a window through which to see something I didn’t think I needed anymore. Goodness. Innocence. A kind of strength that comes from giving and not taking. I felt myself attracted to it even though, deep inside myself, I didn’t want to be. Overcoming that part of myself, the one that wanted to keep things as they were, was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done." She sighed. "I still struggle with it. Every day. But I do know this."

Opening her eyes, she turned once again to face me, her eyes penetrating, intense, looking through the person I was and laying claim to the soul beneath. "Now that I’ve found these feelings, found you, I know that I never want to be without them again. I want to grow old with you, Angel. I want the feel of you in my arms, the taste of you on my lips, to be what I take with me when I die. And if that’s what happiness means, Angel, then yes, I’m happy. I’m very, very happy."

And then I found myself wrapped in a hug that smelled of clean sweat and exotic spices, and let it carry me away in that one perfect moment into the place from which all good things come.

*  *  *

Several weeks went by without much action on any front. The opening of tourist season for another year came and went with the usual fanfare and (mostly) goodwill. With so many more strangers coming into and leaving town, it was difficult to keep track of Millicent and her minions, but it appeared, for the moment at least, that our efficient bush telegraph was in fine working order.

One day, about mid-season or so, Ice came home for lunch, which was, in and of itself, unusual for her. Normally, she would skip lunch altogether, too wrapped up in helping Pop to grab more than a quick drink at the station. I harped on her about that a time or ten, but she always answered the same way, with a mock scowl and a shooing motion, and I finally accepted the fact that on this, I would never change her.

Not that I really minded. Of all the things we could be at loggerheads over, given our differences, lunch was a pretty insignificant thing in the grand scheme of it all.

Didn’t stop me from shoving the massive sandwich I’d made for myself into her hands as she stepped through the door though, along with a kiss to seal the deal. She accepted both gracefully, though she tore the sandwich in half and presented it back to me with another kiss.

The kiss, of course, kept me from grumping.

It also kept me from thinking for a couple seconds, but that’s neither here nor there.

"So," I began once I was again fully capable of speech, "to what do I owe the honor of this unexpected, but wonderful, visit?"

Before answering, she finished her meal, wiped her mouth with the extra napkin I’d brought, and pegged the used tissue in the wastebasket near the door. "Pop’s sister-in-law died."

"Oh, God, I’m sorry to hear that. Is he alright?"

"Yeah, he’s doing ok. It was the one who got sick when those punks came around and beat the crap outta him. She got better, but her death wasn’t exactly unexpected. At least, not to him." She turned fully to face me. "He’s asked me to go with him to the funeral."

I grew somewhat alarmed. "Is something the matter?"

Sensing my fear, she put a warm hand on my arm. "No, nothing like that. It’s just that he’s been having some trouble with his arm since it’s been broken, and he doesn’t feel comfortable driving for six or eight hours straight."

I breathed out a sigh of relief. "I’m glad it wasn’t something else."

"Nope. That’s it."

"How long will you be gone?"

Ice shrugged. "Four days. Maybe a week, tops. If I decide to go."

I could feel my eyebrows raise. "If you decide to go? Why wouldn’t you?"

"Once word gets out that Pop’s gonna be out of the way for a while, I wouldn’t put it past Millicent to do something stupid."

"Stupider you mean, right?"

She chuckled. "Yeah. So I don’t know if it’s wise that I leave as well. I’m sure we can find someone else who won’t mind driving."

I looked up at her. "Ice, Pop asked you to do this for a reason. He likes you and he trusts you. You know this. The town can take care of itself for awhile. And besides," I couldn’t help grinning, "I don’t think I make a half-bad Ice stand-in." Then I flexed my muscles like some steroid-hyped bodybuilder. "Strong like bull."

And looked up to find six feet of lust incarnate staring back at me, her eyes dark and hooded, her nostrils flaring just slightly.

Everything inside my skin simultaneously tightened and turned to water. You may know the feeling I’m talking about if you’ve ever had someone look at you like they’re the desert and you’re the rain. "Ice?"

She smiled, slow and dark. Her voice echoed her smile; deep, sexy, smoky. "If I didn’t need to get back and tell Pop it’s a go, I’d take you right here on the dining room table, Angel."

"Oh... Jesus." I tried to swallow, but my mouth had turned to dust. "D-do you think you could just tell him over the phone?"

"And spare us both the anticipation of waiting?" Her smile grew. "Oh, no. I don’t think so, Angel."

"I ...don’t need to remind you that we waited more than six months, do I?"

That damnable eyebrow again, poised and ready to fire. "At whose insistence?"

I looked down. "Mine," I whispered.

"Exactly." Stepping closer, the trailed one long finger just barely against my jaw. "Goodbye, Angel."

After a long moment, I broke free of my sudden paralysis. "Ice! Wait! You can’t ... !"

The closing of the screen door told me just how much she could.

It was going to be a long, long day.

PART 7

THAT NIGHT I knelt up on the bed, my body pressed half against the headboard as I looked out the window and watched the full, heavy moon lay a brilliant stripe across the lake. In the distance, I could see the tiny, bobbing headlights of fishing boats as they trolled across the gently rippling water.

The wood of the headboard felt smooth and warm against the simple white slip I’d chosen to wear. There wasn’t anything X-rated about it, nor even particularly daring, but when I’d seen it shopping one day, I knew it was something I wanted, even though I knew it probably wouldn’t stay on very long, given the reason I’d would be wearing it in the first place.

Corinne had come in about an hour or so after Ice had left. Something must have been lingering in the air, because she took one look at me, grinned wickedly, disappeared into her bedroom, and came back out, an overnight bag clasped securely in one hand. "I can see there’s a bit of a private party planned for this evening," she’d said. "I think I’ll spend the night with Pop. Too bad we won’t be having as much fun as you will."

And then she’d disappeared, leaving me along once again with my thoughts. And my hormones.

I smiled a little as I heard the truck pull up and Ice let herself into the house. Closing my eyes for a moment, I pictured her movements through the cabin, stopping first at the dining-room table to deposit her keys and wallet, then crossing through the living-room with sure, quiet strides and making a turn into the bathroom. I listened as the door closed softly behind her and the shower came on. Never one for lengthy showers, the water was off almost immediately and I pictured her slowly drying her dripping body and brushing her long, shining, wet hair.

Then there was a long silence, during which my body reacted to pictures my mind insisted sending.

To avoid driving myself completely crazy with building want, I opened my eyes again and concentrated on the spectacular view presented to me through the large window, getting lost in the gentle movement of the water and the way the moon sparkled against it.

So lost, in fact, that I didn’t even hear her come up the stairs. Nor did I hear, or feel, her climb up on the bed.

But when her hot hands came gently down on my shoulders and her lips pressed against the sensitive skin of the back of my neck, I came into myself so quickly, I almost passed out in sheer shock.

My body reacted instantly to her touch, though, and a moan forced its way up from somewhere very deep inside me.

"You’re very beautiful tonight, Angel," she said in the same deep, smoky tone she’d used earlier in the day. Her palms slid the delicate straps down off my shoulders slowly. "Soft. Innocent. Pure."

Each word was punctuated by a soft, lingering kiss to the flesh she’d bared, and then I felt the heated wetness of her tongue as she drew a path from one shoulder to the other, then back again.

I couldn’t help shuddering, and my breathing quickened as my teeth bit down hard on my bottom lip to keep from crying out.

"A virgin, waiting to be taken."

Her hands ran down my arms, across my belly, then up my sides until they cupped my breasts. My body arched of forcefully into her palms, my nipples becoming so tight that they were almost painful.

She caressed me briefly as her tongue worked magic on the muscles of my neck. Then her long fingers hooked themselves into the bodice of my slip and pulled the yielding fabric down and away, exposing me to the mid-summer’s night as it peeked in through the window.

Her hands came up quickly again, the very tips of her fingers drawing teasing circles around my nipples, before lifting my breasts as if in homage, allowing the light of the moon to bathe them in its brilliance.

"Do you know how much I love to make love to you, my sweet Angel?"

Strong thumbs brushed against my nipples, bringing them even further erect.

"Do you know how much I love to feel your body react to my touch?"

Leaving my breasts for the moment, she gently urged the fabric of my slip downwards, kissing and running her tongue along my back in intricate, fanciful designs.

"To feel you move against me?" she breathed into the skin of my back.

It was all I could do not to try and squeeze my thighs together in an attempt to quench, if even minutely, the flame she was rousing within me.

That deep chuckle came again as my body betrayed my thoughts. Her hands left the silk of my slip and slid along the tops of my thighs, burning with an intense heat that was so much a part of her. Her fingers skimmed the insides of my thighs then, barely touching flesh which humped up, as if trying its best to draw her in.

"To taste you on my lips?"

Up and down, up and down, until my body was swaying to her caress as a serpent to its handler and my legs spread of their own accord, as she no doubt intended.

"To hear your cry my name out into the night?"

Reaching between my legs, she cupped me and pulled me backward against her hard, heated body, her soft, full breasts molding themselves to the plane of my back as our bodies melded together, back to front. Her muscled thighs rested beneath my own, her calves brushing against mine as she settled us together.

"Rock yourself against me, Angel."

Unable to disobey even if I’d wanted to, I worked my hips back and forth against the slightly callused skin of her palm, my movements becoming smoother as her hand became bathed in the slick moisture my body was so eagerly providing.

I could feel her thighs as they flexed and released beneath me, bringing her own body into motion and aiding me in my gentle thrusts against her hand. And when her fingers, long and sure, slipped inside of me, my head lolled back against one broad shoulder as I cried out my pleasure into the night.

"Yes, Angel," she purred, lips nipping at my ear. "Moan for me. Let me hear you."

Her fingers danced inside me, thrusting deep, caressing gently, changing tempo, changing rhythm, pulling me higher, and still higher as I urged her on with incoherent, breathless entreaties not to stop, never to stop, please God never ever stop.

"That’s it. Talk to me, sweet Angel. Sing to me."

Then her free hand came up to tease and touch my swaying breasts, pulling my nipples in time to her throbbing, seductive rhythm and I felt myself explode in a great screaming cry which echoed in my ears as the oncoming rush caught me from behind and swept me up with it. To go tumbling deep, ever deeper until I was lost and floating in an abyss filled not with darkness, but with points of sparkling brilliance, all calling me safely home and into the warm and loving nest of her arms.

And it could have stopped there, and I would have been satisfied.

But it didn’t.

Still buried deep within me, she gently pulled us both up until I was on all fours and she was still pressed against me from behind. Her lower body moved away for a moment, then pressed back into my flesh, hot and wet, beginning a slow grind against my hip as her breasts trailed along my back.

Her breath came in low grunts with each forward thrust and her hair came tumbling down, long and wet, to tickle against my cheeks and ears.

She began to pick up the tempo, growling deep in her chest, her body driving itself against mine in strong, forceful thrusts, causing me to grab tight to the bedcovers in order to hold my ground beneath her coiled, primal strength.

Great, fat beads of sweat dripped down on me. Then her dormant fingers began to move within me once again, filling me, stretching me wide and open for her. My violently trembling arms gave out, landing me on my elbows. My head dropped between them as I used all the strength I had to press back against her sharp forward motion.

Her body moved against me, relentless, unforgiving, trapping me beneath the hard, strong weight of her, leaving only room enough for the frantic rocking of my hips as I felt myself once again near the peak of my arousal.

She paused just a moment, just a heartbeat, her lips pressed close to my ear. "I do so love you, Angel," was said on a faint breath of air.

And then she surged against me, a wild, untamed thing, howling as her fingers stiffened and spasmed within me, setting off my own intense release. Brilliant lights flashed and circled, then were dimmed as her body slumped down fully on my own, pressing me down into the mattress. Her chest heaved in great, heaving gasps and her fingers loosened and drew free from my body.

When she made to move off me, I went with her, gently guiding her to her back, my legs tucked in between her widely splayed thighs. I could feel her wet heat spread itself against my skin, and when her hips bucked once in unconscious reaction, I knew we weren’t anywhere near done.

Reaching up, I kissed her deeply with all the tenderness that was within me to give. When she tried to take control once again, I refused, pulling away and giving her lips light nips until she got the picture and gave me her willing surrender, her eyes still dark and dangerous even within her seeming submission.

I kissed her again, exploring every heated inch of her mouth before quickly moving downward, both of our bodies giving me signals I couldn’t help but obey. My tongue darted out to taste the salted sweetness of her muscled flesh. Her breasts were greedy for my touch and I paid each one homage in turn until I was urged, by my own body’s wants, ever downward, over rippled muscle, strong, arching bone and soft, fragrant flesh until I reached my destination and took her into my mouth and tasted the essence of her as it exploded upon my rapturous tongue.

It didn’t take long. She was much too ready, and so was I. Overcome with the need to fill her as she had filled me, I went within, feeling her grip my fingers in welcome. One thrust, two, three as my mouth continued to attend from above, and she stiffened beneath me, her long fingers threading themselves into my hair, anchoring me to her as she rode out the waves of her pleasure.

And when she relaxed and fell limp against the bed, I kissed her gently, then rested my head against her hip, still thrusting tenderly inside her welcoming warmth.

Her breathing evened out and became steady. Her fingers loosened their tight hold in my hair as a much needed sleep caught up to her and took her over with it. Pressing a final kiss into her warm skin, laid my head back down on her belly, and when sleep came for me as well, I went willingly, a smile on my face and my fingers still clasped in a warm, velvet glove.

*  *  *

It was four days, seven hours, six minutes and thirty two, make that thirty three, seconds later. A bit obsessed with Father Time, you ask? Well, wouldn’t you be?

True to her word, Ice called me every day, usually in the evening right before I went to bed. The funeral had gone, I guess, as well as funerals are supposed to go, which means not very well at all, but at least everyone got through it pretty much unscathed, except for the body, who I’m sure didn’t have much of an opinion one way or the other on the subject.

The good news was that Pop was holding up well. The bad news was that the reading of the will would probably be delayed at least a day, making it that much longer before Ice could return home. She hadn’t had a definite answer in our last call because the probate lawyer was being obtuse, but she told me not to expect her until the end of the week, at least.

Which was still two days away.

For her part, Corinne did her best to be an engaging companion, even going so far as to apply for, as she called it, "assistant bed-warmer duty". I, of course, quashed that particular suggestion post haste, but in all other ways, she was wonderful, keeping me busy and helping keep my loneliness for Ice at least partially at bay.

And so there I was, sitting in the living-room doing my best impersonation of a woman actually reading the paper that’s sitting open in her lap, and not caring one whit about the clock whose hands had suddenly developed an inexplicable tendency to move backwards, when they moved at all.

Realizing my Rich Little days were far behind me, I gave up on the fruitless effort and instead pondered on the age old wisdom that said that closely examined cooking receptacles never simmered, and decided to tempt fate by doing the one thing, much as lighting a cigarette in a restaurant magically summons a waitress, that would almost guarantee a phone call, if nothing else.

"I’m gonna take a bath," I announced to a smirking Corinne as I laid the unread paper aside and came to my feet, stretching.

And not just an ordinary bath. Oh no. The god in charge of telephonus interruptus wasn’t about to be enticed by a simple "just a quick dip to get cleaned off" sorta bath.

If one wanted to guarantee an his special attention, one had to make the effort to prepare a special sort of bath. With candles. And bath salts. And aromatic soaps that smoothed as they softened.

And, of course, bubbles.

Lots of bubbles.

That way, when you found yourself standing, naked and dripping on the freshly waxed wood floor, trying to convince the nice man on the phone that you really, honestly and truly had no need for a nose hair clipper with fifteen variable speeds and racing stripes, that god could get his chuckles at your expense as your water slowly cooled and your champagne bath suddenly became a flat glass of grape juice.

Does it sound like I’ve done a bit of research on the subject?

Well, after five years of enforced bath deprivation, let’s just say I’d become somewhat of a connoisseur on the subject and leave it at that.

So off I went, accouterments in hand, to set the stage in the hopes that Ice would be overcome with the sudden and overwhelming need to hear my voice that very instant.

My bath drawn, I slipped into the steamy, fragrant waters and eased down until just my chin and the tops of my knees shone wet above the water.

Ahhh. Bliss.

I felt my eyes slip closed, but resisted the urge to do something one might do in a sultry bath when one is missing one’s lover who is far away, figuring there was no easy answer to "So, Angel, what have you done with yourself today?" if I gave into the temptation.

Besides, if my libation was accepted, Ice would probably call just before I got to the really good part and I’d be left even more frustrated than before.

So instead I just let the hot water work its customary magic on my stiff muscles and let my mind wander where it would. The bathroom was well insulated, but I didn’t fear missing a phone call because of it. Corinne would knock when it came.

Minutes passed, measured by the slow drip of the faucet.

Bubbles popped and the water grew tepid and I finally faced the fact that my offering hadn’t been quite good enough.

Refusing to give in to my disappointment, I stepped out of the tub and toweled off, then pulled on the clean clothes I’d brought in with me. After a last, critical look at myself in the mirror above the sink, I turned away and opened the door, immediately assailed by the cool air of the cabin as it brushed against the heat-flushed skin of my body.

Stepping out from the tiny alcove that hid the guest bedroom and bathroom, I took one stride into the cabin proper, and froze, my eyes darting around as my heart skipped several beats in rapid succession, then made up for the loss by working triple-time.

A group of men, six at my counting, filled the living-room with their dark-suited presence. They all looked to be of a type, big, broad, clean shaven, wearing regulation haircuts, plain ties, and shiny shoes.

My first thought was the FBI But when my eyes landed upon Corinne’s statue-like form, that thought immediately flew out the window. Unless I was terribly wrong about things, FBI agents didn’t normally hold the business ends of semi-automatic pistols to the temples of unarmed elderly women.

The rest seemed unarmed, but I spotted the telltale bulge beneath the suit jacket of the one nearest to me and knew that that could change in an instant. My empty hands raised in an unconscious, yet familiar, gesture as my mind desperately attempted to free itself from the fog it was trapped in.

"What . . .what’s going on?" I hear myself ask as if from far away.

"Where’s Morgan?" the man standing closest to me asked, his voice almost warm.

"Who are you?"

He smiled. It wasn’t particularly cold or cruel, but it wasn’t exactly welcoming either. "Answer my question, please. Where is Morgan Steele?"

"She’s . . . ."

Whatever lie I might have thought up faded quickly from my brain when I heard Corinne gasp as the man holding her tightened his arm around her throat and thrust his gun harder against her temple. An incentive, I suppose, to get me to spill my guts.

I looked back at the speaker. "Please. She’s just an old woman. Please tell him to put the gun away. I’ll tell you anything you want to know if you just do that."

After a moment, he nodded and turned toward the man holding Corinne hostage. "Put the gun away, Frank."

"But . . . ."

"Do it."

With a fair amount of grumbling, Frank did as he was told, slipping his gun back into the holster beneath his shoulder.

The man turned back to me, smiling once again. "Tell me where Morgan is." His face hardened. "Now."

Trying desperately to think up a convincing lie, my peripheral vision was caught by the sight of Corinne slowly reaching toward the stand where we kept the fireplace tools. My heart sunk as I saw her hand wrap itself around the handle of the iron poker, jerk it free from the stand, and lay it hard against her one-time captor’s face.

Blood spurted from the cut she’d made, and Frank went down screaming, his hand clamped reflexively over the gaping wound.

Bearing her teeth in a wild grin, she held the poker up like a sword, daring the rest to come at her with one beckoning hand.

Oh, Corinne. No.

Noticing that my questioner’s attention was diverted, I closed my hand into a tight fist and launched at it his belly.

It was like hitting a brick wall. Pain lanced up my arm, but I couldn’t afford to pay it any mind as he turned back to me, all traces of mildness gone from his face.

Committed to the fight, I kicked his arm away before he could reach for his gun, then went low and managed to sweep his legs out from under him.

Bet ya never expected that! I mentally taunted, gathering myself on the balls of my feet and waiting for his next move, adrenaline surging its way through my body.

Two went for Corinne and two went for me. Corinne more than held her own, managing to get in several devastating blows with the business end of the poker, spilling blood and dropping bodies where they stood. Her laugh sounded almost insane to my thundering ears, but I didn’t have much time to think on that as I was soon occupied with bodies of my own, coming at me with fists and feet.

I used my ‘low center of gravity’, as Ice had called it once, to my advantage, ducking underneath most of the blows launched my way. Such was the state of my mind that I didn’t even really feel the few which landed as I tried to fight my way back toward Corinne, who was perilously close to losing her weapon.

A strong blow to my head temporarily stunned me, and as I shook it off, still trying my best to defend myself, I saw Frank rise up from the floor, his face the deep, dusky red of anger. His huge, trunklike arm lifted—I could see the seams of his jacket stretch almost to breaking—and with one blow, he disarmed Corinne, then followed through to crack his fist hard against her cheek.

She went down as if pole-axed, unconscious before she hit the ground, her glasses breaking and flying from her face as blood oozed out from her ear.

Without a hitch in his movements, Frank reached again for his gun and brought it out, aiming for Corinne’s unprotected head.

"No!" I screamed, pulling myself out from beneath the pile of men who had landed on top of me, punching and kicking for all they were worth.

Two steps, and I launched myself across the room, landing in a protective sprawl above Corinne’s limp body, placing myself between her and the gun. "No!" I screamed again as I heard a round chamber in the weapon.

Things seemed to slow down then, as they often will when you’re forced with a danger beyond your wildest nightmares. The center of my vision focused on the gun pointing directly at me. It seemed huge, staring at me with a dead, malevolent eye.

I saw his finger tighten on the trigger and I sent out a last, desperate prayer to Ice, asking her to remember the love I had for her and to keep it close after I was gone. Dream of me, I whispered in my mind, then closed my eyes for what was to come. I love you, Morgan.

The sharp report nearly deafened me, and I waited for the pain that was sure to follow.

So, this is what death is like, I mused. It’s not so bad. Didn’t even hurt.

But then my ears cleared, and I realized that unless a dead person could hear, I was still very much in the land of the living.

Because I could suddenly hear things. Roaring things. Tearing things. Screaming things.

I opened my eyes to an abattoir; the bloody killing field of a tiger let loose from its cage and preying upon the villagers who had caused it so much torment.

The tiger bore a woman’s face, and her name was Ice.

Her raven hair flying out from her brow, her face frozen in a spasm of rage, she was all feet and fists and unadulterated fury. Men went down like tenpins, screaming and clutching parts of their bodies which were suddenly broken, or gouged, or just not there anymore.

Our eyes met briefly before she turned away, grabbing one of the still-standing men around the neck and twisting. The sharp snap which followed sounded even over the screams of beaten and bleeding men, and I felt my stomach lurch.

I had just seen Ice kill for the first time.

Her face had an almost sexual joy in it as she let the dead man drop to the floor, his body slumping against her legs before she kicked it away.

And I think that first kill would not have been the last, had the fight lasted even one second longer.

But it didn’t.

I felt an arm press tight around my own neck, and the cool steel of a cocked and ready gun pressed itself against my head.

Looking up, I saw a second gun, this one in Ice’s sure hands, pointed at my captor’s own head.

"Let her go, Carmine. It’s me you want."

"Put the gun down and I will, Morgan."

Ice smiled. "Oh no. I don’t think so." A booted foot lashed out, and the man who’d been trying to sneak up on her from behind flew half the length of the room before coming to land, stunned, against the sturdy dining room table. "Let her go."

"I can’t do that. I don’t want to hurt her, Morgan, but I will if I have to. You know that. So just put down the gun and I’ll do as you ask."

A stand-off ensued. I made sure not to move a muscle, even to blink. My heart pounded hard in my ears. I tried to catch her eyes, but the only thing she was seeing was the man with his gun to my head.

"Drop the gun, Morgan. I know you’re thinking about shooting me, but can you really guarantee I won’t put a bullet into her head when you do? Think about it." His voice was very calm; very reasonable.

When I saw her begin to waver, I couldn’t help but speak up. "Don’t do it, Ice. He’ll kill me anyway. You know he will."

"I won’t, Morgan. You have my word on it. And you know my word’s always been good."

Her eyes latched onto mine. Her face softened.

My heart sunk further. "Ice, please. Don’t do this."

Her arm slowly lowered.

"No! He’ll kill us both! Don’t do this! Please!!"

Her body followed, laying the gun on the floor at her feet.

"Good," came the satisfied voice of Carmine. "Now push it away. Slowly."

"Ice, no!"

Her eyes still locked into mine, she pushed the gun away, then slowly rose back to her feet.

In my peripheral vision, I saw one of the other men step quickly up behind her, and with one strong blow with the butt of his gun to the back of her neck, he dropped her, unconscious, to the floor.

His hold loosened at the same time I tore myself out of his grip and crawled over to her, grabbing her lolling head between my hands. "Ice? Ice? Wake up! Damn you, wake up!!"

That was all I could get out before I was grabbed again and dragged away. I screamed and twisted in a fit of insane grief and rage, but was powerless against the greater strength holding me steadily.

"Get her out of here," Carmine ordered.

"Are you nuts?" one of his cronies replied. "The bitch killed Tony! Let’s fuckin’ do her now and get it over with!"

"No! It was his own damn fault for getting in her way. Dump him in the trunk and get her in the car. Move!!"

"No!!! Ice!!!"

As I struggled, I saw two men come painfully to their feet, then bend down and grab my lover’s ankles and start to drag her unprotesting body the length of the room and through the shattered remains of the door she had exploded when she ran into the room. Her blood-covered hands left grisly trails along the polished floor as she was dragged along.

"No!!!"

When she was gone from my sight, Carmine put me down and turned me to face him, still holding tight to my shoulders. His face was filled, strangely enough, with sorrow and compassion. "Stay here and look after your friend. You won’t be harmed if you do what I say."

Gritting my teeth, I slapped his arms away and lifted a savage knee into the space between his slightly spread legs.

With a lightening quick move, he evaded the worst of my attack, then twisted me again, pulling my arm up hard behind my back and forcing me onto my toes to relieve some of the intense pain in my shoulder. "Stay here," he repeated, his lips close to my ear. "I gave Morgan my word, but if you try to intervene, I will kill you."

"Do you think I care?" I snarled back, jerking my head away from his mouth. "Do you think I care what happens to me after you murder her?"

"Maybe not, but I do think you care about what happens to your friend over there. She looks pretty bad off. Do you think you could just leave her there to die?"

"Try me."

And suddenly I came to know exactly how Ice felt when her tone softened to the exact pitch that was now coming out of my own mouth. Peaceful, somehow. All the rage has washed out of me, leaving only a firm purpose behind.

I also realized, in that one moment in time, that I was fully capable of deliberately taking a human life, and could, in fact, relish it.

"I’d rather not," he replied. "You pack a pretty mean punch and I don’t doubt that you’d kill me if you could. But you know I’m not gonna let that happen. So please, do us both a favor and stay here. Morgan is beyond your help. Accept that. And do something for the person you can help."

"Alright," I said finally in that same cool, remote tone I’d used earlier. "Let me go so I can help her."

"Don’t try anything funny."

"I wouldn’t dream of it, Carmine."

He gave me a healthy push and before I could stop myself, I collided with Corinne’s still unconscious body and sprawled across her as I fell to the floor. When I pulled myself up again, I found myself looking down the barrel of his gun. "Be smart. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry."

Corinne moaned as I watched him slowly back toward the door. When he was gone, I looked down into a pair of dazed brown eyes. "Angel?" she whispered.

"Hang on, Corinne. I’ll be right back. Just hang on for me."

Then I was up and running, almost tripping over the lengths of splintered wood that were all that was left of the door. Running out into the courtyard, I was temporarily blinded as the car started up and the headlights caught me square in the face. Throwing an arm up to shield my eyes, I ran in the direction of the car, wincing as huge clots of dirt pelted me as they flew from beneath the large sedan’s rapidly spinning tires.

Still charging, I managed to grab one of the door handles, yanking the door open just as the car pulled away. I was jerked off my feet, my arm a shard of blistering agony, as I trailed along beside the car for a few feet before I was finally forced to let go.

Jumping back up yet again, I tore after the retreating sedan, not feeling the rocks and pinecones as they imbedded themselves in the tender soles of my bare feet and tore them to bloody shreds.

All too soon, the car disappeared from my sight, the briefly flashing taillights the last thing I saw as it made a sharp left turn and left the road for the forest beyond. A great cramp seared into my side and I was forced to come to an abrupt halt or risk fainting.

My breath came out in sobbing pants as my legs gave out and I fell to the ground, pounding the dirt with my fists and screaming out Ice’s name.

"Who’s there?" came a high, tremorous, panic-laden voice as I drew in yet another gasping breath which with to scream out my grief.

"Ice!!!"

"Tyler? Tyler, is that you?"

"Ice!! Come back!!! Don’t leave me!!"

The voice came closer. "Tyler, it’s me, Ruby. What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Do you need me to call the police?"

That word again. That damnable, hateful, spiteful word. A huge part of me screamed inside. "Yes! Call the police! Now! They’ve taken Ice!!"

But a smaller part, a more rational part, shied away from the idea they way a skittish colt rears away from an unexpected movement. "No!" I finally managed to yell through a throat raw with screaming. "No police!"

Pulling myself up to my feet, I looked through tear-swollen eyes at the rapidly advancing figure of Ruby. "Call an ambulance!"

She stopped, head tilted to one side. "Are you hurt, Tyler?"

"Just call an ambulance, Ruby, please. Hurry!"

"But . . . ."

"Hurry!!"

With small satisfaction, I watched as she looked at me a moment more, then abruptly turned and started quickly walking back up the small rise to her house.

My pain was beginning to catch up with me; my feet ached like rotting teeth and my shoulder still sent up blazing jolts of electric agony with each breath I took.

With one last, long look in the direction I’d last seen the car, I too turned for home where Corinne lay injured and waiting.

Limping into the house, I spied her laying exactly where I’d left her, sprawled in an untidy heap on the living-room floor, a small pool of blood shining wetly in the dim lighting of the room. She was frighteningly pale and for a moment I was sure that her chest had stopped moving.

Running to her, I went to my knees, again cradling her head in my hands. "Corinne? Corinne, can you hear me?"

After a long moment, her eyes fluttered open, still dazed. "Angel?"

I couldn’t help sagging with relief. "Oh, thank God. I thought I’d lost you too." Tears were very close to the surface then, but I couldn’t afford to let them fall. If I gave in to my nearly overwhelming grief, everything would be lost.

And I couldn’t let that happen.

Still staring at me, her eyes narrowed. "Too? Who did you lose, Angel? What happened? Where are all those men?"

"They’re gone. They got what they came for and left."

"What did they come for?"

Teeth clenched, I swallowed hard. My lips refused to move; refused to help utter the word locked tight inside my throat.

"Angel?"

"Just . . . just keep still, Corinne. Ruby’s calling an ambulance. It should be here soon."

"Answer me, Angel."

I looked down at her, knowing she would see the answer in my eyes.

Her own widened. Her face became slack. "Oh, Angel," she breathed. "Oh no."

I tore my gaze away from the utter grief in her eyes, knowing that it was only mirroring my own. "Pop."

"What?"

"I’ve gotta call Pop. He’ll know what to do. I’ll just call him." I could feel my hold on sanity begin to slip as I rose from Corinne’s side as if in a dream, almost watching outside myself as I walked to the phone which was perched on a stand in the library. "That’s it. Pop will help. He has to. He’s the only one who can. Oh . . . god."

With an almost clinical detachment, I watched as my fingers stabbed at the buttons by rote, then pulled the phone up to my ear. Two rings, then three, then four, and I almost slammed the phone back down in frustration, before Pop’s sleep-blurred voice came over the line. "Yeah?"

"Pop, it’s Tyler. Please, come quick. I need your help."

"Tyler? What is it? What’s wrong? Is Corinne sick? Did Morgan get home alright? I know she left the truck here, it was runnin’ kinda . . . ."

"Just come. Please. And Pop?"

His voice was wary now. "Yeah?"

"Bring your gun."

Then I closed the phone on whatever answer he might have given, feeling my arms wrap around myself as my eyes darted around the library. The book Ice had been reading on our last day together sat neatly on one of the tables, the engraved silver bookmark I’d gotten her for Christmas shining from between the pages. Reaching out a trembling finger, I traced over her initials, remembering the look of quiet happiness that had come over her face when she’d opened her gift.

No, Ice. Please. Please.

"Angel?"

Corinne’s soft voice penetrated the thick fog in my brain, and I turned, realizing that I’d almost totally forgotten about her. "Corinne . . . I . . . ."

She smiled slightly. "It’s alright, Angel. It’s alright."

"No, Corinne. It most definitely is not alright. It’ll never be alright again." My hands came up to my head and, like great wrenching claws, latched onto my hair, pulling and tearing. "Noooooooo!!!"

"Angel!" Corinne’s voice was cutting, sharp, even given her head injury. "That’s enough. You’re a strong woman. We both know that. So start acting like one. I need that from you. And so does Ice."

Whirling, I stared down at her, my hands still in my hair. "Ice is dead!"

"You don’t know that for sure, Angel. If you did, you wouldn’t be calling Pop in to help. Some small part of you hasn’t given up hope yet. Use that to snap yourself out of this. You need to, or she really will be gone."

Inside, I could feel myself reacting to her words. That damnable flicker of useless hope straightened and grew stronger, much as the rest of me wanted to snuff it out for good. It was stupid and impossibly naïve for me to even think to believe that Ice had a chance in hell of getting out of the trap she was forced into. The odds were higher than high that she was dead already, laying somewhere, cold and lonely, waiting for the beasts of the forest to make a feast of her lifeless body.

And yet . . . .

The sounds of tires skidding to a halt outside the cabin made my decision for me, and after a quick, thankful glance toward Corinne, I ran back out the door in time to see Pop clamber out of his truck, rifle in hand, his hair sleep-tousled and his clothing hastily donned.

"Got here as fast as I could, Tyler. Now what the hell is goin’ on, eh?"

"They’ve got Ice, Pop. They’ve got her and we need to get her back."

"Who? Who’s got her?"

"Does it matter? Come on! We need to go after them!" I started for the passenger’s side of the truck, only to be halted by a firm hand to my elbow.

"Hold on just a second there, Tyler. Might not matter to you, but it matters a whole lot to me. Wasn’t born yesterday, and I ain’t near ta bein’ naïve enough ta think that those idiots Millicent’s payin ta do her dirty work could get the drop on Morgan even if she was tied up and blindfolded. And since you told me ta bring my gun, I’m guessin’ that these guys got balls enough ta kill if they’ve a mind to. So if I’m gonna have my ass blown clear off, I’d kinda like ta know who’s doin’ the shootin, eh?"

Looking into his shining eyes, I knew I was trapped between a rock and a very, very hard place. The seconds slipped by, taking Ice ever farther from me, and taking my hope with her. I honestly didn’t know what to do.

Pop’s eyes softened. "Tyler, you known me a long time, since you were a little kid. Not as well as ya do now, course, but well enough, I hope, ta know that anything ya tell me in confidence ain’t gonna go no further than my brain. Whatever it is ya gotta say, it won’t go nowhere else."

Being trapped with nowhere else to turn makes for strange bedfellows, as sure someone has said before me. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust Pop. To the contrary, I trusted him with my life.

The question was, could I trust him with Ice’s life as well?

I didn’t really have a choice. Lies were too hard to think up and he deserved to know the truth.

"Who are they, Tyler?"

I hesitated a second more, then threw all caution to the wind. "The Mafia."

His eyes widened. "Like in the Godfather? That Mafia?"

I nodded.

"What do they gotta do with the price of tea in Tibet?"

"Do I have your word?"

"You got it, Tyler. Cross my heart."

"Ice is . . .was . . .a Mafia assassin."

"Father God and Sonny Je-sus," he whispered. "I knew she wasn’t no small-town mechanic."

"No. She’s not. Six years ago, she was convicted of murdering a witness, which she didn’t do, and put in jail." I took in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. Make or break time, Angel. If he bales, take his gun, hop in his truck, and drive. "That’s where I met her."

His eyes widened still further. I would have laughed at the picture he presented, if I had it in me. "Prison? Were you a guard or somethin?"

"No. I was a prisoner too."

"You?!? Naw. Yer havin’ me on, Tyler."

"No, I’m not. Listen, can we continue this on the road? We need to get going!!"

The sirens of the approaching ambulance could be heard drawing nearer, and I relaxed slightly, knowing Corinne would soon be in good hands. Ruby appeared as if from the night itself, her face a huge question-mark. "It’s Corinne. She’s hurt. Can you go to the hospital with her and make sure she’s alright for me? There’s something Pop and I have to do."

She looked about to argue, but something in my face must have changed her mind, because instead of words, she gave me a brisk nod, and headed into the house.

I turned back to Pop. "Please?"

Shaking himself as if rousing from a dream, he blinked, then released my arm. "Right. Let’s go."

Nodding, I ran to the other side of the truck and jumped in. Pop started it up with one hand, while grabbing his CB mike with the other and shouting some terse directions in it before racking it again. "Got us some help," he bit off before gunning the accelerator and sending us off in a cloud of dust. "Hang on, Tyler. We got some assholes ta find."

We headed off into the woods, with me pointing the way (or what little of it I knew) as Pop concentrated on driving. The trail was, at first, pretty easy to follow. The sedan had gone fishtailing into the forest for several hundred yards before getting back out onto the road again, heading south.

We chased the truck’s headlights down that road, both with our eyes glued to our respective sides of the road to see if the car we were tracking had made any other sudden detours.

My eyes caught a sudden flash, and when I looked up, I could see the fast approach of at least two trucks pulling up behind us. "Pop?"

He glanced in the rearview mirror briefly before returning his attention to the road. "The Drew boys. They’re about the best trackers in these parts. Ain’t shy ‘bout getting into it, either, if it comes ta that."

We continued for another few miles in silence until the road intersected with another, running east and west. "Which way?" I asked.

"Did they say where they was goin’ with her?"

"No. They didn’t say much of anything at all, except that they wouldn’t kill her in the house." I wiped angrily at the tears which started to fall again, blurring my vision. "Big of ‘em, huh?"

"Think they’d try to get back to the States with her?"

I shook my head. "I don’t know. Are there any roads that cross the border legally but aren’t patrolled?"

"Not around here, there ain’t. And tryin ta cross through the woods in a car is plain suicide. Tear the wheels right off before ya got a mile in. Some rough country around these parts."

I could feel myself slump down into the seat. "So what do we do?"

Pulling the truck to a stop still some distance from the intersection, Pop hopped out and walked up slowly to where the roads crossed. As I pulled myself from the cab, I heard the other two trucks pull to stops behind us, doors open, and the heavy tread of the two brothers as they hopped from their own cabs. Together, we joined Pop, who was looking down at the blacktop. "How many in the car?"

I thought for a moment. "Six. And one in the trunk."

He looked up at me. "Morgan?"

I shook my head. "No. She . . .um . . .she killed one of them. They put his body in the trunk. She’s in the car with them. I think."

Pop grinned, as did the Drews. "Damn good for her." He looked down at the road again which was bleached a pale, bone white by the brilliant beams of three trucks’ headlights. "Big car, then. Probably goin’ pretty fast, at that."

John Drew walked across the intersection, then squatted down on his haunches, examining something in the southeast corner. I squinted hard, but couldn’t make out what had caught his interest. He stood up, dusting his hands on his trousers and looking over at us. "Looks like they turned east," he pronounced.

Pop nodded. "Makes sense if they’re goin for the border."

"How can you be so sure?" I asked.

"There’s a deep track where a car took this turn pretty sharply. No skid marks, but the gravel’s sprayed out in a pretty representative pattern."

I looked at him. "Are you a police officer or something?"

Behind me, Tom snorted, which helped put me more at ease. A little, anyway.

John grinned. "Nope. Used to be a bounty hunter, though."

Wide eyed, I looked over at Pop, knowing I was giving much too much away, but unable to do anything else. Pop grinned. "Sometimes he liked the bad guys better’n the good guys. Damn near got him in trouble more’n once." He gave me a covert wink and I finally relaxed fully, accepting his judgement on the matter.

I turned back to John. "What if it wasn’t them, though? What if it was some other car? Or truck?"

"Oh, it was a car, alright. A truck couldn’t have made the turn that fast."

"Yeah, but I’m sure there’s been more than one car that’s made that turn since . . . ."

Pop put a hand on my arm. "So far, it’s the best lead we’ve got, Tyler," he said, softly.

I sighed. "I know. It’s just . . . I don’t want to give up any others that might be out there just to go after this one alone. The longer we go without finding them . . . ."

Tom stepped up to us. "How about this? You and Pop go down the most likely trail. There are about a million unpaved fire and logging roads as you head east, and it’ll take awhile to search them if it looks like the car might have turned down one of them. I’ll continue on south and John can go west for about twenty miles. If neither of us sees anything likely, we’ll turn around and come out to meet you and help search along this road. If we do come across anything, we’ll give a shout. Sound good?"

I smiled at him gratefully, surprised I had it within me to smile at all. "Yeah. That sounds great. Thanks."

Grinning, he clapped me briefly on the shoulder. "Let’s go then."

PART 8

THE SUN HAD been up for several hours as we came at last back onto the smooth blacktop of the eastbound road we’d been exploring all night. My head pounded abysmally from the abuse it had suffered while we bounced down one rutted, unpaved logging road after another, hunting for clues that just weren’t there no matter how hard I tried to will them into existence.

As night faded into day, my hopes faded right along with the setting of the moon. Every blind alley, every negated lead pushed me further and further into a well of despair I began to think I had no hope of ever leaving.

My mind insisted on showing me images of Ice’s lifeless body laying still and alone, lost forever in the endless blind maze of forest which surrounded us.

Still worse were the pictures of Ice, bleeding but conscious, dying by slow inches and unable to move as the beasts of the night made their way closer to her, attracted by the scent of her spilling blood like sharks to an injured whale.

I savagely told my mind to shut up, to shut off, but the more tired I became, the more hours we spent in fruitless searching, the more it insisted on playing these images in a continuous loop, each more graphic and heartrending than the last until it was all I could do not to scream and pound the dash until my fists were bloody.

The Drews had joined us halfway through the search, having come up empty in their own explorations. Having two more sets of eyes made the search go more quickly, but in the end, it made absolutely no difference at all.

Coming back to the present, I rubbed my gritty eyes as I mentally prepared myself for yet another trip down yet another road with yet another series of holes large enough to hide entire houses within. It was then that I noticed that we were heading to the west, away from the rising sun and the next road down the line. My heart sped up. "Where are we going?"

Pop didn’t look at me. His unblinking eyes stayed fixed on the road. He was beyond pale, beyond tired, beyond old. "Back home for a bit, Tyler. We need a break."

"No!" I yelled, grabbing the steering wheel and almost turning us into the drainage ditch which ran parallel to the road on both sides. "No! We can’t give up!!"

He gently pulled my hand off the wheel and straightened the truck back out again. "We ain’t givin’ up, Tyler. Johnny an’ Tommy’ll keep searchin’ till they can’t go no more. I need ta get to a phone and call in some more help. There’s just too much land out here fer only three groups ta search. And you need some sleep. I ain’t gotta look at ya ta see you’re about one step from goin’ down deep and never comin’ out."

"You don’t understand!"

Coming to a halt by the side of the street, he finally took his eyes off the road to look directly at me. His expression was one of infinite sadness. "I understand better’n you think, Tyler. Lost my own daughter out here when she was seven. Her and a friend took off when they was supposed ta be fishin, and got lost. We found em two days later. The friend survived. My daughter didn’t." He looked back toward the road again, his eyes shiny and dark, hands gripped tight to the wheel. "Musta tripped in the dark, near as anyone can figure. The friend couldn’t say. We found them both at the bottom of one of the ravines. My daughter’s neck was broken."

"Oh god." I closed my eyes for a very long moment. "I’m so sorry."

He looked back at me again. "I thank ya fer your sympathies, Tyler. Happened a long time ago, but sometimes it still hits pretty hard. ‘Specially when yer not lookin for it." Reaching out almost hesitantly, he gently touched my cheek with his weathered, work-roughened hand. "I ain’t much for platitudes. Find em pretty useless as a rule. But I been around enough to know one thing. And that’s that givin’ up hope is the worst thing a body can do. I been around lots, but I ain’t met many people like your Morgan, Tyler. If anyone can make it outta this almighty mess, I’d lay my money on her, if I was a bettin’ man."

"And if you’re not?" I asked through my tears.

His smile was sweet and kind and filled with compassion. "I’d lay it down anyway. She’s a special one. So are you. I heard her call you ‘Angel’ once, and I reckon you’re as close to one as these eyes are ever gonna see. So you just keep her alive in your heart, and alive she’s gonna stay. Ok?"

After a moment, I gave a short nod against his hand, smiling a little. "Ok."

"Alright, then. Let’s haul ass home and get some more help on this search. And when we find her, remind me I got a bone ta pick with ‘er fer makin me lose s’much sleep on her account, eh?"

I almost laughed at that. "You’re on, Pop. I’ll even hold her down while you pick that bone. Just leave one for me, ok?"

With a nod, we were off again, my soul seeming infinitesimally lighter for our conversation.

It’s amazing what a powerful drug hope really is.

*  *  *

I sat on the bed, facing the headboard and staring sightlessly out the window. Though I’d been more than thirty-six hours without it, sleep was an elusive, useless thing. Though my mind and body craved it with a deep, abiding ache, my soul shied away from its implied comfort, knowing it for the sham it really was. Sleep wasn’t the oblivion I needed; it would only bring about nightmares-- or worse, happy dreams from which I would awaken only to die all over again when the realization of my living hell came down to visit once again, hitting me like a sucker punch hard to the gut.

No, better to stay awake and wrestle demons I could control, than to fall asleep and give up that control to the vultures who waited just beyond my conscious sight.

The sounds of Pop’s gentle snoring floated up to me from the living-room below, where he lay sprawled out on one of the couches. I smiled a little, thanking God for putting that man in my life. He’d managed to call in a great many markers from friends near and far. Friends who were as close-lipped and hard-headed as he was and could therefore be entrusted with the delicate, and dangerous, task set before them.

Ruby had called just as we’d arrived back at the cabin—I had ceased thinking of this place as home. My words came back to haunt me. Where Ice was, home was. Where she wasn’t, it could never be—to share with us the good news that Corinne, though grievously injured, was expected to make a full recovery.

She had what Ruby called a subdural hematoma, which she explained as somewhat like a very bad concussion. The doctors had placed her on some strong medications to both calm her and decrease the swelling in her brain. It was expected to resolve on its own without surgical intervention, for which I was profoundly grateful.

Before hanging up, Ruby let me know in no uncertain terms exactly what she expected to be told when all this was over. If it was ever over.

I answered in like tones, promising her I would tell her everything I could.

If I could.

Turning away from the window, I sat with my back against the headboard, my eyes darting around the room, looking at anything, everything, save for the pillow laying so close to me. A pillow I’d cradled for the past four days—or was it five? Six? Time was the enemy once again—in lieu of the woman I wanted to hold. Her scent was still there, I knew, trapped within the fabric, offering comfort, offering peace.

But for how long? Long enough to last a lifetime without her? Long enough to soothe a chasm of empty nights and broken dreams?

Tears welled up again, and this time, I didn’t bother trying to stop them, still denying myself the succor of her scent. Ice couldn’t help me now. No one could.

Curling my arms around my body, I felt myself begin to rock, slowly, back and forth, back and forth in a primitive attempt at self-consolation. My tears continued to fall and I continued to let them, knowing they were just the beginning of a vast ocean of grief being held back by the most broken-down of sea walls; my quickly fading inner strength.

After a very long period of time, true to their purpose, my tears slowed and left me feeling, if not better, at least cleansed. The grief was still there, a roiling black tide, but it was just a little easier to tame for having found an outlet, however short-lived.

And with this newfound—if temporary—feeling of peace came the strength to realize that I couldn’t go it totally alone. Reaching out, I grabbed the pillow and buried my flushed face into it, absorbing the cool fabric and Ice’s exotic, comforting scent deep within me, helping to fortify walls beaten down by grief’s relentless torrent.

My mind played back images of happier times, and I allowed those images to lull me into a much needed sleep, the pillow still clenched desperately against my body.

*  *  *

When I next awoke, it was to that blind, heart pumping relief that someone gets when they realize they’ve just been rescued from the clutches of a brutal nightmare.

But then I looked around.

And realized the nightmare was still there, and worse than the most horrid of my mind’s dark fantasies.

When it finally filtered through that the room was nearly pitch dark and I’d been allowed to sleep the day away, I gritted my teeth in anger and jumped from the bed, almost collapsing to my knees as the agony that was my feet made its presence known. Clinging to the bedpost, I took several deep breaths and willed my legs to support my body no matter how much they hurt.

After a long moment, they finally listened.

As I limped down the stairs, my pain lending strength to my anger, I chanced to look up at the clock on the fireplace mantle, and noticed that instead of sleeping the day away, only two hours had passed. When I finally made it to the bottom floor, my anger had abated somewhat, leaving more than enough room for my ever-present grief to begin encroaching once again.

Pop, his face gray with exhaustion, was in the process of hanging up the phone as I entered the downstairs living area. "Any news?" I asked, very much afraid to hear the answer.

A slow shake of his head. "No. Helluva storm’s brewin’ though. Gonna wash whatever tracks there are right away."

I followed his gaze out the huge picture window that covered most of the wall. The sky was an ominous black with roiling clouds from which lightening flashes passed, one to the other to the other like a baton in a relay race run by Zeus and his family.

It wasn’t raining yet, but the world outside seemed poised for it: still, silent, waiting. I turned back to him. "Looks like we’d better get going then, huh?"

For a moment, it looked as if he wanted to say something, but whatever it was died on his lips and he nodded instead. "Yeah. Let’s go see what we can do."

The storm hit just as we stepped outside. Instead of rain, however, hail the size of golf balls started to fall, hurtling toward the ground with amazing speed and evil intent.

"Let’s just wait this out, Tyler," Pop said from beneath the overhang of the back porch. "Too dangerous ta go out in this."

"No. If you don’t want to go, then give me the keys. I’m not staying here."

"Tyler . . . ."

"No! I won’t leave her out in this, Pop. I can’t." Pictures of hail battering her defenseless body came to gory life in my mind, ice filling her dead, staring eyes like some grisly horror show special effect. I shut them savagely down. "I just can’t. So either come with me or stay here, but I’m going. With you or without you."

Then I grabbed the keys from his hand and took off toward his truck, not even feeling the hail as it pelted down on me.

And with a muttered "aww hell" that I could barely hear over the storm’s fury, Pop ran out to join me, snatching his keys back and shoving me toward the passenger side as he opened his door and slipped into the cab.

Within seconds, we were off, our ride accompanied by a grisly tympani of hailstones as they pounded off of the truck’s body and windshield, making it nearly impossible to see, let alone drive.

*  *  *

The hail soon changed into a driving rain which turned the logging roads into quagmires greedily sucking at tires as they passed in a spray of mud. More than once, the winch on Tom Drew’s truck was called into service to rescue a truck sunk door-deep into the muck.

But still we went on, driven on by the news that one of Pop’s friends had received from one of his friends who just happened to be on the Border Patrol. Impossible though it seemed, no black sedans had been reported crossing the border into the United States within the last twenty-four hours.

So, unless Pop was wrong and there in fact was a way to get across the border in a car without crossing the patrolled routes, Ice was still in Canada.

Somewhere.

And so day turned into night once again, only acknowledged by the quickly advancing hands on the watch at my wrist. The storm continued on unabated, lightning freezing and illuminating everything in brief, freeze frames of time, as if a photographer with the world’s biggest camera were taking a series of pictures documenting our search.

Then it was our turn to sink into one of the mud-pits and we both hopped out of the truck as Pop radioed Tom for his help.

"When he pulls us out, we’re headin for home, Tyler. We’re just spinnin’ our wheels as it is. We could be right on top of her and not even know it with the storm the way it is. We need to wait for it to calm down some."

"I’m sorry, Pop, but I just can’t do that. You can go back if you want to. I’ll go on on foot."

"You can’t do that! You’ll get lost sure as hell!"

"I don’t care. I can’t stop searching, Pop. I just can’t. I’m sorry." And with that, I started away, soaked to the skin, night-blind, and more than half insane with the need to find my lover’s body.

"Don’t do this, Tyler, damnit!"

I turned back, seeing the oncoming lights of Tom’s truck as they approached. "Let Tom pull you out, Pop. Then go home. I’ll be alright."

And with a sense of utter calm, I waited for the next lightning flash to illuminate the area, then stepped off the road and into the woods hearing the shouts behind me but not bothering to give them any acknowledgement.

I made my way blindly forward, feeling wind-driven branches whip at my face and body and not caring. When the next flash of lightning came, I found myself staring into emptiness, but was unable to stop myself as I stepped off a precipice and tumbled down a heretofore unknown embankment, feeling rocks and fallen branches jab and rake my naked skin and unprotected head.

My momentum was stopped, finally, by an uprooted tree. My body slammed into it, knee first, and pain exploded behind my eyes, making me cry out.

In that half-second of blessed oblivion, when the pain faded and I found myself looking out into nothingness, I thought Good. I’m dead. Now I can finally find her.

But then the pain returned, and with it, breath to my lungs and sounds to my ears. I heard my name being called, and painfully turned my neck to see the backlit forms of Pop, Tom and John as they looked down the ravine into which I’d fallen. They were shouting something, but I couldn’t make it out above the howling of the wind and the pounding of the rain.

It wasn’t important anyway. I was still alive, and Ice was still gone, and that was the only thing that mattered to me.

Slowly I pulled myself together and set about getting out of the trap I’d fallen into. Sitting up gingerly, I used both hands to pull out the leg that was wedged beneath the great, gnarled roots of the old pine I’d slammed into.

I nearly fainted when my leg finally tore loose from the tree’s greedy hold and I saw the ragged flaps of skin where my knee used to be.

I wasn’t about to let a little blood stop me, though, and, gritting my teeth against the agony, I hobbled back up to my feet and stood, swaying, as my body tried to regain its lost equilibrium.

I looked up again in time to see Tom and John slip-slide their way down the embankment, managing to keep their footing only by the slimmest of margins. Finally getting to where I was standing, Tom reached out to me, but I pulled away, my teeth set in a feral snarl. "Don’t touch me!"

"C’mon, Tyler. You’re hurt bad. You need to get back up top and get that leg looked at."

"The only thing I need, you bastard, is to be left alone."

"Tyler . . . ."

"Cowards!" I yelled, some part deep within me shocked at this insanity, but the rest reveling in it. "That’s all you are! Cowards! Go home, Tom. Get all warm and dry in your nice warm cabin. Kiss your wife hello and don’t worry about me. Just . . .go home. I’ll do this myself."

For that one horrible second in time, all I felt was hate. I hated them all, but I think, more than that, I hated myself.

"Tyler, please. . . . ."

"No! Leave me alone!!"

He wouldn’t, though, and grabbed me in a tight bear hold that I didn’t have the faintest prayer of escaping, insane or no. Like some sort of trapped and wild animal, I fought for all I was worth, kicking and scratching and even biting, but he bore my rage patiently.

And when my rage turned to grief once again, he turned me in his arms, held me close and tight, and stroked my dirty, wet hair as I sobbed my sorrow into his massive chest.

*  *  *

"Is Pop ok?" I asked from my position on the couch, my badly damaged knee thoroughly cleansed and swaddled in several layers of towels and propped on two pillows.

Tom smiled slightly at me as he entered the living-room from Corinne’s room, where he’d taken Pop when we’d arrived back at the cabin. "Yeah. He was having some chest pain. From the tension, I think."

I sat up straighter. "He needs to get to a hospital then."

"Nah. He’s stubborner than you about those things," he said with a pointed glance. "I gave him the medicine he takes for those attacks and he’s resting fine now. A little sleep and he’ll be better."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. It’s happened before. Doc Steve checked out his ticker and it’s ok, for the most part. Just relax. He’ll be fine." He crossed the room to stand beside the couch. "How’re you?"

"I’m ok."

"You really need to get that knee checked out, Tyler. I’m not a very good nurse."

"You did just fine. And I will. Have it checked out, I mean. Later."

He chuckled. "Peas in a pod, you are." Then he looked out the window. "I just checked with John on the CB. The rain’s setting to clear and we’re getting ready to go back out again."

"Ok."

Smiling, he reached out and ruffled my hair before turning to leave.

"Tom?"

He turned back. "Yeah?"

"I just want you to know I’m sorry for what I said back there. I didn’t mean any of it, you know."

"I know, sweetie. Grief makes us do some crazy things. Just remember, Morgan’s my friend too. And I’m not gonna stop until I find her. None of us are."

Suddenly shy, I looked down at my hands. "I know," I mumbled, yet again on the verge of tears. "And that means the world to me, Tom." Then I lifted my chin and looked him dead in the eye. "I need for you to believe that."

"I do, Tyler. Believe me. I do."

*  *  *

Several hours later, Pop shuffled out of the bedroom, his hair a corkscrew of tangles, his eyes red, his face pale and drawn and stubbly with a couple day’s growth of beard. "How ya holdin’ up, Tyler?" he asked, voice rough with sleep.

"I’ve been better. You?"

"Same." He yawned and stretched, then sat down in the chair next to the couch upon which I was lying. "Any news?"

"No."

He nodded, then looked out the window. "Weather’s cleared up. That’s good, at least."

"Thank heaven for small favors." It sounded sarcastic and, in truth, it was. I was hanging on by the tiniest, most frayed of threads, but more determined than ever not to again give into my anger and sorrow.

And, indeed, the night had cleared beautifully. The breeze seemed gentle as it swayed the pines and the stars and moon formed a beautiful tapestry across the sky above. Tom had opened the windows before he left, and the air was cool and fragrant as it brushed against my skin.

We sat for awhile in companionable silence, listening to the chorus of frogs as they chirped for their mates.

Then they went silent and I looked over at Pop, who’d also noticed and was rising slowly from his chair, his face set in stony lines.

"What is it?" I whispered.

"Dunno. But I aim ta find out. Them bastards don’t stop unless there’s danger about."

"A bear, maybe?"

"Maybe. Or somethin else." Going to the corner of the room, he grabbed his rifle and threw back the bolt. "Stay here. I’ll check it out."

"Not on your life," I replied, easing myself off of the couch and placing my bare feet on the warm floor.

"Tyler, ya don’t need ta be getting up with yer knee like that."

"I’ll worry about it later. Let’s just see what’s out there."

Willing myself not to collapse as the sharp spears of pain drove up my leg and into my gut, I put some weight on my leg, nodded once with teeth clamped hard enough to draw blood from my lip, and hobbled across the floor, putting my hand on Pop’s narrow back as we continued through the dining-room and out to the rear of the house.

We both scanned the darkness seen through the screens of the back porch, seeing nothing save for the gently rustling trees. "You ready?" he asked me, rifle held securely in his hands.

"Yeah."

With one foot, he pushed open the door and stepped out onto the patio with me close behind.

The eerie silence continued, broken only by the rustling leaves and the hum of the wind through the trees.

"I don’t see anything," I whispered.

"Me neither. That’s what’s got me worried."

I was tempted to shrug it off, but the tension Pop was giving off wouldn’t let me. I stood still as I could, willing the pain in my leg to recede, if only for a brief second’s respite.

Then I saw something; a movement in the bushes Ice had planted between the edge of our property and the road, a movement that was not caused by the wind. I stiffened, my heart racing anew, the pain finally forgotten as a new danger presented itself.

Next to me, Pop, also aware of the movement, raised his rifle slowly, socketing it snug against his shoulder. "I ain’t in the mood for playin’ games, whoever you are, so do us both a favor and c’mon out before I start shootin." His voice, though low, was steady and strong.

The rustling continued.

"Do it, now, or I swear to God I’ll pull this trigger and ya won’t be doin anything again."

After another moment, a white rabbit, fat with summer’s bounty hopped from the bushes and twitched his impudent nose at us, his eyes red in the porch lighting.

I sagged against Pop in relief but he remained steady, rifle not moving a millimeter.

"What is it?"

"Rabbit’s got blood on it."

"Oh shit." The tension in me redoubled and my eyes searched again the dark night.

"Last warning! C’mon out!"

A figure rose from the bushes like a beast from a nightmare, blood-covered and ragged and holding a pistol aimed directly at Pop.

My gasp of horror was loud in my own ears.

But something as close to a premonition as I’ll ever be blessed with again reached in and grabbed my soul and sent my arm out pushing the rifle a way a split second before Pop would have fired. "No!" I screamed. "Don’t shoot!"

"Get back inside, Tyler," Pop ordered, bringing his rifle to bear again. "I’ll handle this."

"No!" I yelled again, grabbing the gun with desperate strength. "Don’t shoot! It’s Ice!"

"What?"

"Look, Pop! It’s Ice! Don’t shoot! Please!"

His eyes squinted as he looked at the gore-covered apparition who was still standing, gun pointed at him. "Morgan? That you?"

"Step away from her, old man. Step away before I kill ya."

"Do it, Pop! Put your gun down and step away. Please."

"But . . . ."

"Please!!"

Slowly, he lowered his gun and took three careful steps away from me, his eyes still glued to Ice’s savaged body and glittering, deadly eyes. Her gun was rock steady as it tracked his progress.

Standing alone, I slowly raised my hands. "Ice? It’s me. Angel. Please put the gun down, ok? I’m fine. He didn’t hurt me. Please put the gun down."

The gun swung back to me, her expression unchanged. If the Angel of Death had form and face, I was looking at it right now. "Please, Ice. Put it down. No one’s gonna hurt you, love."

Her stance wavered for a brief second as her eyes closed, then opened again. "Angel?" she whispered.

"Yes, sweetheart. It’s me." I tried to smile through my tears. "Welcome home."

As if hit by a strong blow from behind, she seemed to crumple. The gun fell from her hands and she dragged herself from the bushes. I almost screamed when I saw the damage that had been done to her. Most of her clothes had been torn clean away, and she was bleeding heavily from more than a dozen wounds, including two obvious gunshots to her left thigh and right side, just above her hip. Her face was covered in blood from a heavily bleeding wound just above her eyebrow. The skin of her arms and legs were scratched and torn and covered with mud from where she’d no doubt fallen many times during her journey.

I hope I’ll never live long enough to ever experience the massive strength she needed just to move those few feet separating us.

I rushed out to meet her half way, crushing her in a hug that would have killed a mere mortal.

"I killed ‘em, Angel," she whispered into my ear, her voice husky and raw. "I killed ‘em all. They won’t hurt you ever again."

And then she collapsed against me, unconscious, bearing me to the ground with her as her desperate journey home finally ended.

"Holy mother a’god," Pop swore as he materialized beside me. "I wouldn’t a believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes. I’m still not sure I believe it."

"Help me get her in the house, Pop," I returned, pulling my body from beneath Ice’s and cradling her head in my hands. "Please."

"Alright. You get ‘er shoulders. I’ll get ‘er feet. Let’s see if we can do this without droppin’ her."

On three, we lifted her carefully. Dead weight, she felt almost impossibly heavy, and my knee was seriously considering retiring from the business. I took a few shuffling steps backward before I had to stop, my leg trembling too violently with pain to bear the additional weight. Ice’s head lolled between my arms.

"We’ve got to put her down, Pop. I can’t . . . ."

"Alright, Tyler, alright. Lay her down nice an’ easy. We’ll figure out somethin’ else."

Just then, headlights shown in the driveway and a truck came to a skidding halt a few feet from us. Tom jumped out, his face flushed with excitement. "Pop! Tyler! John just found . . . . Jesus Christ! Is that Morgan?!? How in the hell . . . ?"

I looked up at him. "Tom. Please. Help. We . . .I . . .can’t . . . ."

"I’ve got it." Pushing me gently out of the way, he bent down and lifted Ice easily in his massive arms, cradling her gently against his chest. "Where should I take her?"

"Can you carry her upstairs to the bed?"

"No problem. Get the door."

Pop grabbed the door, holding it wide for Tom to pass through carrying Ice while I concentrated on dragging myself back to my feet.

It was funny, though. My leg didn’t seem to hurt all that much anymore. My joy in seeing Ice alive coupled with the sure knowledge of what she went through to make her way back to me in the condition she was in made my own injury pale to less than insignificance.

I found myself, therefore, almost flying through the door which Pop courteously held open for me, dashing across the hard wooden floors, and taking the stairs two at a time to arrive just in time to see Tom lay Ice gently on our bed. The look on his face was a curious mixture of sorrow, amazement, and utter worship.

I suspected the same look was on my own face as well.

Noticing my presence after carefully arranging her arms and legs in a comfortable position atop the sheets, he stepped out of the way, giving me room to lower myself to my knees beside the bed and gently grasp one of her hands, holding it up to my cheek as my eyes played over her battered, blood and gore covered face.

I didn’t see any of that, though. Not then. Not yet.

Instead, I just allowed myself to drink in the sight of her, alive and breathing and as beautiful to my eyes as the day I first saw, seemingly an entire lifetime ago.

"We need to get her to a hospital," Tom said finally, breaking the silence which had fallen over the room.

"No," I said immediately, looking up at him. "No hospitals."

"If you’re worried about the cost, Tyler, don’t. We’ll . . . ."

"No. It’s not that. It’s . . . ." I took a deep breath, attempting to gather my thoughts. "She’s been shot."

He looked me as if I’d suddenly regressed back to diapers. "Yeah, I know. That’s why we need to get her to a hospital."

"You don’t understand."

"Obviously, I don’t. Mind filling me in?" There was just a touch of anger in his voice. Justified, I thought, given what he’d gone through to search for the very woman who was now lying, grievously injured, on the bed.

"First thing them docs’ll do, Tommy," Pop said, coming into the room, "after they stabilize her is ta call the cops."

"So? That’s a bad thing? Those guys kidnapped her and tried to murder her! I think bringing the police in is a good thing right about now!"

"Won’t help nothin, Tommy. They’re dead already."

Tom turned to Pop, his eyes wide with shock. "What?"

Pop gestured to the bed. "She killed em."

Tom looked down at Ice, then over at me, his jaw slack. I nodded. "All of them?"

I nodded again.

"Jesus Christ," he whispered. "But . . .she could claim self defense, right?"

"Sure," Pop replied, "after they was done askin her why them Mafia boys had such an interest in her."

"Oh."

"Yeah. Oh."

Reaching out, Tom laid a hand on Ice’s brow. His eyebrows drew together in a pensive frown. "Well, whatever you guys are gonna do, it’d better be soon. She’s burning up."

And suddenly, I could feel it as well in the limp hand I was holding. Always a warm furnace, Ice’s body radiated a heat that was unnatural, even for her. I looked over at Pop, my fears plain on my face.

"I’ll go downstairs and wet down some towels. That’ll help cool her off for a start till we figure out who ta call."

"What about Steve?" Tom asked.

"Pretty fair country doc, but I don’t think he’s got the skills we need, Tommy."

Then he turned and walked back down the stairs, leaving us alone. Reaching out with my free hand, I gingerly touched the sweaty, dirty and bloody bangs on Ice’s pale brow, carefully trying to avoid the myriad of cuts and scrapes gouged into her skin, a task which was nearly impossible. There didn’t appear to be an unmarked inch of skin anywhere.

The tears were there. I could feel them burning at my eyes, demanding release, but I didn’t let them fall. Time enough later, when she was out of the woods.

Needing to get my mind off of the sight my eyes were seeing, if even for a moment, I looked up at Tom. "When you came over here, you acted like you had some news?"

My friend startled, as if pulled from a dream. "Oh! Yeah! John found something about thirty miles down that road we were searching yesterday. We probably missed it because of the storm."

"Did he say what it was?"

"No. They were just getting ready to head down. Whatever it was, it had him pretty excited, though." He scratched at the heavy growth of stubble on his cheek. "Which reminds me. I’d better get back out to the truck and see what it was. Not that it makes much difference now, thank God."

"It might."

"Might what?"

"Make a difference. If she left the . . . um . . .bodies laying around."

"Damn," Tom replied, rubbing his forehead. "I didn’t even think about that." He shook his head. "Lemme get downstairs and figure out what’s going on."

Pop came into the room, heavily laden with wet towels, as soon as Tom left. "C’mon," he said, laying them on the bed and turning to me, "let’s get ‘er outta what’s left of ‘er clothes and lay these towels on her. Might help ta bring the fever down a little, at least."

"Alright." Struggling up to my feet, I worked on the upper half of her body while Pop worked on the lower. There really wasn’t much left of the simple button down shirt she’d donned and her bra was another lost cause, having been ripped to shreds somewhere along the way. I didn’t have to try hard at all to divest her of the tattered remnants hanging from her battered body.

"Oh. . .Ice," I whispered, looking down at the body bared to me. Her breasts were bruised and bloody. Several long cuts could be seen beneath the liberal coating of blood and mud which painted her skin. Her ribcage on the right was oddly shaped, and I guessed that she had three or four broken ribs. There was a long open gash which drew a grisly line from just beneath her sternum and ran underneath the blood-encrusted jeans Pop was currently working hard just to unbutton.

And, of course, there was the bullet hole just above her hip, surrounded by swollen, angry red skin and oozing a constant bloody fluid.

With a satisfied grunt, Pop finally managed to pry open the button holding Ice’s jeans together and with a quick, though gentle, tug, he pulled them off, together with her underpants.

Excepting the second bullet wound in her thigh, her legs seemed to have escaped the worst of the damage, though she did have several wicked gashes on her calves and shins and both knees were swollen, scraped and bleeding.

Working together, Pop and I soon managed to cover her with cool, wet towels from head to toe, hoping against hope we could put a dent in the raging fever she had. "Do you have any ideas?" I asked him when we were finally done.

"Been thinkin on it," he replied. "Got a friend up country some who’s pretty fair with a scalpel and knows how ta keep his mouth shut. Might do for a start."

I could feel myself sag with relief against the bed. "Thank God. Are you going to call him?"

"Do it right now."

Just as he turned to leave, we both stiffened as the sounds of shouting filtered into the cabin. The words weren’t easily discerned, but from the heated tone, it was pretty obvious that Tom was trying his best to keep someone outside, while that ‘someone’ was trying just as hard to get in.

There was a loud crash and then I heard my name. "Angel!"

Which was strange, because no man in town called me by that name.

My first thought was Andre, but he was a French Canadian who spoke with a thick, if pleasing, accent. The man who called my name carried no such accent.

"Angel, are you in there? It’s Bull! I need to talk to you right away!"

"Bull?" I rose slowly to my feet. "Tom, it’s alright! Let him in! He’s a friend!"

I walked over to the wooden railing as Bull burst through the door, Tom hard at his heels, their faces still flushed with heated anger.

"Angel! Thank God I’m not too late. Where’s Morgan? I need to speak to you both. It’s really important."

"She’s up here, Bull," I replied, taking in the sight of a friend I hadn’t seen in a year. He looked just the same, right down to the massive beard he evidently didn’t bother to shave even in the heat of summer.

"Um, could you get her to come down here? Please?"

"I can’t do that, Bull. Come on up here."

He took his cap off and twisted it in his hands, blushing slightly beneath his heavy beard. "Are you sure?"

I smiled a little. "Now’s not the time to get all shy on me, Bull. Just get up here."

"Alright."

I could hear him take the steps three at a time as his huge body barely made it up the narrow stairway. He made it to the top, then stopped, face slack with shock and some deeper emotion. "I am too late," he breathed. "God damn it. No!"

Walking over to the bed, he stared down at Ice’s unresponsive body, fat tears rolling down his bearded cheeks. "Dear God, Morgan, no. You can’t . . . . No."

I stepped up and placed a hand on his back. "She’s still alive, Bull," I said softly in an effort to ease his grief. "They tried, but they didn’t succeed."

He turned to me, his eyes shiny with his tears, his hands clenched in massive, white-knuckled fists. "Was it . . . ?"

I nodded. "At least I think so. Cavallo wasn’t with them. She seemed to know one of them, though. A guy by the name of Carmine. He seemed to be the leader."

He returned my nod, his face twisting into a snarl of anger. "Yeah, she knew him alright. Carmine used to be a friend of hers, before he turned belly up and became Cavallo’s stooge. Bastard. When I find him, I’m gonna . . . ."

"No need. He’s dead."

Bull’s eyes widened. "Morgan?"

"Yeah. She killed all of them, then managed to make her way back here, though I don’t know how."

"You mean they took her away? Alive? But how?"

I sighed. "It’s a long story, Bull. Suffice it to say for now that they’re not a threat anymore."

"They shouldn’t have been a threat in the first place, goddamnit!" I could hear his teeth grind in anger.

"Did something happen?"

"Yeah," he spat. "They managed to find Andre, though how, I don’t know."

"Oh, God. Is he alright?"

"He’s alive. They beat the holy living crap out of him, but he’s alive."

"Did he tell them?"

"No. Andre wouldn’t spill anything if you pulled his fingernails out by the roots. He’s tough."

"Then who?"

"Andre’s partner. He just couldn’t take seeing him beaten up like that anymore. He managed to get Andre to the hospital, then he called me. I was up in the mountains and didn’t find out about anything till just this morning. I’ve been driving all day, praying to god I wasn’t too late." He wiped the tears from his eyes. "But I was anyhow."

I rubbed my hand along his broad back, trying to console him. It wasn’t working. He was wound up tighter than a spring. "It’s alright, Bull. You couldn’t have known."

"I should have, damnit!" He wiped his eyes again. "I should have, and I didn’t. And now Morgan is . . .is . . . ."

"She’s alive, Bull. She’s alive."

After a moment, he reached down and clasped Ice’s hand in his own. "I’m sorry, Morgan. God, I’m so, so sorry." Then he looked at me. "She’s burnin up with fever."

"I know. She’s been shot twice and she’s got a whole bunch of other injuries on top of that. We were just about to call in a friend to help."

"Let me. Please. I couldn’t stop this from happening, but at least I can help fix her up." He turned to me, eyes intense and pleading. "I was a battlefield medic in ‘Nam. Chucked it all and moved up here when my tour was over, but I’ve kept up my skills. I might not know a lot, but I do know how to treat gunshot wounds." Reaching out his free hand, he grasped my own, squeezing it tightly. "Please, Angel. Please let me help. I have to make it up to her somehow. I have . . . ."

I gave him my best smile. "That’s the best offer I’ve heard all day, Bull. Thank you."

"No, Angel. Thank you." He turned then, and almost ran into Pop, who had been silently listening to the exchange. "Oh, I’m sorry. Um . . .I’m Bull."

Pop smiled. "So I gathered. Pop." The two men shook hands as Pop carefully appraised my hulking friend. "You known Morgan a long time, have ya?"

"Yeah. Since she was a kid. I love her like a sister. Always have."

Pursing his lips, Pop nodded, once. "Alright then. Got gear ya need brung up?"

"It’s in my truck. I’ll get it." After a last look at Ice, he turned and ran back down the stairs and out to his truck.

"Guess we got lucky," Pop commented.

"Yeah. I guess we did."

Thank God.

*  *  *

Soon after Bull left to retrieve his gear, Pop left as well, ostensibly to get fresh water, rags and soap with which to wash Ice’s blood and gore covered body so that Bull could do what he needed to do to fix the worst of her injuries.

Left alone with my lover, I crawled carefully onto the large bed, then stretched out beside her. Reaching out, I gently gasped a lock of her hair and ran it between my fingers, looking down at her battered, still face. "Hi, sweetheart. It’s me." I paused. "Well, I suppose you know that already, don’t you. You always seem to know when I’m around and I don’t think now is any different, right?"

I stopped, then laughed a little. "Yeah, I’m rambling. Par for the course, huh?" I sighed, sniffing back my tears. "I missed you, Ice. I felt . . .I don’t know . . .dead inside. Like someone had taken my soul and ripped it right out of my body. And when I thought you were dead . . . ."

I let the tears fall for a moment before strengthening myself against their still-seductive lure. "Enough of that. You’re not dead. You’re alive, and we’re all gonna make sure you stay that way, alright?"

Then I smiled, picturing that sardonic eyebrow lift in my mind. "Yes, you heard me right. ‘We’. When you wake up, I think you’re gonna be in for one hell of a surprise, my love. You, the person who believes she is incapable of being respected and loved, are loved by many more people than you think. You wouldn’t believe the number of people who put themselves in deliberate danger just to hunt down those idiots who kidnapped you." I could feel my smile broaden. "You’d be proud of them, Ice. God knows I am."

Anything I might have said further was interrupted by the return of Bull, and right behind him, Pop. Bull was toting a large green backpack with a red cross emblazoned across the front.

"Present from Uncle Sam," he said, grinning and lifting the pack when he saw me staring at it. "I heard you talking. Did she wake up?"

I blushed a little. "No. I was just . . .talking to myself, I guess. Telling her I missed her and stuff like that." I shrugged.

"Good."

"Good?"

Laying the pack down on the bed, he nodded. "Yeah. Whatever place she’s in, she knows she’s safe. But it’s good to be reminded of that sometimes. Especially when you’re hurting." Smiling slightly, he put one large hand gently down on her shoulder. "Whatever she went through, it wasn’t pleasant. She needs to hear your voice to remember that it was all worth it in the end."

"You think she can hear me, then?"

"Oh, yeah. Even if she isn’t responding right now, she hears you. I’m sure of it. So don’t stop talking on my account. It can only make my job easier." He grinned crookedly. "Especially if she wakes up while I’m still working and decides my face would look better completely rearranged."

Remembering what she had done to the poor doctor who had tried to shove a tube down her nose when she seemed unconscious, I couldn’t help but laugh. "Then I promise to do my best to keep your face looking as handsome as it does now."

Oops! In the year that had passed, I’d completely forgotten about the crush he had on me.

Bull’s blush could have set fire to the lake outside.

Then Pop laughed, which caused Bull to scowl, and then everything was alright again.

Or at least as alright as it could be.

"C’mon, Tyler, let’s get ‘er cleaned up some so this lug c’n do what he came here ta do."

And so we did, each of us using towels and plenty of soap and water to tenderly minister to her torn and swollen flesh. The going was slow, at first, especially as I was trying my best to be gentle with her, not wanting to cause my already horribly injured lover any further pain.

But when Bull told me--rather sternly I thought—to put some muscle into it, I began to clean her more thoroughly and, by necessity, less tenderly, wincing every time the cloth swiped over the angry, swollen redness that circled her cuts like an obscene brand.

She wasn’t wincing, though, nor even twitching. Not even when Bull used his washcloth to clean the edges of the bullet hole in her thigh, probing it to loosen the encrusted blood and dirt which had fouled it.

I looked up at him, sure my expression of worry was showing easily on my face.

After a moment, he dropped the dirty rag to the floor and came up to the head of the bed, bringing with him a small penlight he’d liberated from the depths of his army issue backpack. Using his huge hands tenderly, he felt around her skull beneath the thick and tangled mat of her hair, frowning once or twice as he did so.

Then he pulled back each slack eyelid in turn and flashed the beam from his penlight into her eyes several times before lowering her lids once again and tossing the light back with the rest of his gear.

"Well?" Pop asked before I could voice the same question.

"She’s got a couple pretty good sized lumps on the right side of her head, and her left pupil is a little sluggish, so I’d guess she’s got a pretty nice concussion to add to the mix." He turned to look at me. "Did she seem okay when she talked to you?"

I thought for a moment. "Well, she didn’t seem to recognize Pop at first, but then again, he had a gun pointed at her, so I’m sure she could probably be excused for that one. And, for a minute there, I don’t think she recognized me either, but when I called out to her, she lowered her own gun and came to me." I closed my eyes, remembering. "She told me that she’d killed them all and that they wouldn’t ever hurt me again. Then she passed out."

He nodded. "That’s good, then."

"So, is the concussion why she’s not showing any response to pain?"

"Partly. Add to that a good dose of sheer exhaustion and we’ve most likely got our answer."

"Most likely?" Pop asked, his bushy brows knit low over his eyes.

Bull spread his hands. "I’m sorry. It’s my best guess here. Only a CT scan could tell us for sure, and since the chances of sneaking her into one of those things without being seen are remote . . . ."

Both men turned to look at me and I once again felt the weight of the world settle about my shoulders as if planning to stay for a good long while.

Instinctively, I looked to Ice, searching for answers in that still, battered, beloved face. What would you do in my place, Ice? Would you trust Bull’s decision, or would you want to make absolutely sure?

Then I laughed a little, causing my companions to look at me as if I had suddenly sprouted another head, a little off to the left of the first one.

I know what you’d do, my love. You’d get me to the hospital so fast, the tires would bleed.

I reached out once again to finger a lock of her hair, desperate to have some sort of link with her. A link that wasn’t cold, or pale, or bloody.

But you’re not me. And as much as I hate to admit it, you can’t help me with this one, can you.

I sighed.

So, either I trust Bull and hope he’s not wrong, or I take you to a hospital to be sure and run the almost guaranteed risk of seeing you carted back to the U.S. in chains.

That exact vision, the one that had haunted my nightmares for the past year, came into my thoughts, and suddenly, the decision wasn’t a hard one to make at all.

Then I looked up into the waiting faces of my friends, meeting their eyes steadily and without hesitation. "I trust you, Bull. And I know Ice does too." I smiled. "So, let’s get this show on the road and put Humpty Dumpty back together again, ok?"

Grinning in return, Bull gave me a gentle slap on the shoulder and returned to his pack, which he opened and began pulling out amazing quantities of medical gear, like a magician pulling a dozen rabbits from his top-hat.

"What did you do?" I finally asked as all the gear was laid out on the table by the bed, "rob a hospital?"

"Nah. I got a friend down south who keeps me supplied." He shrugged. "No big deal."

"And you keep it all in your truck?"

He chuckled. "Well, when you take a group of great white hunters out on a trek and spend a night or two picking a load of buckshot outta someone’s backside with nothing but a pair of eyebrow tweezers and a Zippo lighter, ya soon learn that the Boy Scouts have the right idea." Then he pulled himself back to his feet. "Lemme go wash my hands and then we can get started."

"What do you want me to do?" I asked.

He smiled tenderly. "Just . . .hold her hand. Best medicine in the world for her right now."

I nodded.

That I could do.

*  *  *

Several hours later, it was done.

Ice lay quietly in the center of our large bed, looking impossibly small and impossibly fragile beneath the vestments of brilliant white bandages which swaddled her from head to toe.

From beneath one such bandage, wrapped around her left arm, snaked a coil of IV tubing which was connected to a clear bag of fluid hanging from an impromptu IV pole, which doubled, in happier times, as our coat-rack.

Swabbing one of the IV ports, Bull injected another dose of Morphine into the line, then discarded the used syringe and stripped off his bloodied gloves, grunting in satisfaction and stretching his massive body in all directions. "That should keep her out for awhile," he said, twisting his neck so that the vertebrae popped noisily.

"Is there anything more we can do?" I asked from my position beside the bed. My knees were killing me, especially the injured one, but I wasn’t about to complain.

"Nope. The rest is up to her. Give her time to rest and start healing. She’ll come out of it when she’s ready."

Struggling to my feet, I limped over to Bull and wrapped him in the tightest hug I could manage, tucking my cheek against his huge chest and hanging on for dear life. "Thank you," I said, my voice muffled against his shirt. "Thank you so much. I don’t know what we would have done without you, Bull. You saved her life. I won’t ever forget that. Ever."

He didn’t say anything, but I could feel his acceptance of my thanks in the return squeeze I received before being lifted off my feet and deposited into the bed beside my partner. "Time to look at your injuries," he said, grinning.

"Oh, no. Really," I demurred as his hands reached for the towel still somehow wrapped around my leg. "I don’t need . . . ."

"Hush."

Surprisingly, I did.

Giving the man my best put upon expression, I crossed my arms over my chest and watched as he gently unwrapped my leg to reveal my injury. "Not bad. Someone did a pretty good job of cleaning it up."

"That was Tom," I replied. Then I looked up at Pop, who’d been mostly silent as Bull worked on Ice, lending help as needed but doing little else, his thoughts seemingly far away. "Speaking of which, where is he?"

"Talked to him a little while ago. Said he couldn’t raise Johnny on the CB so he was goin back out ta see what was goin’ on."

I sat up straighter. "Is there a problem?"

Pop shrugged. "Nah. They was probably outta their trucks investigatin whatever in the hell it was they found."

"That was quite awhile ago, though. Shouldn’t someone have reported back by now?"

Pop didn’t seem particularly worried. "Give ‘em a little more time. They’ll be alright."

Nodding, I looked back to Bull, who was staring at me with a large syringe in his hand and a grin that Dr. Frankenstein must have worn just before he threw the fateful switch.

"Wha--?"

"Oh, come on, Angel. It’s just a little needle," he teased mercilessly.

"Little for you, maybe . . . ."

"Alright," he replied, moving as if to put the syringe away, "but those stitches are gonna hurt a lot more without it."

"S-stitches?"

I heard Pop chuckle off to the side and I shot him a glare before returning my attentions to the big man with the big needle. "It’s not that bad," I countered, flexing my knee to show just how bad it wasn’t, and nearly biting my tongue in half when a bolt of pain shot up to my groin. "See?" I said through gritted teeth.

Bull grinned. "Oh, I see alright." Using his free hand, he gently pushed on my shoulder until my back was against the backboard. "Just close your eyes and think happy thoughts. It’s just a little prick. You won’t feel a thing."

"You know," I said when my jaw finally managed to loosen, "you’re just lucky you’re armed, Bull, or I just might be tempted to make an unkind remark to rebut that last statement." Then I smirked. "Or confirm it."

His face went blank for a moment as he internalized my threat, then he blushed again; a deep, fire-engine red. Pop coughed in the background, nearly choking when he, too, got the joke.

My own quiet laughter was quickly cut off at the feel of a sharp needle sliding beneath my skin, followed by an intense burning sensation as the medication spread through my tissues. "Ow," I said, scowling.

"Serves you right," came the unrepentant reply. "Now just sit still for a minute and give it a chance to work."

Though tempted in the extreme to let loose with a volley of expletives that would have curled his beard, I wisely held my tongue, choosing silence as the better part of valor.

At least as long as he had pointy objects close to hand.

A couple minutes later, he returned, suture materials in hand, and almost before I knew it, I was staring down at a long row of neat stitches where a gaping cut had been just a short time before. "Thanks, Bull. Sorry about giving you such a hard time."

He grinned, snapping off his gloves. "Don’t worry about it. You were a hell of a lot better about it than a whiney hunter with a butt-load of buckshot, that’s for sure." Then he looked at me, eyes narrowed. "Ya know, those circles under your eyes are gonna be asking for their own zip code pretty soon. When’d you sleep last?"

Embarrassed, I looked down at my hands, clasped in my lap. "I . . .um . . .don’t remember."

"Thought as much. You need some rest. So just lie down next to Morgan and try to relax. I’ll keep an eye out for both of you."

"You need sleep too," I replied, noticing the large, dark circles under his own eyes.

"Yeah, but I’m in one piece." Then he smiled, and I could almost smell an ulterior motive brewing. "Besides, I think Morgan’ll sleep easier knowing you’re close by, don’t you?"

"You’re a devious man, my friend."

He shrugged, laughing. "It worked, didn’t it?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, then." He tipped a wink at me. "Pleasant dreams."

My payback list had officially expanded.

*  *  *

Some time later, I was awakened from the depths of a profoundly exhausted slumber by something I didn’t at first recognize.

Then it came again and this time, recognition was swift.

Ice twitched, then moaned, as if in pain.

Galvanized, I moved quickly away, horror dawning on my face as I realized that, sometime during my sleep, I’d unconsciously adopted one of my favorite positions, curled up on my side, my head on her shoulder, my arm tight about her waist, and my good leg thrown carelessly over both of her own.

"Oh my god, Ice. I’m so sorry! I didn’t realize . . . ."

"Angel . . . ."

"I know. I’m here. I’m sorry, sweetheart . . . ." I reached out to touch her, then realized that her eyes, far from being open and pain filled, were instead darting ceaselessly about beneath tightly closed lids.

"Ice?" Her entire face was literally bathed in a heavy sweat.

"Angel! No!"

One long arm blasted out from beneath the covers. The IV tubing stretched, then abruptly came free as blood and IV fluid sprayed across the bed. "Let go of her, you bastard!"

"Ice! Don’t!" Reaching out, I grabbed her arm, but she pulled it away savagely as both legs powered up, kicking the covers free.

"Let her go, Carmine. . . . That’s right, let her go, or I’ll rip your heart out and feed it to ya."

"Ice . . . please . . . ." I wanted to reach out to touch her, to reassure her that I was alive and in no danger, but there wasn’t a place on her body that I could do that without hurting her. Instead, I laid back down and put my lips as close to her ear as I dared. "Ice, I’m ok. I’m alright. Carmine isn’t here, sweetheart. You’re just having a bad dream. That’s all it is. Just a dream."

" . . . Angel?"

"Yes, sweetheart. It’s me. You’re ok. We’re ok. No one’s gonna hurt us. I promise."

And for a moment, her body went absolutely still, and I breathed out a silent sigh of relief.

"Angel! Nooooo!!"

She stiffened beneath me, then began thrashing violently, as if within the depths of her fevered delirium, she was being held by chains of the strongest steel from which she was desperately trying to break free.

As I watched, horrified, her face twisted in a snarl of black rage while, from beneath tightly clenched eyelids, a stream of tears began to pour.

"Ice," I whispered into her ear, taking care not to be hit by her thrashing head, "it’s ok. I’m alright. Please, it’s ok." I put my hand down below her chest in an attempt to calm her, then pulled it away quickly. It was red and slick with blood.

I forced myself to stay calm in the face of this new horror, knowing that my agitation could very likely seep into whatever fevered state her mind was in and cause things to become worse than they already were. Lifting my head carefully, I tried to peer over the railing to perhaps catch a glimpse of anyone who might be on the first floor, all the while wondering why they hadn’t come running when they first heard Ice’s agonized shouts.

She stiffened, then thrashed again, arms and legs jerking as she snarled out her rage. One arm came free from whatever hold her nightmare had on it and flew out, hard, narrowly missing my head as I ducked beneath its killing strike.

When she lashed out again, I jerked away, sending myself tumbling over the edge of the bed to crash gracelessly onto the hard floor. Quickly gathering my legs beneath me, I stood and jumped back on the bed, calling out for help as I did so.

Fresh red bloomed beneath the pristine white bandages, the stains growing ever larger as she continued to thrash atop the bed.

Sounds of booted feet filled the house as I continued to try and calm my lover down without touching her, knowing that any attempt at restraint would be quickly and harshly thrown off.

Then I found myself airborne once again as Tom pulled me off the bed and set me on the ground behind him before moving to grab Ice’s flailing arm and pin it to the bed. Pop did the same with her other arm, and John, the largest of the men save for Bull, grabbed her legs.

Snarling and snapping like a trapped animal, Ice brought all her strength to bear against this new threat, flinging the restraining hands from her as her body bucked and twisted violently. Men stumbled and swore at her immense strength before jumping back into the fray once again, trying to hold her down long enough for Bull, who was frantically searching in his magic bag, to do something to calm her down.

Pulling out an already loaded syringe, Bull stepped between Tom and the window. "Alright, hold her down. I need to . . . shit!"

The syringe flew past my head, followed by a backwards-stumbling Bull, who almost took my legs out from beneath me as he crashed into me, his arms pinwheeling wildly for balance.

"Hold her down, damnit! She’s ripping all her stitches out!"

"We’re trying our best here! Damn woman’s stronger than a bear!"

"Angel!!!"

Something about the timbre of her voice struck a chord deep within me and I desperately tried to slip past the tight press of bodies surrounding the bed. "Ice!"

"Angel!!!"

I saw her hand reach out, trembling, and I tried to grab it, only to be pushed out of the way by Bull, who was wielding another syringe. I tried to slip past him, but he grunted as he thrust his hip out, preventing me from getting near the bed as he shouted orders to the other struggling men. "Turn her over, damnit! I need to get . . . ."

He took a half step backward to avoid a blow and, seeing my chance, I slipped into the space he’d created and threw myself on the bed next to my wildly thrashing lover. "Enough!" I shouted. "Back off! Now!"

Four men looked at me, shock plain on their faces, but, to a man, they obeyed.

Then I turned toward Ice, finally confirming that my supposition was true.

She was awake. Her eyes were wide, grief-stricken, and brimming with tears. "Angel?" she asked in a tone of desolation so unutterably sad that my heart shattered beneath its blackened, lifeless weight.

"I’m here, sweetheart. I’m here."

She reached for me again, pulling her fingers back just before they made contact with my face. "I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I tried to save you. I . . . ."

"Ice! You did save me! I’m here! Right here!"

But she didn’t hear me. Just kept speaking as if looking at a voiceless ghost. "Please forgive me, Angel. I couldn’t . . . ."

It was then that Bull, no doubt taking Ice’s sudden calm as the perfect opportunity, reached past me, bared Ice’s hip, and plunged his needle into her bruised flesh, depressing the plunger quickly, then removing the needle and stepping back away.

Her eyes flared in anger, then became almost dead as whatever drug he’d used spread through her weakened system. ". . . couldn’t save you . . . ," she mumbled as her eyes finally closed and her head lolled to the side.

I turned to Bull, my own eyes blazing in anger. "Why did you do that??" I demanded, feeling my fists ball tightly with the urge to lash out. "Why???"

"She needed to be sedated, Angel," he said reasonably. "Those stitches need to be tended to."

"You idiot! She thinks I’m dead! And when whatever dope you’ve shot her full of wears off, how do you think she’s gonna react? There’s nothing for her now! Nothing!!"

His eyes grew huge as the realization struck him. "I’m sorry. I didn’t . . . ."

"Of course you didn’t! You didn’t think! You didn’t trust me! You didn’t do anything!!"

"Angel . . . ." Tom tried to break in, so I turned my anger on him as well.

"She’s not a dangerous animal that needs to be tranquilized, Tom. She’s a woman who thinks her lover is dead. How would you feel if it were you?"

Unable to hold my gaze, he looked down at the bed, not answering.

I turned to the others. "Well? Any of you?"

"You called fer help, Tyler," Pop finally said. "It ain’t exactly like any of us has ever done this before. Maybe we made a mistake, but it was an honest one."

I could feel the anger bleed out of me at his words. I sighed, unclenching my fists. "I know, Pop. I just wish I could have had a little more time with her, that’s all. I wish . . . well, that doesn’t matter now." I turned to Bull. "I’m sorry for lashing out on you like that, Bull. I know you were only doing what needed to be done."

He smiled, putting a hand on my shoulder. "Don’t worry about it. Next time, I’ll trust your instincts, ok?"

"Let’s just hope there isn’t a next time." I smiled to take the sting out of my words.

He nodded. "Fair enough. How about if you help me undo the bandages and we can take a look at the damage, huh?"

"Sounds good."

*  *  *

As it turned out, the damage wasn’t as severe as it first seemed. Though she’d torn some stitches from the long, deep cut in her belly, the other wounds had just been aggravated and, with a little pressure, they stopped bleeding relatively quickly.

Her fever remained the biggest danger, at times soaring so high that Bull feared seizures from it. We bathed her with cool water to hold it down as best we could until the antibiotics he’d loaded her system with could do their job properly.

When things had calmed down somewhat for the moment, I finally had the presence of mind to realize just who had come to my call for aid. From my position on the bed next to Ice, I looked up at Tom and John, who looked profoundly out of place now that the immediate danger had passed.

"Did you find what you were looking for?" I asked.

John nodded. "Yeah. We found the car. What was left of it."

I sat up straighter, pulling Ice’s hand into my lap and clasping it tightly. "Where?"

""bout thirty miles or so southeast of here, off of one of the logging roads we’d been looking at. Less, as the crow flies, of course. It . . .went off the road and into a tree. Pretty damn fast, too."

I could feel the blood drain from my face as I grasped Ice’s unresponsive hand tighter. "What happened?"

John looked at Tom and Pop before returning his attention back to me. "The driver died instantly. He . . .um . . .he had a steering-wheel through his chest."

My stomach turned and I swallowed back the bile that threatened to come forth. Without really knowing why, I nodded for him to continue.

John scratched his heavy beard, then sighed. "The guy on the passenger side, near as I can tell, flew through the window and smashed into a tree. He probably died pretty quick too."

"And . . .the others?"

"They survived. The accident, anyway."

As I waited for him to continue, John again looked at his brother and Pop. The three men fidgeted, obviously not wanting to say anymore on the subject. "Please?" I asked. "I have to know."

Pop came forward and laid a gentle hand on my shoulder. "Tyler, the men who hurt Morgan are dead. ‘s best ta leave it go at that."

I wanted to. I probably would have given a king’s ransom not to hear what was coming. But, in the end, I just couldn’t let it go as Pop asked. I had to know what happened. Ice, I was sure, would never tell me, and the hole that would leave would, in time I was sure, become much larger with each passing day. "Please tell me. Please."

More furtive glances were exchanged before Tom decided, apparently, to step forward and take the figurative male bovine by its bony head appendages. "It was like . . . ." He raised his hands, palms up, searching for the right words, "Like a pack of wolves had had at them or something. It was . . . ," he swallowed hard, visibly paling, "bad."

"How bad?" My voice was so soft, I was surprised anyone heard me.

"Bad."

"Maybe wolves did come? After, I mean?"

Tom and John shook their heads. "No," John said. "Corpses don’t spill that much blood."

"Before, then?" I asked, determined to find a way to make things fit, other than the obvious, which I wasn’t prepared to believe. "Maybe she left them for dead, and then something came and finished the job?"

Both men shook their heads again. "I’m sorry, Tyler," Tom said, "but that’s not what happened."

"How do you know?"

"Because they all had bullet wounds to the head. Two of them behind the ear. One to the temple. He bore the brunt of the savagery as well, for some reason."

Oh, I knew the reason. I knew it just as well as I knew who it was who’d been killed by a bullet to the temple.

The same man who had put his gun to my temple.

"Carmine."

"What?" Tom asked.

"Carmine. He was the one who made Ice drop her gun or he’d kill me."

Bull, who’d been listening quietly, nodded his head. "Add to that the fact that he used to be her friend. He betrayed her. She’s never taken kindly to that. Roll all that up in a ball, add in those idiots taking shots at her, and I’m surprised she left enough of them lying around for you to find."

The nausea that was threatening from the start of the conversation finally hit. My stomach cramped, hard, and I dove for the side of the bed.

Bull reacted instantly, steadying me and shoving a basin he’d used to clean Ice’s wounds under my open mouth. There wasn’t really anything in my stomach to expel, but it didn’t seem to realize that right away. I gasped and sobbed, trying desperately to catch my breath as the vision of Ice and the men she’d killed played through my mind in an unending stream, causing my stomach to cramp over and over and over again without pause.

When my muscles finally, blessedly, relaxed, I slumped down on the bed, barely feeling the cool rag that Bull used to wipe my face and forehead. "You ok?" he asked, using almost the exact same tone of voice Ice had used in similar situations.

"I’m not sure," I replied as honestly as I knew how.

And, more importantly, would I ever be again?

That Ice had killed those three men wasn’t really an issue with me.

While it might very well have been once upon a time, during Ice’s capture and my subsequent search for her, I’d come to learn a deep, dark and not particularly appealing secret about myself.

And that was that if I could have, I would have killed them all without a second’s pause for taking her so violently away from me.

No, it wasn’t that she’d killed.

It was how she’d killed.

Noticing Bull was still staring at me, one hand on my shoulder, I pulled myself together and moved away from him a bit, straightening my aching legs.

"What’s going on, Angel?" he asked in a gentle tone.

I swallowed hard and manufactured a smile from somewhere. "I . . .um . . .I need some air, I think."

"Oh." Frowning slightly, he straightened back up to his full height and looked down at me.

I forced my smile to broaden. "Honestly, Bull, I’m ok. I just . . .you know. . . need to get out of here for a couple minutes." To lend credence to my words, I slipped from the bed, standing and stretching. "I’ll be right outside. Down by the water. Call me if she wakes up?"

He looked as if he was going to say something, but after a moment, I could see his shoulders sag and he simply nodded in acquiescence. "Ok."

"Great. Thanks."

As I came to the bottom of the stairs, I saw Pop putting the phone back down in its cradle. I looked at him with questioning eyes.

He smiled slightly. "Ruby," he explained. "Corinne’s been sprung. Gonna go up and get ‘em both ‘n bring ‘em back home."

The smile which spread my lips this time was genuine. I would welcome them both back home with open arms, particularly Corinne, who I sensed just might have some of the answers I was so desperately seeking in my mind. "Thanks, Pop. That’s great news."

"Yup." His eyes narrowed as he looked at me. "You sure you’re gonna be alright, Tyler? Don’t seem none too good to me right now."

I felt myself nodding, my lips moving to form the lie so naturally falling from my tongue. "I’m fine. Really. I just need some fresh air, that’s all."

The look he gave me let me know in no uncertain terms that my lie wasn’t in the slightest believed. After a moment, though, he shrugged. "Do what ya gotta do, I guess."

I nodded. "Thanks, Pop."

*  *  *

I found myself on the little green dock, not really aware of how I’d gotten there, only grateful for its cool, silent and non-questioning peace.

My head was a jumble of conflicting emotions; my heart, not far behind.

Lowering myself down to the weathered wood of the dock, I trailed my feet in the water, watching the crescent moon play tag with the wavelets stirred up by the freshening breeze as I leaned my back up against one of the posts which anchored the dock to the shore and disappeared beneath the shallow, glistening water.

Ice had spent long winter days trying to teach me the skills needed for meditation. I called upon those skills now, clearing my mind of all intrusive thoughts and concentrating on the air as it entered and left my lungs, never really realizing when I’d fallen asleep between one breath and the next.

I found myself standing on a dirt road deep in the middle of nowhere. For reasons known only in dreams, I was in nothing save a white sheet, which twisted and rippled around my body in response to the wind circling through the grove in which I found myself.

The night was bright with stars which, as I watched, wheeled themselves over my head in a ballroom’s stately waltz to music known only to them.

I tried to turn my body, to move, to look around, but I seemed to be rooted to the ground. A ground which was neither warm nor cold, wet nor dry; a ground which simply was.

Looking down at my feet, I saw them hidden, enveloped in a soft white ground-mist which covered the forest floor like something out of a fairy tale.

Though perhaps I should have, I didn’t feel any fear. Just a sense of anticipation, knowing my mind had brought me here for a reason, and further knowing I probably wasn’t all that far away from finding out just what that reason was.

My reverie was broken by twin spears of bright lights which lanced through the misty forest glen like a white knight on a charging steed. As I continued to watch—having no other choice but to do so, might I add—the lights coalesced into the high beams of an oncoming car. A car that was headed, at a very high rate of speed, down the very road upon which I was currently rooted, unable to move from its onrushing path.

My mouth opened wide in a silent scream as my legs ignored the desperate messages my brain was sending to them.

At the very last second, the car veered sharply left and headed down a small embankment and into the forest proper, where it was halted, suddenly, violently, in a scream of tearing metal and breaking glass, by the massive trunk of a very old, very sturdy tree who hardly shook at all with the tremendous impact.

Then the forest was silent once again.

I looked on in horror, knowing that no one could possibly have survived the carnage of that wreck. Still, I needed to run forward, to be sure, but my cursed feet remained rooted to the ground, refusing even the most forceful commands to move.

Then, to my amazement, one of the rear doors opened, and a blood-spattered figure stumbled out, collapsing on the ground and groaning as he—and I could definitely tell it was a man—cradled his head with both arms while rocking his massive body side to side in pain.

A second man followed the first. This man somehow managed to stay on his feet, though his face was a grisly mask of blood which literally sheeted down from the gaping cut to his forehead and nose.

Then a third figure emerged, and this was one I recognized easily, immediately though she was battered, bruised, and as bloody as her two predecessors.

"Ice!" I yelled out to her, my heart beating quickly in my chest.

She didn’t hear me, though. Didn’t even lift her head to look my way as she stepped over the body of the first man, almost colliding with the second as she did so.

As I watched, she looked at the man she’d almost run into, a brief flare of rage lighting her pale eyes. Then it abruptly died out and she pushed past him, heading in an unsteady walk back toward the road where I was standing, her lips moving in a silent litany I would have paid a king’s ransom to hear..

It was then that the third man pulled himself from the wreckage, and this also was someone who I immediately recognized, having had an up close and personal interaction with him just days earlier, when his gun was pressed against my temple.

"Carmine," I spat. I could feel my lips twist in revulsion as I watched him casually brush the broken glass from his still pristine suit, as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

Smirking slightly, he carefully reached behind his back. When his hand came back into view, it was holding the same gun which had been pushed against my head earlier. With an almost careless grace, he lifted the muzzle and aimed in Ice’s direction.

"Ice!" I screamed, jerking my entire body in an attempt to move. "Ice! Get down!!!"

But of course, she didn’t hear me. Just kept walking toward the road, her hand occasionally going to the back of her head where the butt of a pistol had come down and knocked her unconscious, an almost distracted look on her face.

"Ice! Please!!! Get down!!"

Almost as if she’d heard me, she turned, but it was too late.

A pistol shot rang through the forest.

Ice crumpled to her knees, her hands instinctively covering the wound just above her hip.

Lowering his gun, Carmine slowly walked over to Ice while in the background, his two goons managed to shake off their injuries and flank their boss, one to a side, like a pair of bloody bookends.

He moved forward until he stood just before her kneeling figure, his gun still hanging loosely at his side. "Mr. Cavallo wanted you brought to him so he could finish you off himself."

"He doesn’t have the balls to finish off dinner," Ice replied, her voice jeering and cold.

Carmine tilted his head—in acknowledgement, I think--before stopping one of his goons from backhanding Ice for her insolence. Then he continued on in his even, quiet tone. "Since that now seems an impossibility, I really have no choice but to end this here."

Reaching out his free hand, he almost gently cupped Ice’s chin.

She jerked it away, staring daggers through him, teeth bared in a snarl of pure challenge.

He tilted his head again, then removed his hand. "I’d say I’m sorry, but at this point, I don’t think you’d believe me."

"Ya got that right."

"Anything you’d like me to pass on?"

I watched, panic-stricken, as she jerked her head back once again. A second later, a shining glob of spittle sprung from between his eyes.

Once again he prevented his cohorts from exacting revenge, then casually reached up and wiped Ice’s gift away, smirking slightly and shaking his head. "Goodbye, Morgan. Despite how it now seems, it was an honor to know you."

Then slowly and deliberately, he raised his gun until the muzzle was just six inches from her forehead.

"No!!!" I screamed. "Ice!!!"

Again, my pleas went unanswered.

"This is just a dream," I whispered to myself, tears streaming down my face. "Just a dream. That’s all it is."

To prove the point to myself, I pinched the tender flesh of my inner arm as hard as I could.

The vision didn’t change.

Reaching down, I jabbed two fingers into the swollen skin of my lacerated knee.

Blinding pain tore through me, enough to wake up the stiffest corpse, and still no release from this nightmare.

Blinking tears of pain and grief from my eyes, I almost missed what happened next.

Almost faster than the eye could see, Ice’s fist shot out, scoring a direct hit to Carmine’s groin. The gun wavered, then dropped completely as he used both hands to cup himself. His eyes bulged and, almost in slow motion, he fell to his knees, mouth wide in a rictus of noiseless agony.

I found myself cheering loudly as the two remaining goons, in a universal empathy of men everywhere, winced and automatically reached down to protect their own private parts.

Which gave Ice time enough to roll away and come, more or less steadily, to her feet.

"Get her!" Carmine gasped, his face as pale as I’d ever seen a face become.

Gathering the wit they managed to share between them, the two goons began to lumber toward my lover. She grinned, then beckoned them closer. I could tell she was testing the weight of her injured side, trying, I imagined, to tell if it would hold her weight if she needed to lash out with her foot.

They came within range, both throwing wild, overhand rights that she managed to block easily, catching their fists, one to a hand, and propelling them backward several steps.

Unfortunately, the move also served to unbalance her, and when she put all her weight down on the injured side, her leg buckled and she went down to one knee, teeth clenched tightly against the pain I knew was shooting through her.

"Come on, Ice," I murmured. "Get up, sweetheart. Don’t let them beat you."

Forgoing whatever little finesse they managed to possess, the two men settled for using their greater combined body mass to tackle Ice to the ground, pin her there, and begin to rain blows on her unprotected body.

At first, she simply lay beneath the heavy weight, her arms instinctively rising to guard her head.

"Fight, Ice!" I screamed, stooping down and scrabbling around for any rocks which might be big enough to heft. "Fight, damn you!"

There was nothing, however. Beneath the mist, the ground was as smooth and unyielding as a varnished floor.

Having landed a particularly vicious blow to Ice’s chest, one of the men rested his beefy weight back against her injured hip, laughing. "Ain’t much of a challenge now, is she Tony?"

"Sure ain’t," Tony agreed, displaying the IQ of a slug’s slime trail.

"Nice tits, though," the first said, leering at Ice’s chest through the gaping tear in her shirt.

"Not bad," Tony said, treating himself to a nice long look. "Think I like the blonde’s better though. Now there’s a rack!" He cupped his hands out in front of himself to illustrate said ‘rack’ as I looked on, grinding my teeth.

"Oh yeah. I’d like a piece a that snatch!" Grinning, he looked down at Ice, threading blunt fingers through her hair and pulling her head up. "How ‘bout it, dyke? Wanna watch when I fuck your little girlfriend senseless? Make her scream for me? Bet she’d like a little man-meat shoved up that tasty little cunt of hers, huh? Maybe in her mouth first? Wash the taste of pussy out of it?"

And as I watched, Ice’s face, her whole body, seemed to change before my eyes. My racing mind likened the change to some werewolf movie I’d seen when I was younger—Michael Landon was in it, I think.

Her eyes, normally the palest of blues, darkened until they were almost black. Her face flushed, suffused with rage, and the tendons in her jaw and neck stood out in bas relief. I could almost feel the dark energy radiating from her body as her muscles quivered and jumped, bunching up like a predator cat about to spring.

With one single thrust of her hips, she managed to unseat the man atop her, sending him flying several feet up and back, to land on top of the still gasping Carmine.

Then she rolled, and as she did so, shot both hands out and grabbed Tony by his jacket, throwing him to the ground and pinning him beneath the weight of her own body. Sitting up, she reached down and grabbed his head and began bashing it down on the ground, over and over and over again without pause, guttural snarls coming from deep within her chest.

Even when it was obvious that Tony was well past the point of resisting, Ice continued to pound his head into the ground, her hands covered in his blood, her face and the remains of her shirt spotted with it.

The other two helped each other off the ground and plodded, limping, to their cohort’s aid. Hearing them, Ice stood and whirled, unleashing her mindless fury on them both in a way I’d never seen before—and prayed mightily that I’d never see again.

I tried to remember that this was all a dream; likely my own mind’s attempt to come up with a scenario for what had really happened in lieu of ever hearing it from Ice.

I tried to scream, to tell her, and my mind, to stop, but my voice was a tiny, insignificant thing, lost amidst the sounds of rage and pain which filled the night air to overflowing.

I tried to put my hands over my ears to block out the sounds, but they came through clearly.

I tried to close my eyes to the sights, but it seemed as if my eyelids were made of window glass, dooming me to stand silently by and watch as my mind turned the woman I loved into an animal..

She beat them bloody; beat them till they fell. And when they fell, she picked them up and beat them again. And again.

And again.

Soon, even Ice’s reserves were spent, and the fight began to take on the look of a ballet attempted underwater.

A straight-from-the-shoulder right to the goon’s face and he went down, only the whites of his eyes showing. When Ice took a second to catch her breath, bending over at the waist and putting her bloody hands on her knees, Carmine stumbled away and reached down for the gun he’d dropped when Ice had punched him earlier.

Turning, he lifted his arm slowly, as if the gun were made of the heaviest iron plating, the muzzle shaking wildly as he pointed it in Ice’s direction.

Seeing him, Ice straightened and stared, absolutely no fear in the dark of her eyes. "Put it down, Carmine. It’s over."

"Yes, it is," he said, his voice high and wavering. "For you."

"Even if you kill me, Cavallo will see to it you’re a dead man as soon as you set foot back in the states."

Carmine shrugged. "So, I won’t go back then."

"Then why kill me?" Ice asked reasonably, using the opportunity to take a couple of steps closer to him when she noticed, as did I, the gun barrel dip just a touch.

"Because I gave my word."

"Promises can be broken."

"Not this one." The gun became more steady. "Goodbye, Morgan."

My scream and the gun’s firing sounded simultaneously.

Blood sprayed from a newly bloomed hole in Ice’s thigh.

But this time, she didn’t go down.

Like a robot impervious to pain, she continued to step toward him as his eyes widened and a very real fear came into them. He lifted the gun again, but the only sound heard was the impotent click of the trigger.

Ice grinned. A terrible, horrible smile. "Ya should have taken my offer, Carmine."

One step closer. Two. Three.

More clicks sounded as Carmine continued to fire a gun which was obviously empty, or jammed. In pure panic, he hefted the weapon again and, with the last of his strength, threw it at Ice, who batted it out of the way with an unconcerned, unhurried swipe of her hand while continuing her slow, deliberate advance.

With a gibbering moan, Carmine dodged left and hobbled as fast as he could to Tony, reaching down and grabbing the gun from the holster at the man’s back.

Ice was on him before he could even think to turn around, her hand grabbing his wrist and wrenching the gun away.

Pulling an arm tight around Carmine’s neck, she lowered the gun and gave a coup de grace behind the left ear of Tony, who was face down and moaning in agony.

Then she dragged Carmine with her as she moved over to the second thug, killing him in the same way as he struggled to get back to his feet again.

She dragged Carmine to the center of the clearing, then forced him to his knees as she followed behind.

She put the gun to his temple.

"Anything you’d like me to pass on?" Her voice was dark with intentional irony.

"Please. Don’t kill me."

"Too late." Her finger tightened on the trigger. "Goodbye, Carmine. Tell the devil I’ll see him soon, huh?"

"Ice. Noooo," I moaned.

But of course, she couldn’t hear me.

A split second later and the deed was done.

Without any emotion whatsoever, she pushed his already toppling body over, then rose back up to her feet, her body swaying as the gun hung limply from one bloody hand.

After she had gathered what remained of her strength, she turned back toward the road and looked up. For a split second, I thought she saw me.

Her eyes widened.

Then she stumbled and almost went down.

Gritting her teeth, she began once again to move in my direction, as if pulled to my presence like a magnet to iron.

I held out my arms to her, calling her to me even as, within the very depths of my soul, I felt, for the first time, fear of this woman who was my lover.

She crossed the distance between us in a numb, shuffling gait, blood pouring from her many wounds, head down, gun swinging without purpose by her side.

And then, as I’m sure can happen only in dreams, she walked right through me as if I wasn’t there at all.

And what I felt . . .god . . .what I felt as she passed through my soul. . .

Death.

A cold, empty void of the deepest rotting black.

And amidst the horrid darkness, the tiniest of guttering flames, one soft breath away from dying.

A flame that bore my image.

And seeing it, I screamed.

And screamed.

And screamed.

PART 9

A HAND CAME DOWN on my shoulder, and in my terror, it felt cold and skeletal. I turned my head, half expecting to see Carmine’s rotting corpse beckoning me to follow. Or—and god help me on this—an Ice who decided that as a witness to her depravity, I was just too much of a liability to let live.

Instead, it was Corinne’s concerned, battered face which greeted me, an eon’s worth of questions in her eyes.

"C-Corinne?"

"In the flesh, such as it is." She cocked her head, looking at me over the tops of her glasses. "That was quite a nightmare you seemed to be having."

"Nightmare?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Are you alright, Angel?"

Reaching out a trembling hand, I brushed the tips of my fingers against her arm. It was warm and solid and very much real.

That was all it took.

Launching myself forward, I threw myself into her arms, burrowing into the living warmth of her, letting it permeate the cold death which surrounded me like a slaughterhouse stench, too empty even for the relief of tears.

After a moment, she wrapped her arms around me and I felt a gentle hand stroke my hair as whispered words came softly to my ears.

A short while later, she carefully, gently disentangled herself and held me at arm’s length, looking at me very intently. "Now, would you like to tell me what’s going on and why you’re down here having nightmares and not where I’d expect you to be?"

After several hesitant almost-starts, I finally gathered what remained of my wits and told her about my dream; everything up until the last, horrible, scene. That was something, I thought, I would never be able to tell anyone as long as I lived.

"Sounds rather plausible," Corinne remarked when I was done, her tone conveying no more surprise than if I had just told her I’d gone for a walk. "Is there something more?"

Confused, I stared at her. Where was the anger? Where was the outrage that my mind should conjure up such a horrifying image of the woman I professed to love?

After a moment, her expression changed. Her face became hard and her eyes narrowed. "Please tell me there’s something more, Angel."

I looked at her, unable to say anything, unable to understand where this was going.

She sighed. "Angel, Ice was forced to watch you held at gunpoint, knocked unconscious, and dragged from her home to be executed. Did you just expect her to allow that to happen?"

"No. No! I just . . . ."

"Just what, Angel?" Her dark eyes lit with a terrible pity and I felt myself becoming very defensive.

"Stop looking at me like that, Corinne."

"Like what?" she asked, her smile mocking.

"Like I’m some damn child who just got told Santa Claus doesn’t exist."

"Perhaps when you stop acting that way."

"Corinne!"

"How many times has Ice told you she’s a murderer, Angel?"

"What? I don’t . . . ."

"How many times?"

I could feel myself heating up as I looked at her, fists clenching and unclenching repeatedly. "I don’t know."

"Once? More than once? Surely you’d remember something like that, Angel."

My teeth ground against one another. "Corinne . . . ."

"It’s a simple question, Angel. How many?"

"I don’t know. A few," I allowed.

Smiling, she nodded. "And how did you respond? Did you tell her you understood? Did you run away screaming? What?"

"You know what I said, Corinne." I could hear my heart pumping in my ears.

"I don’t know, Angel. But I can imagine. You told her you understood, didn’t you."

"I don’t . . . ." She looked at me. "Yes! Yes, alright? I told her I understood!"

She nodded, apparently satisfied. "But you didn’t, did you," she began, her voice soft with a compassion which burned rather than healed. "You didn’t understand her, though you said you did. Didn’t understand what it was like to have a heart so cold and dark that taking another person’s life meant little more than taking a trip to the market. Didn’t understand that when death means nothing, life means even less."

"Enough, Corinne!" I shouted, my words echoing over the flat expanse of the lake and setting a small flock of birds to startled flight. "Enough."

She smiled again. "Is it? I don’t think so, Angel. In fact, I think it’s as far from being enough as it’s possible to get." Her expression gentled somewhat. "Ice is a killer, Angel. It may not be all she is, but it certainly makes up a great part of who she is. It shapes her thoughts, molds her actions. It’s instinctive, like breathing." Her soft voice trailed off for a moment as she closed her eyes. When they reopened, they were full of a horrible knowing that I wanted to turn my face from, yet couldn’t.

"Every day of her life, Angel, every day, she has to make the conscious choice to live another day without violence. Another day struggling against her own instincts. Another day of trying desperately to hold on to the thinnest and most frayed of cords tying her to this path she’s chosen. And do you know why she does it, Angel?"

I looked at her, suddenly lost, suddenly unsure of the one thing in my life which had seemed bedrock. Ice’s convictions. "Because she knows it’s the right thing to do?" I hazarded.

The smile she gave me, sad and filled with gentle disappointment, wrenched at my heart. "No, Angel. Although it may be the ‘right’ thing to do, that’s not why she does these things."

"Then why?"

Reaching out, she took my hand and clasped it tightly in her own. "She does these things because one day, several years ago, she met someone who, without even trying, reached inside her and grabbed hold of a heart she couldn’t remember having. A person who, against all odds, captured her effortlessly and holds her close to this very day. And a person in whose eyes she can never allow herself to seem any less than perfect." She smiled again. "She does these things for you, Angel. Because she loves you. And because you’ve managed to do something no one else has ever done."

"What’s that?" I asked, very aware of the hoarseness of my voice.

"You’ve made her see that she’s worthy of being loved. It’s what spurs her on, what dictates her actions now. It weighs heavy on every decision she makes, because no matter what, no matter what, she never wants to ever be seen as unworthy in your eyes."

Tears etched silent streams down the hills and valleys of my cheeks and jaw. Seeing them, Corinne grasped my hand more tightly, squeezing in comfort and, perhaps, understanding. "That’s a heavy burden to place on anyone, Angel. I know that. Ice does as well. But when you told her, not once but many times, that you understood and accepted who and what she was, she felt it was a burden you both could share."

With her free hand, she gently brushed away my tears. "She’s opened her heart and soul to you, Angel. The darkness and the light. That’s a gift very few people in this world ever receive. A gift beyond price. And when she makes decisions that go against her very nature, like allowing Cavallo to live, all the while knowing instinctually that she’ll pay for that decision later, she does so because she wants to be that person you see when you look at her every day."

A sob came up, unbidden from my throat, and I covered my mouth against its utterance. "She told me that very thing once," I gasped, only now understanding the true import behind the words she’d spoken. "That all she wanted to be was the person I saw when I looked at her."

Corinne nodded, her face kind, but grave. "She believes in you, Angel. She believes that you love her for who she is as well as the person she has the potential to be. But remember this. Her darkness will always be there. Just because she doesn’t act on it doesn’t mean it’s gone, no matter how much either of you wish that were so. It’s not a stain that can be washed away nor a sin that can be miraculously forgiven like some penitent’s confession to a black-robed Priest. It’s a part of her as deep as her love for you. Neither can be erased."

Her gaze sharpened and I felt as if she were looking into the depths of my soul. "The decision is yours, Angel. Either you accept her for all that she is, accept that, given the life you two share, there will be times when she’ll be forced to act on instinct because she’s allowed herself to go against those instincts in the past and she must now pay restitution, or . . . ."

I could feel the breath catch in my throat. "Or what?"

"Walk away, Angel. Quickly and far. Sever your ties with her and never look back. Bull tells me that she may think you dead. If you can’t be what she needs you to be, the one person in the world who loves her unconditionally, then please, for her sake, let her mourn your passing and be done with it. Don’t hurt her more by allowing her to see the condemnation of her nature in your eyes."

After a long moment, she released my hand and stood up. "Think about what I’ve said, Angel. I’ll be upstairs with Ice."

I stood as well. "I’m coming with you."

A touch on my arm was all it took to stop me in my tracks. "Have you even heard a word I’ve said, Angel?"

"Yes, Corinne. But I need to see her. To be with her. I need . . . ."

She shook her head slowly, sadly. "No, Angel. This is something you’re going to have to do without her. Ice can’t help you with this."

"But . . . ."

"No, Angel," she said firmly. Her eyes softened slightly. "Angel, I love you with all my heart. You know that. But I love Ice just as deeply. And I won’t see her hurt, by you or anyone else. So please. Stay here and think on what we talked about. Listen to your heart, Angel. It will tell you what you have to do."

I could feel my shoulders slump in defeat. Almost against my will, I nodded my acceptance of her request. A request that I well knew, knowing Corinne as I did, was more of a command than the simple asking of a favor.

She smiled slightly, and with a nod of her head, turned and stepped off the dock. I watched as she made her careful way back up to the cabin, my thoughts in utter turmoil.

When she disappeared around the corner of the house, I turned back and faced the dark water, not really seeing it for the tears blurring my vision.

The tears soon passed and I was left feeling weary, empty, and very confused. I wanted so desperately to go to Ice. To see her, to hold her, to stroke her hair, feeling that somehow all the answers to my questions would rest with that simple, profound connection between us. A connection I could feel even with so much distance between us. Distance that I, in my fear, had caused.

I only thanked God, in all his mercy, that Ice wasn’t awake to see it.

I also knew that Corinne was right. Ice couldn’t help me with this. No one could, save for myself.

I wrapped my arms around myself as a chill wind blew off the lake, a harbinger of a winter not far away, even now, in the midst of a glorious summer.

As I looked over the lake as the wind swayed the trees, I forced myself to examine the hardest of Corinne’s questions to me. Did I love Ice for herself? For the woman she truly was? Or did I, instead, love the woman I wanted her to be, an image I constructed in my mind; a white knight on a charging steed, with a pure heart and an untainted soul.

I snorted softly. Perhaps I’d gone a bit too far with the "Knight Errant" analogy. Ice had never been, even in the first moments of my knowing her, what anyone would consider pure of heart and soul.

But then again, who among us was?

Certainly not me.

So the question remained. Who did I love?

A real, flesh and blood human being? Or an image superimposed over that person to make her more palatable to my sensibilities, such as they were.

It would be so damned easy just to chuck it all and go with what my heart was telling me, which was that I loved Ice with everything in me, that she held my heart in the palm of her hand, that I trusted her in a way I’d never trusted anyone else in my life and that just the thought of not having her in my life made my guts twist inside.

But I also knew that to do that would be to do a great disservice to us both.

The dream terrified me more than I was willing to admit to anyone but myself. And until I figured out why, until I came up with an explanation that satisfied my need to know, I’d be no good to either of us.

And Ice only deserved the best from me.

How I went about giving that to her was another question entirely.

I heard myself groan as I once again lowered my stiffened body on the chilled and worn wood of the dock. So many thoughts, feelings, emotions and images ran through my mind that it was difficult to know where to start. Or, even, how to start.

"The best place to begin is often at the beginning," my mother was fond of telling me.

I shrugged to myself. Seemed as good a place as any.

A name came to my mind, and I went with it.

Cavallo.

The bastard who’d started it all. The bastard who’d almost ended it all.

From what I could remember of his history, told to me in bits and pieces by Corinne, Cavallo was what was called a ‘mole’. He’d risen up through the ranks of the Family Ice was attached to, the Briacci crime family, all the while snuggled deep within the back pocket of Briacci’s largest rival. Hoping to plant the seeds of mistrust, he’d framed Ice, sending her out to kill an innocent man.

But, and this I’d almost forgotten in my terror over the nightmare I’d had, she’d refused to kill him.

"She refused," I whispered aloud, making it real, making it there.

Even knowing that such a refusal could mean her own death, she’d gone against orders anyway.

"Many of us have lines we draw in the sand and this was one of my lines. I never killed innocents and I never killed witnesses, no matter who they were testifying against."

I remembered those words as if she’d told them to me only this afternoon instead of five full years ago. They suddenly took on new meaning as the first part of my puzzle slipped silently into place.

When the man was killed anyway, Ice took the rap for it, to use prison slang for a moment, even going so far as to refuse the outstanding legal services of Donita, who very much cared for her and very much wanted to help.

And all because the Ice I met in the Bog that first time was a woman who’d acknowledged the light in her soul and though she wasn’t guilty of the crime for which she’d been convicted, she was determined to pay restitution for the ones she hadn’t been convicted of, even if it meant, as it seemed at the time, giving up her freedom as payment for the rest of her life.

Could I have done the same?

Well, in a way, I had. I was no more guilty of murdering my husband than Ice was of murdering that innocent man, but I, too, was willing to pay restitution because, whether it was murder or not, I had killed him.

So, in that way at least, Ice and I were very much the same.

Another piece added itself to the board.

My mind returned to Cavallo. Not satisfied with simply framing Ice, he wanted to twist the knife in any way he could, while still rising within the Family, intending, one day, to start a coup and take it over entirely. He’d set up Briacci’s wife, a woman who’d been almost a second mother to Ice, had her thrown in jail, then had her murder staged for an audience of one.

My lover.

And though she was devastated over the death of a person she’d loved, and though I’m sure she had any one of a hundred chances to exact her own form of permanent justice on the man, she remained in jail, determined to pay for her crimes.

Another piece of the puzzle snapped into place for me as I began to view the events of five years of my life in an entirely new light, wondering, with a bit of shame, why I hadn’t bothered doing so before.

Twisting the knife still further in her heart, Cavallo made a deal with the warden, condemning Ice to servitude by doing his bidding, stripping down cars which he then resold at a healthy profit. And when she’d finally had enough and refused to roll over any more, Cavallo, through his mouthpiece Morrison, threatened harm to the one thing that was most dear to her in all the world.

Me.

Believe me when I tell you that I don’t take that lightly, nor is it an enormous massage to my healthy ego to state such a thing so baldly. It is simply the truth as I knew it then and as I know it now.

Would a conscienceless killer have taken that threat lying down? Or would she have instead ripped the Warden to shreds and caught the first hostage out of town on a mission to personally deliver Cavallo his very own death warrant?

Ice answered my question by her own actions.

She took it. She accepted the knife to her gut, not quietly no, but accepted just the same, in order to keep me safe, healthy, and whole.

And still it wasn’t enough for Cavallo.

In a scene that still haunts my dreams and will continue to do so, I suspect, until I finally shuffle off this mortal coil, he came face to face with her—with a prison fence and a dozen fully armed guards between them, courageous man that he was—taunted her, and when she didn’t rise to the bait to his liking, shot her in the back.

Quite against my will, the scene replayed itself in all its Technicolor glory.

With one last squeeze, and a scream from Cavallo, Ice released her grip and held up her empty hands, grinning. Taking two careful, deliberate steps back from the fence, she winked at the mobster, then turned.

Our gazes locked as she completed her turn and the world began to spin in slow motion. From the corner of my eye, I could see Cavallo reach beneath his coat with his good, right hand.

"Ice!" I launched myself at her, aiming for her legs. "Nooooo!"

Her eyes widened in question.

The sound of a gun firing, oddly flat in the turbulent air.

The question turned to shock as a bloom of red stained the small, burned hole that suddenly appeared in the upper left chest of her jumpsuit. She looked down, then back at me.

Then her eyes went as empty as they were in my dream and she crumpled to the ground silently.

I landed on top of her, screaming.

I pulled myself away quickly, slapping at my tears as I turned her over onto her back. "Oh God, no. Ice, no. Please. Oh God."

Blood pumped out of the exit wound in slow, sluggish bursts. But that meant that she was still alive. Pressing one hand over the hole in her chest, I used my free one to stroke the hair back from her face. "Oh God, please wake up, Ice. Please don’t die on me. Please. Don’t do this to me. Please. Oh God. Oh God."

I was panicking, and I knew it. But I couldn’t seem to stop. Blood welled up in the spaces between my fingers, painting me with its heated vibrancy. "Don’t you die on me, Morgan Steele. Don’t you dare die on me!"

The sound of running footsteps caused me to look up. The pale, scared faces of Sonny, Pony and Critter stared down at me.

"Oh fuck!" Pony grunted, squatting beside me and pushing her own hand down on top of mine in an attempt to stem the bleeding.

"Get an ambulance!" I screamed, not even feeling the pressure of Pony’s hand against my own. "Now!!"

Nodding abruptly, Sonny turned and sped away, running back toward the prison in a furious burst. The shocked crowd parted easily to allow her passage.

"Are they gone?" I asked Pony, my rearward view blocked by her muscled body.

"Who?" Pony asked distractedly, her face grim as she increased the pressure on my hand.

"The warden and . . .the shooter."

My friend looked over her shoulder, still blocking my view of the fence and the area beyond it. "A car’s peelin’ rubber outta the parking lot," she grunted, returning her full attention to her task of slowing the bleeding pumping out of my lover with every beat of her heart.

"Thank God."

"What are you thankin’ God for? That might be Ice’s killer getting away!"

"She won’t die. I know it. She can’t."

"I wish I had your faith, Angel."

"You don’t need it. I have faith enough for all of us."

Blinking, I wiped the tears from my face as my mind finally released its hold and allowed me to come back to the present.

"I kept the faith, Ice," I whispered. "And you didn’t let me down."

And still, even after being shot in the back like a rabid animal, still she didn’t go after him.

No, it wasn’t until the final straw had been placed. A straw which had Morrison pay her a visit in the hospital and warn her that if anyone ever found out the identity of the person who’d shot her, my life would have been made a living hell, and any chance I’d ever see freedom again would have been flushed, like so much raw sewage, right down the proverbial toilet and, likely, my soul right along with it.

"I knew right then that I could never go back. I needed to . . .take care of things so that his threat would never become a reality."

It was only after that last straw had finally been laid upon a back overburdened did she finally lash out, not to protect herself, but to protect me.

Because she loved me.

And when she finally had the chance to take out all the pain, hurt, anguish and rage upon the very man who’d caused her this grief, what did she do?

I closed my eyes, remembering.

"I wanted to kill him so badly I could taste it. My finger was on the trigger—just a hair’s worth of pressure and it would have gone off, ending everything."

She tilted her head up toward the ceiling, her jaw working as she dragged her hands through her hair. "I couldn’t do it," she whispered, harshly. "I wanted to, God, so badly. I wanted to end his miserable, stinking little life." She sighed, shaking her head. "But I couldn’t."

Why? I could remember asking her.

"As I was standing there, watching him sleep, I thought about you." And here, her eyes came to rest, for the first time, on my face. She smiled slightly. "About that time when I had Cassandra’s life in my hands. I remembered you telling me not to give up on my dreams, how she wasn’t worth it. And I realized that if I went back to that person I used to be, the one who killed to get rid of my problems, that’s exactly what I would have done." Tears sparkled in her eyes. "My dreams might not be much, but they were all I had. And I couldn’t give them up. Not for him. Not for anyone."

"Oh, Ice," I whispered, much as I did then.

So many things made so much more sense to me now, when looked at through the distance of time. Ice’s unswerving dedication to the changes she’d begun to make in her own life long before we ever fell in love. Her refusal to be baited into doing something that was becoming wrong for her until she was placed in a position where choices were non-existent.

I was finally beginning to see two very different sides to the part of Ice who was a killer. One killed in the heat of passion, to protect herself or those she loved. The other, diametrically opposed to the first, killed with the cool, remote disinterest of an assassin, which she had been for a very long time.

The first was an inherent part of her nature, a nature that had been shaped by the life she’d been forced to live when an innocent young ten-year-old woke up one morning to find everything she loved gone.

The second, I was beginning to see, was quite unnatural to her, though since she’d developed somewhat of a skill for it, and she used it as a tool much as the tools she used to fix cars.

Ice is, if nothing else, a woman of incredible passions. She has an immense, almost bottomless capacity for love. And an equally immense capacity for rage. Where love had always been reined in like a skittish and vulnerable colt, rage had been allowed to flourish.

And then, for some reason known only to her, Ice had decided to take a chance on revealing her heart and allowing love to sublimate the rage in her soul.

That decision came with a very large price, however. It was a price she was now paying. And it was a price that I, in my selfishness, never thought existed.

Until now.

Like Paul on his Damascus road, the scales finally fell from my eyes and I truly saw Ice’s action of leaving Cavallo alive for what it really was.

A blind leap off a towering cliff with trust the only net she possessed.

Trust in herself, in her heart, that she was making the right decision. Trust in a justice system that had failed miserably to finally do the right thing. Trust in a merciful god or a kind fate to see her act of restitution and be pleased.

While a wise man once said, I think, that two out of three isn’t bad, I’m sure he’d agree that one out of three is nothing short of abysmal.

Like a row of dominoes or a house of cards tipped over by a child’s careless hand, that one merciful act set in motion a series of unstoppable events which led us to this place, where everything that could have gone wrong did and the proud, sure woman who’d made that leap now lay broken and bleeding in restitution for one act of kindness which turned against her with a vengeance.

I thought back to the night she’d received the phone call telling her that Cavallo had been set free and was after his pound of flesh. She’d wanted to keep the information to herself, but I’d poked and prodded, cajoled and whined until she opened up and laid her worries bare before me.

And what had I given her as payment?

Ridicule. Sarcasm. Moral high-handedness. I’d even had the gall to call her a coward. Accused her of using Cavallo as an excuse to run away from people who loved her. Threatened to attach myself like an unwanted parasite to her every thought, her every move.

When had I stopped trusting her instincts?

When had I started thinking that mine were somehow better?

I could feel my face flush hot with shame. The tender flesh of my palms protested as my nails dug themselves a new home beneath the skin.

All she’d ever wanted to do was to help in creating a safe space for me. A place where I would be happy, where I would be safe, where I would be loved, and where I would never want for a single thing. A natural leader, she’d sublimated that and instead walked by my side, lending her aid, her warmth, her strength, and her love to make sure that my dream was fulfilled to the best of her considerable abilities and far beyond my wildest hopes.

And what had I done with that freedom she’d given me? Taken it and run with it, effectively trapping her, placing her with my words into a cage whose bars were formed and shaped by the bond of love we shared.

A gilded cage, perhaps, but more of a prison, in some ways, than the Bog ever was.

"She’s an adult," I told myself. "More than capable of making her own decisions. Don’t take this away from her too, believing that you somehow trapped her against her will. That didn’t happen, and you know it."

"Maybe," I answered. "But did you ask? Did you even take a second to ask her if this was what she wanted instead of projecting your dreams and your needs onto her and calling it good?"

Did I?

I thought back to the conversation we’d had in that tiny hotel room Ice had taken me to right after our reunion. I remembered the musty smell of the heater as the air it feebly expelled ruffled the heavy curtains shielding the window from prying eyes. I remembered the stiff, shiny texture of the bed-spread. Most of all, I remembered the expression on my lover’s face, the look in her eyes, the tone of her voice.

"Damn it, Angel! If you stay with me, you’ll only be putting yourself into yet another prison! Can’t you see that?"

Yes, she was angry. But this time . . .this time, I wasn’t afraid.

"Ice, the only prison I’d be going back to is the one you’d put me in by refusing to let me make my own decisions over what I want my life to be. There wouldn’t be any bars except for the ones around my heart. That’s a place I don’t ever want to go to. It would be a thousand times worse than the Bog could ever be." I grasped her hand and held it tightly, bringing our joined hands upward so she could plainly see them. "My life is with you, Morgan Steele. It has been since the first day I saw you. That won’t ever change, whether you let me stay with you or not."

For the first time since I’d known her, Ice looked frightened. It wasn’t a panic fright, to be sure, but she was scared. "I . . .can’t . . ."

I put my fingers over her lips. "Maybe not," I whispered. "But I can."

And so I did.

And in so doing, I effectively, efficiently turned the tables on her. Cleaving myself to her despite her very valid and heartfelt objections, I took the decision out of her hands and brought it into my own.

She tried to warn me—god, how many times?—that it would one day come to this.

And when it did, I gave her everything but what she needed the most.

My support.

She had done what she had done. Her actions, rather than stemming from within the murky depths of a blackened heart, were, quite simply, the only things she could do. No exceptions, no excuses.

She’d been pushed into a corner and had come out fighting.

If it had been me, I would have died in that clearing. So would anyone else I’ve ever known.

She lived.

And in the end, after the votes were cast and the results tallied, that was all that really mattered.

She lived.

And, just like that, all my doubts, my worries, my insecurities crumbled to dust and blew away. My shame still lingered and it would be something I would deal with for a very long time to come.

Right then, though, it didn’t matter.

What mattered was that the woman I loved with all my soul needed me, perhaps more than she’d ever needed anyone before.

And come hell, high water, or a certain elderly librarian with an affinity for poisons, pokers and teakettles, I would try my damndest to be for Ice what she was for me.

Everything.

A woman on a mission, I rose to my feet, barely conscious of the stiffness of my muscles and the throbbing of my leg. With determined steps, I walked off the dock, up the hill and into the house, ignoring the questioning glances thrown my way by the men and women who’d come to lend their support to a friend hurt and in need.

My face set in a stony mask borrowed temporarily from Ice, I ascended the stairs and entered the battlefield, giving Corinne a look that said, in no uncertain terms, that if she wanted war, she’d get it. I wouldn’t back off until I’d won.

She read it well in those first silent seconds, her own eyes widening slightly before she relaxed back against the chair she’d pulled up beside the bed. She gave me a little smile of acknowledgement, tilting her head slightly in the direction of Ice, who was still in a deep sleep.

"Did she wake up at all?" I asked, fighting to keep the flush from coloring my face yet again.

"No. She’s been resting quietly."

I nodded. Then I consciously softened my gaze. "I love her, Corinne. All of her. You can believe me or not, that’s up to you. But I do love her, and I won’t ever give her up." I swallowed, hard. "Unless she asks me to."

"And if she does?"

I took in a deep breath, let it out, and spoke the words written on my heart. "If she does, I’ll let her go. Without question."

After a moment, Corinne nodded. Then she grinned crookedly. "Was there ever any doubt?"

"No. Questions, yes. Fears, yes. Doubt? No."

Her eyes twinkled. "Didn’t think so."

I could feel my own eyes widen. "You didn’t think . . . . Then why . . . ?"

"Because you needed to sit down and examine things for yourself, Angel. Part of you was living in a dreamland for a very long time. And unless you gave yourself time to discover the reality of your true feelings, things would have continued to snowball until we were all buried in it. Ice doesn’t deserve that. And neither do you." She laughed softly. "Ya done good, Angel."

I couldn’t help but laugh in relief. "Remind me to hurt you later."

"Oooooh. Promise?"

Resisting the urge to smack her silly, I instead crawled up on the bed and curled up tight against the one person in the world who held my heart in the palm of her hand, and fell immediately into a deep and dreamless sleep, not noticing when her arm wrapped itself around my shoulders in an unconscious gesture of acceptance and love.

*  *  *

When consciousness once again claimed me for its own, Bull’s concerned face was the first thing I saw.

As his expression filtered its way through my slowly awakening mind, I sat bolt upright, grabbing his arm. "Is something wrong? What happened? Is Ice alright?" I demanded, too afraid to turn and view the object of my frantic questioning myself until I had a better idea about what I might find.

"She’s fine," Bull replied quickly, making calming gestures with his hands, much as someone might who was trying to calm a frightened animal or child. "Just a little restless." Then he smiled, and I relaxed. "She woke up briefly, saw you, smiled, and fell right back to sleep. Didn’t even have to give her a shot." Chuckling, he affectionately cuffed my arm. "Wonder if she’d mind if I stole you away for hunting trips. You seem to work miracles and it’d save me a mint in narcotics."

I couldn’t help but grin at him. "Me? Alone with a bunch of sweaty men in an unheated cabin watching you pick ammunition out of someone’s behind by candlelight? No thanks. Think I’ll pass on that one, charming as the offer is."

Turning my back on his mock pout, I finally gathered the courage to look at my lover. Her face looked peaceful, smooth in a way it never did, even when she was sleeping. Her skin showed neither the high color of fever nor the waxen pallor I’d seen just prior to falling asleep. Reaching over, I laid a hand on her brow and found it cool and dry. "Her fever broke!"

"Yes," Bull replied, "a couple hours ago."

"That’s good, right?" I asked, not taking my eyes off her.

"Well, we’re not out of the woods yet, but yes, it’s a good sign."

"It’s a great sign," I replied, bending over and placing a kiss on her cheek. "She’s tough."

"I won’t argue with you there, Angel. She’s about the toughest person I’ve ever known, and I’ve been around some real winners, lemme tell you."

I yawned and stretched, resisting the urge just to snuggled back down next to the woman I’d been away from for far too long. Looking at the clock, I realized that twelve hours had passed since I’d fallen asleep.

Bull must have read the question on my face, because he grinned in response. "You needed it," he said simply. Then he chuckled. "Besides, even if you were awake, there’s not much you could have done anyway. Ice didn’t seem very inclined to let you go for awhile there."

I turned to him. "What do you mean?"

"Just what I said. She was holding on to you like you were her Teddy Bear." He blushed. "Not that I was implying that Ice ever owned a teddy bear, mind you . . . . She . . .uh . . . . Aww crap."

I laughed. "I won’t tell anyone if you don’t."

He nodded, relieved. "Deal."

I heard the downstairs door open, followed by the sound of male voices speaking quietly as the men they were attached to entered the cabin. Bull glanced over the railing, then back at me, both eyebrows raised in silent question. "Sure. Have ‘em come up."

He gestured, and I heard the men ascend the stairs, coming into the room and revealing themselves as Tom and John. Both were muddy and looked tired, but they also seemed very much pleased with themselves, sporting as they did identical smug grins.

"What have you two been up to?"

"Oh, a little of this, a little of that," Tom replied, bouncing on his toes like a young boy with a big secret—or a small bladder.

"Care to be a bit more specific?"

"We were busy getting rid of the evidence," John replied, elbowing his brother in the belly.

Evidence. My mind replayed the scene of my dream; the crumpled car, the savaged bodies, the guns . . . .

"The gun! It’s got Ice’s fingerprints all over it!"

"Not to worry, Tyler," Tom replied. "We took care of that too."

"How?"

The two men looked at one another.

"Just tell me, guys. Please?"

"Tell her."

Three sets of eyes widened and I turned to see my lover, very much awake and looking back at me.

"Ice?"

She smiled slightly, though her lips were dry and cracked and I could tell the effort pained her. "Hey." She reached up with her free arm and gently brushed the bangs from my head. "You don’t look so good," she observed, her voice hoarse from disuse and the most beautiful sound that I believe I’ve ever heard, bar none.

Taking her hand gently, I kissed her knuckles, then cupped it against my cheek. "Maybe not, but I feel wonderful. Now. How about you, sweetheart?"

Her eyes closed for a moment as she appeared to take inventory. Then they reopened, warming me with the love in her gaze. "Not bad."

"Said the road pizza to the eighteen-wheeler," Bull joked, glass of water in hand.

No one in the room was more surprised than I when Ice allowed me to help her up to a half seated position against some pillows Tom shoved against the backboard. Of course, helping her to drink was out of the question. Accepting the water, she gingerly sipped through bruised and swollen lips until the glass was empty. "Thanks."

Handing back the glass, she then reclaimed my hand and urged me to sit beside her, resting up against the headboard. I complied with alacrity, grinning so broadly I was sure my face would fracture.

After I was settled comfortably, she turned her stare back to Tom and John, one eyebrow raised.

Both looked decidedly uncomfortable, but finally Tom stepped figuratively forward. "We . . .um . . .were wondering how to go about getting rid of the evidence. At first we figured we’d just stuff the bodies back in the car and set fire to the whole thing, but Pop said that we might just wind up setting the whole damn forest on fire and drawing more attention than we wanted to the whole thing."

Beside me, I could feel Ice nod her approval.

"So," John picked up the tale, "we just went with what we had and decided to make it look like a car accident/murder/suicide."

Ice snorted.

"Wanna explain that one?" I asked, perplexed.

"Well, all the pieces were there. The car accident was obvious. As was the scene of the fight. So, all we had to do is take the gun Ice had, wipe her fingerprints, put it in the guy’s hand who had that shot to the temple and presto! Car slams into a tree, guy gets out of the car, beats the crap outta the other guys, shoots em in the head, then ends his own life with a bullet to the temple."

"We even wiped Morgan’s trail away," Tom added, grinning proudly. I swore to myself that if the man had been born with a tail, it would have been briskly wagging. "Even Pop was impressed, and you know how hard that is to do."

"That makes two of us," Ice said, her voice warm, though still a bit hoarse. "Good job. Thank you both very much," she added.

Twin blushes brightened the faces of our friends as both shuffled their feet on the hardwood flooring, neither apparently sure of what to say to such a compliment.

Fortunately for them, they didn’t need to come up with a response, because Ice fell back to sleep, slumping against me as she did so. I had a brief moment of panic, but the calmness in Bull’s eyes relaxed me and together, we helped get her back into a more comfortable position on the bed.

That task completed, I looked back at Tom and John. "Is there something else?"

"Um, yeah," Tom said finally. "Rumor has it that those guys were in town for a couple days before they came calling. Seems that our good friend Millicent put em up for the weekend. Pop thinks that she even gave ‘em directions to the cabin."

I vaulted off the bed so fast, my head spun from the abrupt change in position. "What did you say?" I demanded, grabbing Tom’s huge arm. "You mean that bitch is behind this whole thing? Is that what you’re telling me??"

"Calm down, Angel," Tom said, gently prying my fingers off his arm. "Right now it’s nothing more than a rumor. No one knows for sure yet one way or the other."

"And how did this ‘rumor’ start?" I asked, fists clenched.

"Mary was fixing something over at the Silver Pine and she heard Millicent talking to some on the phone about the six charming men she put up for the weekend."

"Son of a bitch!"

"Angel . . . ."

"What!?" I demanded, whirling around before I realized just who I was yelling at. "Ice? Oh god, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up."

"s alright," she said softly. "C’mere."

"But . . . ."

"C’mon," she beckoned, holding her arm out.

Unable to resist, I went to her, climbing back onto the bed and sliding into her tender embrace, taking care not to jostle her healing wounds. Giving me a little smile, she kissed my cheek, then settled me close before turning her head to look at Tom. "What does Pop say about all this?"

"He thinks she did it, but he doesn’t think she knew exactly what she was doing. Or who the men were."

"That’s no excuse!" I said. "She had no right to give complete strangers directions to our home! None at all!"

"It was stupid, I’ll agree," Tom replied. "But being stupid isn’t the same thing as deliberately setting someone up to be kidnapped and murdered, Tyler."

"This is Millicent we’re talking about!" I countered. "The one who got someone to beat the crap out of Pop? The one who paid someone to firebomb his station? Am I the only one who sees this woman for who she really is?"

"Alright, Angel, that’s enough," Ice said softly from beside me.

"Ice, it’s not . . . ."

"Enough, Angel. This isn’t getting us anywhere."

I sighed, not willing to give up the fight, but realizing that there really wasn’t any point in continuing. "When will somebody finally stand up to her?" I asked after a long moment. "Every time she’s done something wrong, we’ve just turned the other cheek. And every time, she’s just gone ahead and done something worse. What about next time, Ice? What if next time, it’s . . . ."

I stopped there, but I knew she could read my thoughts on the matter. My biggest fear was that one night, our sleep would be shattered by the arrival of the police. That scenario was never far from my thoughts, and continued to haunt my dreams.

As if sensing our conversation’s deeper meanings, Tom cleared his throat, nudged his brother and together they grabbed an oblivious Bull and left the room. "We’ll…um…be outside for awhile," Tom said as they descended the stairs and moved quickly away.

When we were alone, I turned back to Ice and laid a hand on her bruised cheek. "I’m sorry," I whispered. "I hate feeling helpless."

The soft skin of her face crinkled beneath my palm as one corner of her mouth lifted in a smile. "s alright. I know this has been hard on you."

I gazed back at her, my expression serious. "Not on me, Ice. On us. You and me." Pulling away slightly, I surveyed her from head to toe, tears filling my eyes. "Look at you, love. You’ve been beaten up, shot, almost sliced apart. You could have been killed."

"But I wasn’t, Angel," she said simply. "I’m here and I’m alive."

"But for how long?"

A sob caught in my throat and I felt myself crumpling. Strong arms enfolded me, holding me close as a soft voice and tender hands soothed me. "Shhh. Don’t cry, Angel. Please don’t cry. Everything’s gonna be alright. I promise. Everything’s gonna be alright. Shhh."

I accepted her comfort, her love, for a long, much needed moment before attempting to pull away. When she wouldn’t let me, I lifted my head. "I’m supposed to be comforting you. You’re the one who went through hell and back. Not me."

She laughed softly. "Something tells me you went through a little bit of hell yourself, Angel." Reaching up, she tenderly cupped my chin, running her thumb over my lips. Though she was looking right at me, her eyes appeared far away. After several moments, she spoke. "After it was over, after I’d killed Carmine and his friends, the only thing that kept me from collapsing in that field was you, my Angel. Your smile. Your laugh. The sound of your voice when we make love. I needed to get back to you, needed to get back to the one good thing in this world that I know. Your light. Your warmth. Your love." Her hand trailed down over my face and neck to nestle against my breast, beneath which my heart beat strongly. "You."

Her eyes regained their focus and drilled into mine. "You say you’re supposed to be comforting me. Don’t you know you do that every day?"

I looked at her blankly for a moment, unable to fully process her words and their meaning.

Her face softened into a smile. "You do, Angel. Every day, without even thinking about it, just by being the person you are." Her voice became husky. "The woman I love."

Slipping her hand around the curve of the base of my skull, she used her implacable strength to easily draw us together, claiming my lips in a kiss filled with fire and passion and promise. I responded instantly, urgently, needing desperately to show her what she meant to me, this woman of fire and fury and boundless love.

Lost in the sensations of dizzying passion, my hands moved of their own accord, not even feeling the bandages which covered her many wounds. A soft grunt brought me back to reality quickly and I jerked my hand away from her belly as if scalded. "Oh my god, I’m so sorry! I didn’t . . . ."

"Shhh," she replied, pulling me close once again. "It’s alright. I’m alright."

"You’re hurt."

She captured me effortlessly in the power of her burning gaze. "I need you."

For those words, I would willingly sell my soul and damn the devil himself.

Grasping my hand, she brought it to her breast, laying it over her warm, firm flesh. "Touch me," she whispered.

I could hear myself moan as I closed my eyes against the exquisite sweetness of the feel of her beneath my trembling palm. When her body responded unmistakably to my hesitant touch, surging against my hand, I felt drawn up in a tide of overwhelming emotion that I was hard-pressed to contain.

"Let it go, sweet Angel," she whispered, using her free hand to draw our lips together again, tangling her long fingers in the short locks of my hair. "Just let it go."

Like a siren’s sweet song, I allowed the sound of her voice, the movement of her body, to wash away the shame and the grief, the anger and the fear. Our lips met again, incendiary almost, and I just . . .let go.

I ran my fingers over her breasts, lightly at first, then with more urgency as the passion and the need for her flamed within me; a furnace with love and desire as its all-consuming, never-ending fuel.

I could feel her breathing deepen as I tasted her moan on my tongue. My hands moved with more surety, imprinting the silken feel of her flesh in my whirling mind with indelible imagery. Even the bandages which swaddled her ceased to be an impediment. Rather than hiding her wounds from sight, they became instead badges of her immense courage, her unbreakable will, each fiercely guarding the reminders of a battle hard fought and a war well won.

I laid gentle kisses to them all, imbuing myself with the strength of this wonderful, wondrous woman beneath me. The scent of her filled my senses; her taste, my sacramental wine. The sound of her voice more beautiful to me than the music of a thousand choirs on a thousand worlds.

When I lifted my head from my benediction and my eyes were seared by passion-dark indigo, I felt the immovable, unbreakable strength of our elemental bond, its roots sinking ever deeper into my very soul.

And when my hand slipped down between legs which opened to me and beckoned me to come nearer, to come inside, tears of joy ran anew down my cheeks as my fingers were welcomed sweetly home by the silken wet heat of her body.

"I love you, Morgan," I whispered, thrusting my fingers to match the tempo her own body had set. A curious combination of pain and ecstasy displayed itself on her beautiful features, but her eyes . . . .

If love is a tangible thing, capable of being seen as well as felt, it is the look in her eyes when we make love A look that says that I am the most precious and beloved thing the universe has ever created. That says that I am more wanted and more loved than I ever have even the hope of comprehending. That says that within me, the dream of the woman I love with all my heart, mind, body and soul, resides.

My fear tried to come back then; tried to remind me that I was far from being worthy of the gift she was giving me.

She saw it though, as she always did, with senses too foreign for me to comprehend. Surging upward even against the agony of her wounds, she pulled me to her, devouring my lips with her own, once again conquering my shame with the power of her love.

As my fingers continued to dance within her, hers trailed fire down my body and slipped past the insignificant barrier of my clothing, bathing themselves in essence newly sprung, painting me and arousing me with the evidence of my own desire before sliding deep within and filling me full.

Bodies merged by mouths and hands, we gave and took, advanced and retreated, gathering energy between us only to return it doubled and redoubled, our hearts beating loud, our breathing labored. Our souls twinned and separated, only to come together once again with the sounds of panting grunts and primal moans as each touch, each stroke, drove us higher and higher until, at last, the abyss was reached and we stepped off the peak as we’d climbed it.

Together.

And then we slumped together, bodies sliding against passion’s sweat, riding out the last currents of incalculable bliss, shuddering with each small movement, until, at last, we became earthbound once more.

When enough strength returned for me to lift my head, I saw a single tear trail a path down her cheek. Her blinding smile told me all I needed to know, and, kissing the tear away, I laid her tenderly back down upon the bed we shared, returning the smile as I felt her face flushed and hot against the flesh of my neck, knowing the very second she slipped into the healing calm of sleep, her lips a gentle brand on my skin.

And, wrapped securely in a blanket of love and trust so strong and deep, I followed her into the shadows where nightmares didn’t dare follow.

*  *  *

Blinking the sleep from my eyes, I tried to focus on the face hanging over me. "Corinne?"

"I’m trying for ‘Louella, the tattooed Librarian’ today," she responded, grinning. "Is it the right look for me?"

Looking at her closely, I saw for the first time the myriad of colorful bruises that lined the right side of her face and jaw. I felt a flush rising, ashamed that I hadn’t noticed them before now. "How do you feel?"

"Pretty much as one would expect to several days after being pistol-whipped, I suppose," she said, her eyes twinkling.

I winced. "I’m sorry, Corinne."

She laughed. "For what? That was the most fun I’ve had since the demons of hell saw fit to release me from their little den of iniquity!"

"Our definitions of ‘fun’ seem to differ a little."

"But of course, Angel. You’re merely a criminal wannabe, while I," she drew herself up to her full height, nose at a regal tilt toward the ceiling, "am the Black Widow."

Groaning, I rolled my eyes at her display of faux pomposity, then turned quickly to see if Ice was still asleep.

She was, her body and face relaxed, yet retaining that undercurrent of tension which was always present within her, save when she had been knocked out by the drugs Bull had given her. I could feel my face soften as I reached out and smoothed the sweaty tangle of her bangs.

Her face tensed momentarily, processing, no doubt, this intrusion into her personal space, then smoothed out into the soft planes of sleep once again as her breathing evened out and her body sank deeper into the nest of pillows surrounding her.

When I looked up, I saw an evil little smirk on my friend’s face. "Not one word, Corinne. Not one."

Her eyes widened in mock innocence. "Moi? Surely you must have me confused with some other degenerate, Angel."

"Mmm. Hmm. Maybe we should start charging you for your nightly entertainment."

She pouted briefly, then grinned. "Would it help if I said I’d been moved to applaud a time or two? Or that I’ve been known to take notes on occasion?"

I could feel a whopper of a blush coming on. "More than I wanted to know, Corinne. Much more than I wanted to know."

She chuckled. "Then I suppose I shouldn’t tell you about the times I . . . ."

"Stop!" I commanded, raising my hand and burying my face into the pillows next to Ice’s head. "Please."

"Oh, al . . . ." The phone rang, mercifully cutting off her comment before it could be birthed from her lips. Before I could move, she was by the nightstand, lifting the receiver and cradling it against her ear, murmuring words I didn’t really have the strength to listen to.

After a moment, she laid the phone back down and fixed me with a look I couldn’t decipher.

"Who was it?"

"A certain septuagenarian who’s a bit miffed that she wasn’t invited to the tea party."

Oh shit. "Ruby. Damn, I forgot all about her. With everything going on, it just slipped my mind."

"Well, that’s certainly understandable to one who actually knows what’s been going on."

"You mean you didn’t tell her?"

"Of course not, Angel. She simply was told what the doctors were told."

"Which was?"

"That I felt a bit of weakness and fell down, hitting my head on the table. They believed me. She didn’t seem to, but she didn’t push the issue at the time."

"She’s pushing now?"

"Not in so many words, no. But I’m sure she’d appreciate some sort of explanation that didn’t involve obfuscation." Corinne laid a gentle hand on my shoulder. "Ruby cares a great deal about you, Angel. She knows you’re in pain, but she doesn’t know why. All she knows is that you’ve seemed to shut her out for some reason. Perhaps a simple reassurance of your continued good health and good spirits would go a long way with her. She’s worried, as I would be were I in a similar situation."

I nodded, convinced. "I’ll call her right now."

"Don’t bother. She said she was going away for a couple days to visit a friend. When she gets back, though, perhaps you could invite her over for a chat."

Sighing, I slumped back against the headboard. "Later it is, then." I smiled slightly. "At least one good thing came of this, though."

"And that might be?" she asked, giving me a very good ‘Ice’ imitation, eyebrow and all.

"You two seem to be getting along better."

"We . . .understand one another," was all she saw fit to comment.

*  *  *

That conversation took place several hours ago, though gauging by how fuzzy my thoughts feel as they continue their unending journey through my mind, it could have been a week past, or a year. A quick glance at the clock tells me that another day has given its life so that a new dawn, now not far in coming, can shuffle forward, like the beast of Bethlehem, to be born.

Replaying the last year or so of my life has made me tired beyond telling, yet I can’t seem to dredge up enough energy to lay myself back down on the bed and try for sleep. Or perhaps it’s not energy I lack, but simple courage.

Where mostly pleasant dreams helped along many a lonely night in the Bog, nightmares rule the roost here, in the very place I’d thought to make those dreams come true.

By my side, Ice still rests, her breathing deep and even. Do you dream? I wonder, bringing the warm hand that still lays in my own up to my lips and brushing a gentle kiss across the knuckles.

She doesn’t answer, of course. In all the years I’ve known her, it’s one of the only questions I’ve never had the courage to ask.

Save for the tension which characterizes her even in this most peaceful of states (except, perhaps, for the afterglow of making love), she seems always to sleep the sleep of an innocent, unsullied by time and death and anger, all of which have been her constant companions for far longer than I’ve taken up cherished residence by her side.

Perhaps a peaceful sleep is her reward for wrestling down her inner demons and choosing to walk in the light.

Or perhaps she does dream; nightmares based on a reality that I can never hope to comprehend, only to understand and accept, which I do.

Perhaps they’ve kept her company for so long that her body no longer expends its energy reacting to them, choosing instead to conserve its power for when the darkness comes calling once again.

But in the end, I realize that it doesn’t really matter. Ice’s dreams are her own. That she chooses to share her life with me is the important thing, and something I treasure for the profound gift it is with every breath I take, waking or sleeping.

Experience has taught me the bitter lesson of ever taking that gift for granted.

When I told Corinne I would willingly give Ice up if I ever did that again, I meant every syllable. It’s a promise that lives in my heart every day.

She’s opened up so much to me in this past year; bared a soul filled with such brilliant light and such murky dark; been everything that I needed her to be, and more.

So much more.

Perhaps spending a few hours going over everything that has gone wrong, and right, in the last year of our lives together has proven that better than anything else ever could. My body literally aches with the realization of just how deeply and profoundly I love her, how much of my soul she owns without trying, and how close I came to losing it all.

Shame still hides in my heart, no doubt biding its time, waiting to attack when I am most vulnerable. But I don’t fear it anymore. Let it come. I’ll fight it with the most powerful weapon in the world.

Love.

Looking out the window, I see that the rain has stopped, but the pregnant clouds paused over the somehow haunting darkness of the lake promise the cease fire to be a temporary détente only.

My eyelids feel heavy, yet my body continues to fight sleep’s seductive lure.

Until a hand detaches itself from my own and a long, lean body moves up to gather me into strong arms, cradling me tenderly as she lowers us both back down to the mattress. My hair is smoothed back from my brow, baring space for a pair of lips to linger.

"Sleep now," a resonant voice whispers, followed by the soft humming of a lullaby which bathes me in its sweet serenity, sung by a woman with a heart and a soul more beautiful than the dawn which finally beckons from beneath dark clouds.

And if you wonder, as I do, what I’ve done to deserve such beauty and joy in my life, I’ll answer you honestly.

I don’t know.

But what I do know is that every day, in every way, I will make myself worthy of this gift beyond price.

It’s the most fitting retribution I can think of for all she’s given to me. Her heart, her soul, her body and her spirit.

Her life.

*  *  *

Five days have passed since that night. Days filled with a sense of peace and belonging that is unexpected, yet very welcomed, given everything that has come before. I suppose that being forced by danger to reexamine your life—foxhole theology, my father would have called it—really does put things into perspective. I’ll have to remember that truism. As if I could ever forget.

Ice is well on her way to a complete recovery, as you’d expect, given everything I’ve told you about her so far. By the third day, she’d even managed to scatter the group of well-wishers gathered around the bed—deathwatch vultures, she called them—like a flock of frightened quail with one well placed look and one menacing snarl added for effect.

I tried hard to stifle my laughter at the looks on their faces, but I’m afraid I didn’t succeed very well. It felt good to be laughing again, truth be told.

The rains seem to have settled in, putting a somewhat premature cap on this year’s tourist season. Though many of my friends make their living from the out-of-town visitors, I can’t say that I’m at all sad to see it come to a close. The faster the summer ends, the faster I’ll be able to put all the horrors the warm days brought with them behind me.

The added bonus of a shortened season is, of course, the early closing of the Silver Pine and the attendant loss of its proprietress, one class A bitch by the name of Millicent Harding-Post.

I can assure you that the only tears I’m crying over that particular loss are tears of joy.

Ice says she has the beginnings of a plan to repay Ms. Harding-Post for all the kindnesses she’s doled out to us over the year. She isn’t ready to share it with me yet, but I’ll be patient. She’ll tell me when she’s ready, this I know. And I also know that I’ll enjoy every minute of it.

Bull left us a couple days ago. I was sad to see him leave, but, friendship aside, his healing skills really weren’t needed anymore. Ice is a pretty good medico in her own right, and even if she weren’t, he left us stocked with enough medical supplies to open up a clinic. And while the rains have chosen to visit us here in the lowlands, up in the mountains, snow is falling and he needed to get up to the hunting cabins while the roads were still passable to ensure they were properly weatherproofed and stocked for the harsh season to come.

Tom and John bid us their own goodbyes and went back to their families who were, no doubt, ready to tie yellow ribbons around old oak trees in the hopes of their eventual return. Even Corinne decided to give us some time to ourselves, choosing to spend several days in the company of Pop, who was feeling a bit under the weather after all the excitement of the past couple of weeks. I worry about him, for he’s become someone whom I love dearly, but I know he’s in good hands with Corinne.

The Black Widow seems to have lost her bite around Pop.

And, if I know Corinne half as well as I think I do, if he does wind up leaving this life, he’ll go out with a smile on his face.

The rain let up just a bit this morning and Ice was outside before the last drop had fallen, determined to help along her rapidly regaining strength with a brisk walk through the woods. Tall and proud, with clothes to cover her bandages, anyone would be hard pressed to tell that she had even a scratch on her, much less two bullet holes and several long, deep cuts; even me.

I had watched in awe—and, truth to tell, no small amount of jealousy—as she washed and dressed and strode through the house without even a hint of pain while I lazed around on the couch, nursing my still sore knee and pouting.

With a smile and a kiss, she left to test her body the way those of us who must content ourselves with being mere mortals might test a cake to see if it is properly baked. Still, I couldn’t help but return her smile, and nod, knowing enough not to expect her until dark, at the least.

And that left me, of course, alone with only one thing left to do.

Call Ruby, who had come home last night, and invite her over for, as Corinne put it, a little chat.

It’s something I’ve been dreading since Corinne saw fit to bring the subject up five days ago. While I very much want to see my long-time friend and mentor and explain things to her, I’m very much not wanting to see the look in her eyes once she realizes that pretty much everything I’ve told her since we’ve met was a lie.

I hate lying. It goes against everything I believe in. I’m not very good at it, as you’ve no doubt guessed by now, and every time I think I’ve succeeded, I turn around to find bite marks on my ass.

Still, the longer I put this off, the longer I let the truth hide beneath the weight of my guilt and shame, the harder the final truth telling will be for us both. As my mother always told me when I was young, pulling the bandaid off quickly was a whole lot less painful than ripping it off inch by slow inch.

Smart woman, my mother.

*  *  *

Ice finally got home an hour ago, drenched to the skin, but glowing with a vitality sorely missing over the past week or so, her eyes sparkling with good health and good humor. She refused to tell me what she’d spent the past half-day doing, figuring no doubt that I’d go all mother-hennish on her, but she did agree that perhaps a hot shower and a soft bed weren’t such bad ideas after all.

It was good to know my powers of persuasion still worked. And even better to realize that after six years, I finally had a handle on them.

After a shower and a sandwich that I hastily threw together, she went right up to bed, where she sleeps even now, bundled up tightly against the faint chill in the air which lingers even after I’ve brought the fire up to a respectable roar.

Fall is definitely in the air.

And so here I sit, guts churning, waiting for the knock that will herald Ruby’s entrance, replaying the words I’ll tell her over and over in my mind until they’re reduced to so much static, rendered all but meaningless by sheer repetition.

*  *  *

The knock finally came and I found myself rising to my feet, my knee sending out a warning twinge as I did so. I straightened my clothes and ran a quick hand through my hair, feeling oddly like a schoolgirl being sent to the principal, as I walked toward the door and pulled it open to admit my friend.

Ruby’s smile looked rather forced as she crossed the threshold and into the house, allowing me to guide her into the cabin proper and to a seat in the living room. "Would you like some coffee? Tea?"

"No thank you," she replied as she situated herself on the couch, not bothering to hide her frank head to toe assessment of me as she did so. Her eyes narrowed. "How are you feeling?"

"Better now," I answered honestly.

She nodded. "That’s good to hear."

The conversation, what little there was of it, ground down to a halt, the crackling of the fire the only sound in the room.

Unable to stand the silence any longer, I took several deep breaths and turned to my friend. "Ruby, I’m very sorry I haven’t . . . ."

She raised a hand, her smile slightly more genuine. "It’s quite alright, Tyler. I understand. I know what went on here."

Stunned, I looked at her. "You do?"

"Yes. I do. I had my suspicions at first, and what I’ve since learned has confirmed them."

I cocked my head. "Would . . .you mind explaining that, please?"

Her smile turned sad. "Tyler, I might be an old woman, but I’m not blind or deaf. Look at yourself, Tyler. You’re bruised and battered. You’ve been beaten. And Corinne looks the same way. She says that she fell down and hit her head on the table, but that’s not the truth, is it."

I sighed. "No. It isn’t."

She nodded sagely. "I know." Turning her body toward mine, she took both of my hands in hers. "I called your mother the other day, Tyler."

For just a moment, I forgot to breathe. "You . . .what?"

"You heard me. She told me what really happened during your time in Pittsburgh. How you told her that your husband had abused you and how you said you killed him in self defense. How you spent time in prison and were released on appeal."

Stunned was much too small a word for what I was feeling, and yet I couldn’t help but nod, confirming her words, suddenly feeling very small and very young and very trapped.

"Your mother may not be the most warm and open person in the world, Tyler, but I do believe she really believes what you’ve told her. I know I do. You’re not the type to kill someone in cold blood. That’s just not within you. I know that."

I smiled a little, relieved that she, at least, believed in my innocence.

She returned the smile, squeezing my hands. "Tyler, I knew your father quite well. He had this cabin long before he married your mother and spent many summers here. I knew what kind of a man he was, and could only hope that your mother would calm him somewhat."

"I’m not sure I understand what you’re saying," I replied, my mind trying hard to keep up with the twists and turns of her narrative and failing miserably.

"Your father could be a warm and loving man at times, Tyler. But he could also be worse than an enraged bear if something stuck in his craw. Many’s the time I ached to step in when he took that anger out on you. To my eternal shame, I stood by and did nothing."

I stared at her, conflicting emotions warring for a place in my body. Shame for a long held family secret let out into the light. Relief that it was finally being spoken of. Confusion, still, not knowing where the conversation was leading.

"Before I married my husband, I was a teacher. And one of the things that I learned was that, quite often, daughters of abusive fathers unconsciously seek out the same in a potential mate. It’s not uncommon, nor is it something to be ashamed of. I think you did that with your own husband. And I think you’re doing that now with your friend Morgan."

"What?" Tearing my hands from hers, I jumped to my feet so quickly that the room spun around me. Forcing down the dizziness, I stared at her, my eyes blazing. "I have no idea where you came up with this, Ruby, but you’re wrong. Dead wrong."

"Am I?" she asked, her eyes blazing just as brightly. "Both you and Corinne were beaten to within an inch of your lives, Tyler. I came outside just in time to hear her driving away and you screaming for her to come back." Her face set in stony, savage lines. "Don’t think me a fool, Tyler. I know what I saw."

"You are a fool, Ruby," I replied, feeling as deep a rage as I’ve ever known consuming me in red fire. "You put two and two together and came up with seven. I think you’d better leave before I do something we’d both regret."

"She’s taught you well, I see."

"Get out, Ruby. Now."

"I know who she is, Tyler," Ruby continued, refusing to budge a solid inch. "I know who Morgan Steele is. I thought her name sounded familiar when we first met. When Millicent told me that those police officers had asked for directions to the cabin, I knew my hunch was right. So I spent the last several says going through old records until I found out what I was looking for. She’s the Morgan Steele who murdered those children. The one who became a Mafia Assassin. The one who escaped from the very prison in which you were incarcerated. The one who tricked you into falling in love with her so that she could have a free ticket out of the country to escape justice. And the one who finally snapped under all the pressure she’s heaped upon the both of you and lashed out with her fists like an animal."

I was paralyzed by her accusations, by a misunderstanding so great that it could not possibly have happened. My mind was screaming out to shut her up, to tear her limb from limb, or barring that, to pick her bodily up and throw her as far away from the house as I possibly could.

But my body was dipped in lead, unable to move.

Taking my silence for something it wasn’t, her face softened. "It doesn’t have to go on, Tyler. I couldn’t do anything before, with your father. But I can now. I can, and I did."

That broke through. Stepping forward, I pulled her off the couch by the front of her dress, hearing the fabric tearing as I brought our faces mere inches apart. "What did you do, Ruby. What did you do?!?"

"I’m doing what I should have done a long time ago, Tyler. I’m putting an end to this mess. The police are on their way. You’ll never have to worry about her again. I promise."

"No." It was a whisper, but it carried the weight of the world behind it.

"Yes, Tyler. Yes. Finally. I’m doing this because I love you. Can’t you see? I love you and I want what’s best for you. So come with me. Please. You’ll be safe when the police get here."

"No!!!"

Pushing her away from me as if she weighed less than air, I spun around and tore up the stairs, screaming Ice’s name at the top of my lungs as I ran, tripping and falling and pulling myself up again.

She was already awake and on her feet when I bolted into the room. Turning away from the window, her eyes were shining and sad, her face set in a mask of bleak resignation.

"Ice," I said breathlessly, running up to her and grabbing onto her arm, "you’ve got to get out of here. Take the truck. Go up into the mountains. I’ll find you when it’s safe. You’ve still got time. Please. Run!"

Slowly, she shook her head. "It’s over, Angel."

"It’s not over! I won’t let it be over!" I pulled at her, but it was like I was trying to move a mountain. "Damnit, Ice, move!! Now!!!"

Gently prying my death grip from her arm, she raised my hand to her lips and brushed a kiss against my knuckles. "I love you, Angel," she whispered. "Never forget that. Never."

"No. Oh god, no. Please, Ice. Please don’t do this." Seeing the blue lights of what looked to be a thousand police cars filtering through the trees, I shook my head in blind negation. "Please, Ice, don’t. Fight, damn you! Fight!!!"

She smiled slightly, reaching up to cup my cheek. "I am fighting, my sweet Angel. For you."

Pulling me close, she kissed me, long and deep, before pulling away and grasping my hand. "C’mon."

Believing that she’d finally come to her senses, I followed quickly behind her as she descended the stairs and walked into the living room where Ruby, once again back on her feet and wiping blood from her lips, stared at her with an intense sheen of hatred blazing in her eyes.

And it doesn’t shame me one bit that I wanted, with everything in me, to watch Ice wipe that look off her face forever.

Instead, my lover thrust me into Ruby’s arms, then stared down at her with a look more searing than the sun. "Every word you said is true. I am a monster. I am an abuser. I brainwashed her and tricked her into falling in love with me so I could get a free ride. She was nothing more than my hostage. A ticket. And you’d do well to remember that when the police start to question you."

Ruby sneered. "You don’t scare me."

Ice’s lip curled, displaying her teeth. "Then you are a fool."

Then she stiffened, her head turning toward the back of the house. "Get down."

"You can’t . . . ."

"Now!!!"

Effortlessly, she pushed us both down onto the floor, hovering over us both in a stiff, protective stance, her head still cocked, honing in on whatever she hearing.

The heavens opened up then, sending rain down in a deluge as lightening divided the sky and thunder cracked around us, shaking the house.

I heard it then; the sound of sirens as they closed in around the cabin. I struggled to regain my feet, but Ice pushed me back down, pinning me to the floor with her intense glare.

"Attention in the cabin! We have you surrounded. Come out peacefully with your hands above your head and no one will be harmed! Attention in the cabin! We have you surrounded. Come out peacefully with your hands above your head and no one will be harmed!"

"Stay down," Ice said, giving me a last, long look before turning away and starting for the door.

"Ice!! No!!!"

But she didn’t listen. God damn her to hell, she didn’t listen.

I struggled to my feet, nearly tripping over Ruby as she tried to restrain me and shoving her savagely back down to floor.

I ran after the retreating form of my lover, but by the time I got to the door, it was a lifetime too late.

The police swarmed over her, forcing her unresisting body to the ground and onto her stomach as they pulled her arms behind her back and cuffed them tightly, their guns drawn and pointed at her with malicious intent.

When they pulled her back to her feet, her beautiful face was stained with mud and blood. The front of her shirt, once a brilliant white, was painted maroon from the stitches which had torn open.

Like a man turned to stone by a vengeful god, I was doomed to stand and watch as my entire world was dragged off into the night.

It was cold. So cold.

And dark, like the bottom of a newly dug grave.

My whole body was numb; my heart, encased in a block of ice which promised never to thaw.

I could feel the rain around me, pelting down in almost horizontal sheets of stinging fire, driven on by the frenzy of an unholy wind.

A wooden shutter, torn askew by the power of the storm, slammed repeatedly against the weathered wooden siding, sounding a death-knell which rose even over the howling of the wind and the wailing of sirens. Sirens which, like the fog, crept closer and closer, not on cat’s feet, but on dragon’s bloody claws.

Lightening drew its spiky graph onto the sky, imprinting itself on my retinas.

Thunder cracked and rolled, pulling an inane thought to the forefront of my brain. God’s bowling with the angels again, my father’s voice said from somewhere beyond the grave.

And still I waited, blind and frozen like some immortal statue. Waited for the wind to cease its unending fury. Waited for the rain to part its opaque curtain.

Waited for a vision my eyes could not see. A vision my soul could not forget.

As if drawn into the clearing by the force of my unvoiced plea, still more cars came, their churning tires flinging muddy fans into the air. Their powerful headlights broke through the cloak of mist, illuminating the scene I wished so desperately to see from my frozen perch on the porch of the home I’d helped to build.

A home, a dream, that I would willingly leave, never stopping once to look back upon it, if only someone would take these scales from my eyes.

If only.

She stood there straight and tall, backlit by the artificial lighting; my lover, my heart, my soul. Proud back unbowed, head held high, eyes blazing fire.

Proud, yes. But helpless.

Not against the arms which held her, nor the cuffs which bound her strong arms, nor even the guns that pointed at every vulnerable spot in an otherwise invulnerable body.

No, not that. Never that.

Helpless, instead, against the weight of a past which had, once again, come home to roost.

Helpless against the weight of a love she had sold her very soul to nurture and cherish.

The look in her eyes is something I’ll take with me to the grave. A grave that, God willing, will not be long in coming.

Anger at her past for intruding. Rage at the arms which held her, at the guns which nudged her with their hollow silver noses. Sorrow, that the chance we had had ended much too soon.

And love.

Always love.

Her full lips parted, and I strained to hear her words over the storm’s redoubled fury. But even they were taken from me, just as surely as she would be, drawn away into the mist from which only endings came.

But still, I watched as those lips formed words only my heart could hear.

I love you.

And then a word came which shattered my soul.

Goodbye.

THE END

Well folks, that’s it for now. I’d like to thank everyone who’s come with, and stuck with, me on this journey. It’s been a great deal of fun and I hope you’ve enjoyed reading half as much as I’ve enjoyed writing.

Now, show of hands here. Would anyone like to see how they get out of this???

Sue
7/4/00

RESTITUTION

Disclaimers

The characters in this novel are of my own creation. That’s right, this is an ‘uber’ story. It’s also a sequel to my novel, Retribution, which, in turn is a sequel to my novel Redemption. (That’s right! It’s a trilogy!) You really will want to read those first before tackling this one. Some may bear a resemblance to characters we know and love who are owned by PacRen and Universal Studios.

Violence and Naughty Language Disclaimer: Yup, both. And quite a lot of each, to be truthful. We’re dealing with a bunch of ex-cons and assorted other nasty type people here.

Subtext Disclaimer: Yup, there’s that too. This piece deals with the love and physical expression of that love, between two adult females. There are some graphic scenes located within this piece, but I have tried to make them as tasteful as possible so as to not avoid anyone’s sensibilities. Let me know if I’ve succeeded.

Dedication: Well, it’s that time again, to thank everyone who made the writing of this work a pleasure. It’s a bit sad, as well, since this will likely be the last we hear of Ice and Angel, but heck, it’s been a fun ride, huh? So, deep debts of gratitude go out from me to the following people: Carol "you’d just better have a happy ending!" Stephens; Elizabeth "Four" Baldwin, Linda "Lola" Lynch, Lisa "Sulli" Sullivan, and the rest of the Angry Beavers; Judi "you just better have a happy ending part deux" Mair, Mary "is the Pope Catholic" D, Candace "Theodyke" Chellew, the members of my SwordnQuil list for their wonderful support and feedback, my dogs Kricket and Pudderbear, and a host of other people I’m going to kick myself in the morning for not mentioning. Thanks guys!!!

Feedback: As always, is most welcome. It not only makes this ‘job’ of writing (which is really a love) much easier, it also makes me better at it. And that is my goal. To become the best writer I can be. If the spirit moves you, you may reach me at

SwordnQuil@aol.com

with any questions, concerns or comments.

RESTITUTION

PART 1

TIME IS THE coin of your life. It is the only coin you have, and only you can determine how it will be spent. Be careful lest you let other people spend it for you.

My mother always loved Carl Sandburg. I don’t know why. Reading one of his poems has always reminded me of the smell of chalk dust and mimeograph ink and the droning voice of Mrs. Davis, demanding I come forward and recite his works "by rote, Miss Moore, if you please."

I never liked Mrs. Davis.

I like Sandburg even less.

And yet, without any conscious desire, I found that quote echoing through my brain as I sat on a high-backed wooden pew near the center of the very same courtroom where, seven years ago almost to the day, my life as I knew it came to an end.

Courtrooms are interesting animals. Like prisons, they turn a blind eye to the passage of time as the rest of society knows it. Fads mean nothing. The change of seasons is measured only by the amount of overclothing the visitors enter with. To the victim, the wheels are ponderous in their slowness. To the accused, only lightening moves more quickly.

Justice, that blindfolded woman with scales in one hand and a book in the other, simply grinds on, unseeing and uncaring, bound by laws which have stood for centuries, nearly unchanged from when they were first set down.

Time, rather than a coin, seemed a tunnel through which past and present sped to merge and meld in one finite space, affecting me with a queer sense of déjà vu. Though now I was sitting behind the gate which separated accused from victim instead of in front of it as I had seven years ago, my purpose was essentially the same.

I was fighting for my life.

And though the fight was very much a silent one, it was fought with more intensity and more desperation than I had ever fought for anything before.

And, as was the case seven years ago, I was losing.

Badly.

Come on, Ice. I know you know I’m here. I know you know I’ve been here since the trial started. Just turn around. Please. I need to see your face. I need to know that you’re alright. I need to know that... you don’t hate me.

If my eyes had been laser beams, they would have borne a hole straight through her skull, such was the intensity of my unconscious pleading. However, since God had seen fit only bless me with optical light catching devices, my continual stare was about as effective as putting rain galoshes on chickens.

Which is to say not very effective at all.

A murmur through the spectator section, followed by the judge’s pounding gavel, broke me from my musings and I looked around, startled.

"Order in the court! There will be silence in this courtroom!" As the gavel pounded again, the noise quieted and I turned to look at Corinne, who was seated to my left, my eyebrows raised in question.

"Donita just asked for a directed verdict," my friend whispered, her lips very close to my ear, the comforting smell of her sachet drowning out, for the moment at least, the pungent odor of too many people packed too closely together in an almost airless room.

"What’s a directed verdict?" I asked, softly as I could so as not to bring the attention of the imposing female judge to bear on me.

"It basically means that the defense believes that the prosecution’s case is so weak that it doesn’t need to put on a case of its own and wants her to render a verdict right away."

"But that’s crazy!" I said, a bit louder than I’d intended.

Quite a bit louder, I noticed, as the judge’s dark eyes, magnified to the size of golf-balls behind her huge tortoise-shell glasses, aimed their angered gaze at me. "For those of you who have difficulty with simple comprehension," she said in a voice that simply oozed exaggerated patience, "I’ll repeat myself one final time. If any of you even thinks about making another noise while this court is in session, I will personally have you escorted out of my courtroom and into a rather uncomfortable jail cell for the remainder of the day. Am I making myself perfectly clear?"

If a tornado had chosen that exact spot in which to cause a little mischief, I wouldn’t have been at all adverse to just spinning away. When the sky chose instead to remain blue and sunny, I sunk down into my seat as low as I was able and tied my best not to notice as my neighbors moved quickly away, as if just learning that I was the reincarnation of Typhoid Mary herself.

When absolute, pin-dropping silence reigned in the courtroom once again, the judge nodded authoritatively and switched her gaze toward the front of the room. "Both counsels, approach the bench, please."

I watched as Donita stood and smoothed the skirt of her bright red power suit before approaching the bench, the prosecutor following closely behind. Then I turned back to Corinne, making sure to keep my voice at its lowest register. "That’s crazy. Has she even been listening to the prosecution’s case? I think they’ll be putting this in the law dictionary next to the description of ‘open and shut’."

"One might think so, yes," she whispered back. "But then again, Donita’s always been somewhat of a card shark. I’m sure she has an ace or two up her sleeve."

"God, I hope you’re right." Turning, I once again faced the front of the courtroom, my gaze fixed upon the glossy black head of my lover who was staring, as she had from day one of the trial, straight ahead.

"She knows you’re here, Angel," Corinne whispered, reading my thoughts.

"Then why won’t she look at me? It’s been three months, Corinne. Three months!" I bit the inside of my cheek to keep my voice down as I felt the sting of tears welling up in my eyes.

An entire season had passed since that fateful, horrid night in late summer when my world was shattered, seemingly beyond repair. A season of tears, of guilt, of hopelessness. A season of repeated trips to the Bog, only to be turned away at the door. A season of unanswered phone calls and returned letters. A season of not eating and not sleeping.

And now, after three full months spent dying an hour at a time, I was finally close enough to touch her and she wouldn’t even look my way.

"I’m sure she has her reasons, Angel."

Only then did I take my eyes off my disinterested lover, pinning Corinne to her seat with my glare. "I just hope you never find out how heartily sick I am of that piss poor excuse for an explanation, Corinne."

A good deal less than injured by my withering words, Corinne calmly turned her head forward, appearing to watch the still-silent proceedings with intent interest and leaving me, once again, to fume alone.

A clack of heels against the highly varnished wooden floor brought my attention back to the front of the courtroom. Donita caught my eye and smiled faintly before turning and resuming her seat next to my lover. I felt an irrational flash of white-hot jealousy as their heads bowed together intimately, Ice nodding and responding to her beautiful lawyer in a way I’d only known her to do with me.

Enough of that, Angel, I said, barely able to keep from voicing my thoughts aloud. She’s on trial here and that woman up there just happens to be the best damn shot she has of getting out of this mess.

Still, I couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief when Ice nodded and they separated, both assuming identical postures of quiet confidence as they awaited the judge’s next words.

"This court will be in recess indefinitely. I expect both counsels to meet in my chambers at noon tomorrow. Dismissed."

The gavel banged as the bailiff stepped forward. "All rise."

Feeling strangely part of an extremely Fundamentalist religious congregation—Pentecostals raised to the fiftieth power, perhaps—I rose in communion with my fellow attendees, and watched as the diminutive judge, who wouldn’t see five feet if she stood on tiptoes on the New York City White Pages, gathered her robes and left the courtroom through a rear door situated just to the left of her bench.

Then the jury, composed of five white men and seven white women, left through yet another door, ushered out by the ever-helpful bailiff. Their faces were expressionless as they filed out one by one, obedient children exiting the classroom on the last day of school.

Only when the final juror had left the courtroom was yet a third door opened, this one admitting four large and well armed guards, two of whom were bearing, like cruel vestments to a fallen Queen, shackles and chains with which to keep society safe from the woman I loved.

Ice stood relaxed as they wound the belly chain around her narrow waist, holding her wrists easily out to be cuffed together by an officious guard as the rest stood by watching, hands on their holstered weapons. Even in flats, she towered over them all, looking elegant and refined and the very antithesis of a chained animal in her expensively tailored black suit.

Her wrists secured, another guard knelt, getting an up close and personal view of legs which went on forever—a view that I would have killed for at that point in time or any other—as he attached the leg shackles to her ankles and rose once again, an almost sheepish smile gracing his otherwise somber face.

It might have been funny, this elaborate and ritualistic chaining of a woman beautiful enough to have stepped fresh from the cover of a fashion magazine, if not for the always present air of danger which hovered around her like a tarnished halo which is almost—but not quite—visible.

I could feel my neighbors react to it as she stretched casually, the chains jangling with her easy movements, the long, muscular lines of her perfect body hardly hidden beneath the expensive cut of her suit.

All around me, the crowd of onlookers tensed, as if the courtroom was the Roman Coliseum and Ice, the hungry lion.

Would the beast leave in peace, or would it feed?

I swore I could hear at least one exhale of disappointment as Ice obediently took up her position within the center of the phalanx of guards, never once looking at anything save for the space directly in front of her, now occupied by the balding head of a guard as he led the processional from the courtroom.

Quiet murmurs rose in the vacuum left behind and I felt the walls closing in on me once again. "I’ve got to get out of here," I said to Corinne, blindly shouldering my way through the milling crowd, my lungs heaving and my stomach lurching. Of my heart, there was no sound. It had already been broken and so lay quietly as the rest of my body rebelled.

I could feel Corinne following in my wake, but I spared her not so much as a passing thought, such was my need to be free from room which held within its walls only the worst days of my life.

I went out through the open doors and didn’t stop until I was standing outside on the steps, hands on my knees and gasping in great, sobbing lungfuls of air. My head was spinning as if I’d just stepped off a carnival ride and I found my vision reduced to a point of light at my feet.

I’m gonna faint! I thought in disbelief just as my knees started to buckle.

Fortunately, my soon-to-be intimate acquaintance with hard cement was mercifully halted by a pair of strong arms which wrapped themselves around me and pulled me back up to my feet.

When my vision finally broadened its scope, it was Donita’s beautiful face I saw, her eyes narrowed in concern as she looked down at me. "Are you alright, Angel?"

I shook my head to clear it, which was a really bad idea as it almost served to start the whole process going all over again. Her arms tightened around me and I fell gratefully into her concerned embrace, using the safety and strength she offered to gather my own before somewhat reluctantly pulling away. "Yeah, I’m fine. I think."

She smiled a little. "You think?"

"Well, I’ve never almost fainted before, so I can’t be too sure."

Her smile broadened as she fully released me, draping instead one long arm over my shoulder and guiding me away from the crowds and down the stairs. "Well, let’s get you into the shade so you don’t almost do it again, ok?"

"That sounds... really good right now."

Corinne attached herself to my other side, and together we walked onto the courthouse’s winter-brown lawn and under a denuded oak which nevertheless provided at least a modicum of relief from the surprisingly powerful November sun.

Faux marble benches surrounded a round cement table, and I gratefully sat down on one, absorbing the stone’s cool smoothness into my overheated and overstressed body. After a moment, feeling much more like my normal, albeit empty, self, I looked up at Donita, who was still standing, one elegant hand on the table’s top. "Forgive me for sounding impertinent, but why are you here? Shouldn’t you be with Ice?"

"She’s on her way back to the Bog. I’ll catch up to her later."

"The Bog? Why aren’t they keeping her here for the trial?"

"She’s an escape risk. The court doesn’t think its little county jail can hold her."

I shook my head in disbelief. "Did they forget that she gave herself up to the police?" I didn’t know how they possibly could. It was a scene that haunted every minute of my life.

Donita laughed softly. "That doesn’t matter to them. She’s a dangerous criminal, so they say. She escapes again, and heads will roll."

"So then... why are you here?"

Sitting down across from me, she laid her briefcase on the table and crossed her hands over it. "Because you need to be in the judge’s chambers with us tomorrow, Angel. It’s very important that you’re there."

A feeling curiously akin to dread rolled through me, but this time I was prepared and simply went with it. "You mind telling me why?"

"I can’t. Not yet. You’ll know tomorrow, though."

The not-good-enough answer paled, though, in comparison to the question I hesitated to ask.

"Yes," Donita said, answering it anyway. "She’ll be there."

"Then so will I."

Reaching out, she gave my hands a squeeze before standing up and gathering her briefcase once again. "Thank you, Angel. I’ll see you tomorrow then. Goodbye for now. Goodbye, Corinne."

She had gotten three steps away, maybe five, when I found myself bolting to my feet. "Donita!"

"Yes?" she asked, turning partway around.

"Tell her... would you tell her that I love her?"

Her smile was almost sad as she nodded. "I will."

"Thanks."

"Goodbye, Angel."

"Bye," I whispered as she turned away.

I looked up as Corinne’s warm hand landed softly on my shoulder. "C’mon," she said, jerking her head to the left, "let’s get out of this miserable waste of prime real estate before the birds start mistaking us for lawn ornaments needing to be decorated."

Smiling a little, I squeezed her hand. "If you don’t mind, I think I’ll stay here for a little while. You go on ahead. I’ll grab a taxi and meet you back at the hotel."

"Are you sure? I could stay, if you like."

I nodded. "I’m sure. I’ll be back in a little while."

"Alright then." Her sachet filled my senses again as she leaned down and gave me a gentle kiss on the cheek. "Stay strong, Angel. This is happening for a reason. Tomorrow, you’ll find out what it is."

"I hope you’re right, Corinne."

"I’m always right, Angel."

I watched her as she walked across the lawn and stepped into a waiting taxi. Only when the bright yellow car pulled away did I rest my head down on the cool table, closing my eyes and summoning up the image of my lover as I remembered her; free and beautiful, her eyes filled with love.

"God, Ice," I whispered, "I miss you."

*  *  *

The clock struck the quarter-hour as I was led into the chambers of one Judge Judith Allyson Baumgarten-Bernstein, a name longer than she was tall, and that by a long, tongue-twisting mile and a half.

Since my only previous exposure to judges’ chambers came from the television show Night Court, I didn’t know exactly what to expect as I stepped through the massive oaken door which guarded her inner sanctum sanctorum like a blind sphinx guarding the secrets of Egyptian tombs.

Night Court must have had some legal advisor, I thought as I took a quick, and not very subtle, look around after first assuring myself that I was the first to arrive. Either that or a guy who spent way too much time in courtrooms. On the wrong side.

Early Urban Decay it wasn’t, but in all other aspects, all that was missing was a hulking seven foot bailiff to make it seem as if I’d walked right onto a studio set somewhere. All the requisite and familiar trappings were there: framed law degrees, letters of commendation from one high ranking—and name-dropping, no doubt—citizen after another, leather bound books standing in staid rows upon scarred bookshelves, a coat rack behind the door, even a picture sitting atop a broad, varnished desk. Only instead of Mel Torme, the framed photograph showed a bespectacled young man in cap and gown looking so much like the good judge herself that he didn’t have any hope of being anyone other than her son.

And, in the center of it all, the battleground; a large square table with chairs three to a side, it’s highly polished top shining smugly in the recessed lighting, taunting me with the myriad of secrets it alone could tell.

As I stood fingering the chair-back furthest from the judge’s desk, the door opened to admit a smiling Donita, dressed in another of her endless supply of knock-out power suits, this one a brilliant green. After giving me a warm and friendly hug, she pulled out a chair for me before seating herself to my immediate right and placing her briefcase atop the table.

"Is she here?" I asked, the first question always in my mind.

"Yes, she’s here."

I nodded, then swallowed. "Does she know I’m here?"

"She does."

Before I could open my mouth to ask another question, the Prosecutor hurried in, giving us both a brief glance as he sat down and looked at his watch as if to remind us that his time was much too valuable to be wasted on the likes of us.

He was the epitome of every prosecutor, living, dead or fictional, that I’ve ever seen. Keebler must stamp them out, I thought, biting the inside of my cheek as I pictured the little elves working hard in their treehouse making prosecutor after prosecutor after prosecutor and boxing them up for shipment to parts unknown.

Dark suit with regimental tie, straight brown hair cut by someone with very steady hands and not a creative bone in her body, and features so blandly handsome that you’d forget him the moment you passed him bleeding in the gutter.

Which, of course, is exactly where I imagined him.

Just as I was about to slip his tie knot up so high and so tight against his neck that the next sound he made would have been a wheezing gasp instead of an aggrieved sigh, the door opened and the judge sailed in, her black robes billowing out behind her like the sails on a very tiny pirate ship going full steam into an unfortunate harbor.

"I’m so glad you all could make it on time," she commented as she sat in a chair at the head of the table, looking at each of us in turn. The stare she gave me let me know in no uncertain terms that she remembered my little outburst in her courtroom, and that her offer of a cozy jail cell for the night was still very much open if I was so inclined to react in a similar fashion while in her presence.

I was tempted to tell her that jail cells held no fear for me, but somehow I think she already knew.

"Well, if we’re ready to proceed, have the bailiff bring in the defendant."

Four pairs of eyes, none more anticipatory than mine, went toward the door opposite of the one through which I’d entered as it opened to admit two stone-faced guards followed close behind by the chained and shackled guest of honor. Resplendent in her bright orange prison jumpsuit, she looked exactly as she had the first time I’d laid eyes on her; cool, calm, collected, and fitting her name to an absolute "T".

As always, my heart sped and my mouth dried at the sight of her and it took every single bit of strength I had not to jump up and rush over to her; not to put my arms around her and bury my face in the sweet warmth of her flesh; not to grab one of the guard’s holstered weapons and attempt a jailbreak, guns ablazing.

The look in her eyes as they met mine, however, stopped those notions unborn. Glittering and silver, her eyes were absolutely empty and absolutely dead, as if her soul had already departed for greener pastures, leaving only the shell of her body behind.

An involuntary shudder ran through my whole body and only the warmth of Donita’s hand atop mine gave me the strength to stay where I was and return the look she gave me with one as warm and as loving as it was possible for me to give.

With a gentle jangling of chains, Ice gracefully sat down on the chair the guard had pulled out for her, her eyes finally leaving mine and turning instead to the judge, who stared back, her expression unreadable.

"Well," the judge began after a moment, her voice sounding just a shade less confident than before, "since we’re all present and accounted for, shall we begin?"

Both lawyers opened their briefcases, pulling out thick manila envelopes stuffed full of papers. The prosecutor opened his folder first, pulled out a very thick document covered stem to stern with typed writing, and slid it over to the judge, who adjusted her glasses and began to read.

Completely lost and trying my best not to fidget, I chose to spend the quiet time waiting by looking at Ice and reading the tale of her capture in the gaunt, pale lines of her face. Lines which told me that the past three months had not been any kinder to her than they had to me.

And though to a stranger her posture appeared completely relaxed and completely confident, I could tell by the tense interplay of muscles across her broad back that she was wound tighter than a watchspring.

After some time had passed, the judge finally looked up from the document before her, her eyes slightly narrowed. "This is... rather irregular."

The prosecutor nodded, folding his long-fingered hands over the open folder. "I know it is, Your Honor, but it’s within the bounds of the law."

"I realize that," she snapped back, pushing the document back across the table at him. "Or did you think these robes came as a prize at the bottom of a box of Cracker Jack?"

Donita snorted softly as the Prosecutor blushed and lanced a rather weak glare at her.

"And you agreed to this?" the Judge asked Donita, the tone of her voice conveying her disbelief.

"We did, Your Honor."

Shaking her head in amazement, the Judge turned back to the Prosecutor. "Read the agreement aloud, if you’d be so kind, so everyone here knows what’s going on."

My look of infinite gratitude was disdainfully ignored.

Clearing his throat and adjusting his tie, the Prosecutor lifted the document and scanned it. "The People agree to drop all charges against the defendant, Morgan Steele, relating to her escape from the Rainwater Women’s Correctional Facility and in addition agree to ask the Judge to commute her previous sentence to time served."

My immediate impulse to jump up and scream my joy—the Judge’s order be damned—drained out of me the minute I realized he wasn’t quite through.

"The defendant will be released on her own recognizance on the condition that she assist law enforcement in the apprehension and subsequent conviction of Joseph Cavallo. She will be under the constant scrutiny of said law enforcement officers and will have a period of time decided in advance by the State in which to effect a capture. If she fails in this duty, the plea agreement will become null and void, and she will be once again remanded back into the custody of the State and forced to serve her full sentence in addition to any further penalty the judge wishes to impose upon her for the escape. The People will, of course, ask for the maximum penalty to be added onto the end of her sentence."

"No," I whispered, before slamming my hands down on the desk and jumping to my feet. "No! This is ridiculous! Ice, you can’t do this! Donita, tell her!"

"Sit down, Ms. Moore," the judge ordered, her eyes flashing neon warnings behind the thick glass of her spectacles.

"No! Not until somebody yells ‘April Fool!’. Donita, you can’t let her do this! You can’t just throw her back in the pit she’s tried so hard to crawl out of! You can’t!!"

"Sit down, Ms. Moore! I won’t tell you again!"

"Why are you doing this?" I demanded, ignoring her. "Donita, why? You can win this thing! Her conviction was a sham! You know that! Why don’t you fight?"

"Bailiff!"

"Angel, sit down," Donita said finally, her dark eyes pleading. "Please."

Angrily shrugging off the meaty hand which landed on my shoulder, I finally returned to my seat, hitting the leather padding so hard my teeth clacked together, almost severing my tongue.

A nod from the judge, and the bailiff returned to his place by the door.

"Continue," the judge ordered.

The prosecutor rattled his papers, sighed, and spoke again. "In addition, should the defendant satisfactorily fulfill the duties spelled out in this plea agreement, no legal action will be taken against one Tyler Moore for aiding and abetting the escape of a fugitive from justice, and further, no legal action will be taken against Ms. Moore for knowingly harboring a fugitive from justice. Should she fail, Ms. Moore will be prosecuted on these two charges, as well as any others the State deems appropriate, to the fullest extent of the law."

A jaw frozen in utter rage now hung slack as I realized that the Sword of Damocles which had hung suspended over Ice’s head had stopped being the Bog and had started being me.

"Son of a bitch," I whispered, turning to the prosecutor. "You god damned son of a bitch!" Reaching out quickly, I grabbed his necktie and yanked him halfway across the table with it, my heart thundering painfully in my ears and my vision washed red with my rage.

"Angel, no!" Donita’s voice sounded far away as she grabbed me from behind and spun me to face her. "Don’t do this, Angel."

"Why? Because they’ll arrest me? Fine! Great! I want them to arrest me. In fact, I demand it!" I whirled back to the prosecutor who was staring at me as if he were the rabbit and I was the barreling semi. I held out my wrists to him. "Go ahead! Arrest me! I won’t fight you! I’ll make it easy for you! Put the cuffs on! Throw me in jail! I admit it! I’m guilty! I harbored a fugitive! I just assaulted someone! Arrest me, god damn it!!"

"Angel, don’t..."

"Arrest me!" I screamed before the sobs won out and I crumpled into Donita’s warm embrace. I heard the sound of chains jangling, but I couldn’t see my lover as the lawyer blocked my view.

"I know this isn’t exactly protocol," I heard Donita say over my head, "but could you give us a moment, Your Honor? Please?"

After a long, silent and tense moment, the judge’s eyes softened just slightly and as I watched, she slowly nodded and rose from her position at the table’s head. "A moment only, Ms. Bonnsuer, and the guards will remain inside."

"Thank you, Your Honor."

Without answering, the judge tapped the still frozen prosecutor on the shoulder, and together they made their way out of her chambers, closing the door softly behind them.

Gathering what remained of my strength, I pulled away from Donita’s firm embrace, sidestepped her grab for me, and walked resolutely to where my partner was now standing, her bound hands clasped so tightly that the white of her knuckles stood out even against the prison-bleached pallor of her normally bronzed skin.

Though my mind ran riot with a million and one questions, my lips, I’m afraid, could articulate only one. "Why?"

Though her eyes were steel walls behind which her emotions were trapped, I could see things warring behind them, fighting their damndest to come out. But, with the stubborn and determined strength of will which awed even me, who had been exposed to it on a daily basis for more years than I cared to count, her face maintained its expressionless cast-- a granite mountain against which no water flowed to soften and change its blank and foreboding facade.

The only sign that the woman I loved was somewhere beneath all that careful blankness was the faint tremor which ran, almost unnoticed, over her tightly clenched fists.

Reaching out a trembling hand of my own, I almost—almost—touched the warm flesh bared to my eyes, but drew back at the last second and covered my mouth instead. "Please, Ice. Why? Please answer me. I deserve that, at least."

If I thought my pleas would fall on anything other than deaf ears, I was sorely mistaken. It was as if the sound of my voice raised the shutters in her ever-changing eyes, closing them off to me once again. And with them, I feared, her soul as well.

And that angered me. I had been through too much heartache, too much guilt, and too many tears to just give up without a fight. "Answer me, Ice."

Squaring her broad shoulders and lifting her chin, she tore her gaze away from mine, leaving a gaping hole where my heart used to lay.

All around me, the world seemed to grow faint and unimportant. I felt as if part of me had painlessly detached itself from the rest of my body and stood hovering somewhere above my head. "Answer me, damnit!"

Was that really my voice, sounding so small and so scared?

Was that really my arm, raising itself up into the periphery of my vision?

Was that really my hand, striking a brand across my lover’s pale face with the speed of a striking viper?

The sound of the slap, ringing like a rifle shot through the room’s still, stifled air, brought me back to myself much too quickly. As I watched, utterly horrified at what I had done, the blooming, bloody rose of my handprint appeared on her cheek, a death-writ outlined in stark, blinding white.

For the second time in as many days, I felt the world spin out of control as my legs buckled beneath me. This time, however, I welcomed the darkness I knew would follow.

Darkness which was staved off yet again as a pair of warm, living hands reached out at the last second and grabbed me by my shirt front, pulling me up and holding me steady.

Forcing the black spots from my vision, I looked up into eyes which had grown dark not with anger but with profound understanding, immense sorrow, and more than a little respect.

"Ice?" I whispered, not sure if what I was seeing was real.

"Angel." Her voice was rough and harsh and cracked, as if it hadn’t seen use in a century, or maybe two.

Anything more that might have been said was lost as a large guard came up from behind her and pulled his nightstick tight across her neck, jerking her backward. Her hands released their grip on mine quickly so as not to pull me along with her. Just as quickly, I was grabbed from behind and pulled away.

"No!" I yelled, trying to reach her with the very tips of my fingers as the distance between us grew.

Across from me, Ice mirrored my attempts, stretching her long, strong hands out to the limits of her chains. The very tips of our fingers brushed together for the tiniest of seconds before slipping away once again.

"No!" I screamed once again, trying every trick I knew to squirm out of the death grip my captor had imposed upon me. A low, rumbling grunt told me I was on the right track, and, encouraged, I redoubled my efforts, fighting for all I was worth to escape the guard’s hold.

A nightstick found its way against my windpipe then, blocking my breathing for an agonizing moment. My panic reflex kicked in and I gasped for air that just wasn’t there anymore. My arms came up quickly to try to pluck the club away long enough to gasp in a breath, but I might as well have been trying to pull a bolder from a mountain, for all the good the effort did me.

A roar that I first took for oxygen-starved blood pounding a desperate riff against my eardrums started out low, then gained strength and volume until the entire world seemed full of its primal, agonized rage.

Though I’m sure the guard’s only thought at that moment was for my safety, as well as his own, he had managed to do the one thing that would guarantee him a death warrant as valid as if the governor himself had signed it.

He had touched me against my will.

And if my partner had anything to do with it, by the look in her eyes and the sound of her howl, it would be the last thing he ever touched.

Fighting against every instinctual response within me, I forced myself to go completely limp in his arms. No doubt surprised by this unexpected action, the guard let go.

It was the only thing that saved his life.

Blindly stepping forward while gasping for badly needed breath, I ran into Ice’s onrushing form. Somehow, even in the state she was in, she must have recognized me because I felt her still-cuffed hands latch once again onto the front of my shirt and pull me close against her tightly coiled body. I threw my arms around her and hugged her for all I was worth, my lungs still heaving, and my sinuses filled with her wonderful, heady and desperately missed scent.

Four guards hit us a bare second later; the American justice system’s version of a goal-line stand, with me as the football and Ice as the halfback.

This is getting to be a very bad habit, I thought as my legs buckled under me once again.

Her stance compromised by the manacles on her ankles, Ice couldn’t stop me from falling this time, but she managed to cover me with her body as we were both borne to the ground under the weight of the guards. Her long form protected me completely, her bound hands landing in a place where, had this been anywhere other than a judge’s chambers, I would have been enjoying myself immensely. A soft grunt of air was the only indication I had that the guards were doing more to Ice than just trying to pull her off me.

Which, of course, started me seeing red once again.

Before I could do anything with my anger, however, Ice’s body was once again separated from mine and she was hauled back to her feet, the nightstick making an unwelcome reappearance against her throat. I scrambled back to my feet, a stream of invectives raunchy enough to make an entire whorehouse blush dancing on my tongue.

The door chose that moment to fly open and the judge ran in, followed closely behind by the prosecutor. At the sight of her, everyone froze as if she were the principle and we all had lit cigarettes in our hands.

"What’s going on here?" the judge demanded, hands on her hips.

"Prisoner was attacking that woman," one of the guards supplied, jerking his nightstick against Ice’s throat for good measure, though she obviously wasn’t trying to get away.

"Do that again and you’ll be standing on a street corner begging for quarters," Donita warned, pinning the guard with an angry glare.

Contrite, the guard loosened his hold. Which was a very good thing for him, because if he had maintained it just one second longer, he would have been wishing that Ice had killed him. I quickly turned to the judge. "That’s not what happened."

One eyebrow appeared from behind the protective shield of her glasses. "Then would you mind explaining just what did happen, Ms. Moore?"

"I... um... I slapped her."

I’ve never seen anyone’s eyes go quite that large, my mind helpfully supplied as I watched the judge look from me, to Ice, and back to me again. "Ok, so I admit it wasn’t the smartest thing to do."

The judge smiled slightly. "Has anyone ever told you you have the gift of understatement, Ms. Moore?"

"More than once, Your Honor."

"Mm. And then she attacked you?"

"She didn’t attack me. After I realized what I’d done, I sort of... collapsed. She just kept me from falling. Then the guards tried to separate us and... well... you walked in on the end of what happened after that."

The judge eyed each of the guards in turn. "Is she speaking the truth?"

"Looked like she was bein’ attacked to me," a guard mumbled.

"And the rest of you?"

The remaining guards seemed to be suddenly afflicted with cases of spontaneous laryngitis.

"I see. Do you wish to press charges?"

"She didn’t attack me, Your Honor!!"

"I wasn’t speaking to you, Ms. Moore."

"No." The answer came from Ice, and there was just a hint of humor coloring the low, liquid melody of her words. "I believe I’ll live."

A gentle knock sounded, and a bailiff’s head appeared through the opened doorway. "They’re ready for you, Your Honor."

"I’ll be right there, Mr. James." Walking back to the table, she hefted the thick plea agreement. "While you children were busy playing, the prosecutor filled me in on some of the background on this case. While highly irregular, he is correct in saying that it fits within the bounds of the law. That being the case, if there are no objections from either party, I’ll sign off on this agreement and you can all be on your way."

"No objections, Your Honor," the prosecutor said.

"No objections," Donita added quickly, obviously afraid I might say something to squelch the deal at the twelfth hour.

Biting my tongue, I turned my head to look Ice square in the eyes. The dazzling blue threatened to swallow me whole. Trust me, Angel, her eyes said simply.

And though it killed me to do so, knowing exactly what that trust entailed, in the end, I simply had no choice. "No objections," I whispered.

The look in her eyes made everything I’d gone through in the past three months fade silently away as the strength and power of her undying love filled me once again, leaving me almost giddy with its return.

Donita’s sigh of relief was audible as the judge bent over the table and, with a flourish of the President signing a détente between two warring third-world countries, inked her Jane Hancock on the document that would send my lover back down into darkness.

*  *  *

Though no more words passed between us, the look of utter and undying love remained in Ice’s brilliant eyes as the guards, more gently this time, led her out of the room, closing the door behind them.

"What happens now?" I asked Donita after a few moments spent staring at the door in the hopes that it would reopen again and Ice would come back to me.

Closing her briefcase with an authoritative snap, Donita put her arm around my shoulders and gently led me from the room. "That’s something we need to talk about."

"Why don’t I think I’m going to like hearing what you have to say?"

"Most likely because you won’t," she answered honestly.

Together, we walked down the hallway, out of the courthouse and back to the sheltered table out on the lawn, the silence growing pregnant between us.

After we both claimed seats, Donita reached out and grasped my hand. She smiled slightly. "As part of the plea agreement, the prosecution wanted you placed in the Witness Protection Program," she began.

"What? Why?"

"For starters, you’re the only one who can identify Cavallo as Ice’s shooter back in the Bog. And we’re gonna need every shred of evidence we can dig up just to make sure he’s convicted on charges that won’t be overturned somewhere down the line."

"Surely you’ve got more than that one shooting to pin on him."

"Yes, but he’s a snake, and he has an even bigger snake for a lawyer. That man could get Satan off if he wanted to." I thought I heard a grudging admiration in her tone, but when I looked up, her eyes were filled with nothing but revulsion.

"Well, I hope you and everyone else knows that I’m not going to go for that."

She smiled. "No, I know you won’t. It took a bit of doing, but I managed to convince the prosecutor to release you, as it were, into my custody."

"Which means?"

"Which means that it’s my responsibility to make sure you don’t decide to take another midnight stroll over the border, Angel."

I could feel my back stiffen and my teeth clench at her words. "The last time I checked, Donita, I was still an American citizen," I began, my tone as frosty as my lover’s name. "Has something changed that I’m not aware of?"

"No."

"Then why am I under house arrest?"

Donita sighed. "You’re not under house arrest, Angel. If you recall, I’m trying to keep that from happening here."

"How, Donita? And more importantly, why? Since I seem to be the cornerstone upon which this entire house of cards is being built, don’t you think I deserve to know?"

"Angel, I’ve told you about all I can tell you. I’m operating under some pretty severe constraints here. Lawyer-client privilege being the smallest among them."

"Then I guess there isn’t anything else to talk about, is there?" I said, well aware that I was being churlish and not caring one little bit. Standing up, I looked down at her without smiling. "Thanks. I’ll be going now. And don’t worry about me leaving the country. Canada holds nothing for me now."

"Angel, wait," she called before I had gotten more than four steps away.

I stopped, but didn’t turn around.

A bare moment later, her warm presence filled the space at my side. "I’m sorry. I know this hasn’t been easy on you."

"You’re right. It hasn’t." After deliberating for a second, I turned to her. "Donita, I watched the woman I love more than I love anything in this world taken from our home in chains. I’ve spent three months realizing that I never knew what true Hell was until I found myself actually living in it. Every avenue I’ve tried has been a dead end. Every call for help I’ve made has resulted in yet another door being slammed in my face. And then, when I finally think I’m going to get some answers, I find out that not only isn’t the journey going to end, it’s only just beginning. I’m sure you’ll forgive me if that makes me sound a little bitter. I just can’t seem to help myself."

She laid a tentative hand on my shoulder, her eyes warm with compassion. "You have every reason to be bitter, Angel. In fact, I’m surprised that you aren’t taking this worse than you are."

"Well, I’ll admit that buying a gun and going down to the Bog to break Ice out has a certain appeal right now," I admitted.

She laughed softly. "I’m sure it does. Truth be known, it holds a certain amount of appeal for me as well. Even if it isn’t a realistic solution."

"Then what is?"

Her shoulders slumped. "None of it, Angel. We’re all between a rock and a hard place here. There’s more going on with Cavallo than you know. Suffice it to say that he has some friends in some very high places and those friends have a vested interest in making sure he doesn’t get caught."

I felt myself relaxing a little, knowing that she was trying her best to tell me things she shouldn’t in the only way she could. "Why Ice, though? Her ‘special skills’ aside, she’s one woman. What can she do that the police, or whoever, can’t?"

"She can get the job done. She knows how he thinks, how he acts, what he’ll do. She’s been where he is and she knows his weaknesses. She’s the best person for the job, to put it as simply as I can."

After thinking on her words for a moment, I nodded. "Can you answer me one more question, though?"

"If I can, Angel."

"Why didn’t you fight it?" I held up a hand as she opened up her mouth to speak. "I know that, no matter how strong of a case you have, there’s always a possibility that the verdict could come back against you. Believe me, no one knows that better. But... even if it did, and even if I was charged and convicted, as horrible as this may sound to you, I’d be happier in prison with her than free without her."

She smiled. "It doesn’t sound horrible, Angel. But it just wouldn’t happen."

"What do you mean?"

Looking down at the ground, she looked to be preparing her words carefully. "Since Ice has been recaptured, Angel, she’s spent twenty-three hours a day in the Hole. Not because she’s done anything wrong, but because she’s considered a huge escape risk."

"That’s inhuman! They can’t just keep her there forever!" I could feel my whole body go numb with the thought of what that would do to her, my mind going back to the last time she’d been kept in the Hole, and the shell of a woman she’d become because of it.

"No, they can’t. If they tried, I’d have so many protestors outside the Bog the warden would think that what happened with Corinne was a little pep rally in comparison." She laid a hand on my arm. "He knows it, too. That’s why, as soon as the trial is over, he wants her transferred out."

"So, even if I was convicted, we wouldn’t be together." When the thought sunk in, I began to realize just why it was that Ice had agreed to the plea bargain. It also helped to explain the returned letters and the rest I’d been suffering through for the past three months.

"I’m afraid not."

"When will I get to see her?"

"I don’t know. Probably not for quite some time." Though her words rang true to my ears, there was some sort of knowledge hidden deep within her eyes that, try as I might, I just couldn’t decipher. And I also knew that she could tell I saw it there. Those same eyes begged me not to ask the question she couldn’t answer.

With a sigh, I relented somewhat. "So, I’ll ask again. What happens now?"

"The most important thing is for you to be kept safe during all this." Her smile was slightly lopsided. "The prosecution may have to answer to the people who want Cavallo’s ass, but I have to answer to Ice. And personally, if something were to go wrong, I’d rather be them than me. They only run the risk of being fired..."

As her voice trailed off, I couldn’t help laughing a little, knowing her words for truth though some small part of me resented the hell out of the implication that I couldn’t keep myself safe. The rest of me, however, well remembered my last run in with Cavallo’s men and wasn’t too proud to accept help when it was offered.

"I have some friends who are very happy to give you a place to stay for the duration. They’re good people, Angel, and they have a very safe, very secluded ranch south of Tucson in Arizona."

"Arizona?! But that’s..."

Grasping both of my shoulders, Donita looked me dead in the eye. "Cavallo isn’t here, Angel."

"What? What does that have..."

"He’s not here." Once again, those deep chocolate eyes begged me to take what she was saying at face value and to please just have faith in her explanation, poor though it was.

Now, I might not always be the brightest bulb in the bunch, but on occasion, I am known for putting two and two together and coming up with the requisite four. "So, if Cavallo isn’t here," I said, putting the same emphasis on the word, "he just might be somewhere, say, to the southwest of Pittsburgh?"

Her smile was quite knowing. "It’s a big old world out there, Angel. Who knows what little part of it he’s stinking up?"

Faith has always been somewhat of an elusive enemy to me. Just when I think I have it in my grasp, just when I think I’ve been rewarded for having it, it slips away yet again, leaving me damning myself for being foolish enough to believe in its existence in the first place.

And now I was being asked to grasp hold of it again.

Or maybe not. Faith is one animal. Belief, however, is another. And even if I didn’t believe in Donita—which I did, my belief in Ice, even after everything that had happened since her capture, remained absolutely bedrock.

And I knew, with every fiber of my being, that while Donita might be saying the words to me, Ice was the one pulling the strings.

So, in the end, the choice was a simple one. The mountain was high, but I knew without doubt that there would be a safety net well able to cushion the fall should I choose to damn the height and take the leap. And with that knowledge, I did the only thing I could do. The only thing my heart and soul would allow me to.

I believed.

Donita must have seen it in my eyes, or in the set of my jaw, because she smiled and squeezed my hand. "You’re a very special woman, Angel."

"Yeah, well, that’s not always the gift people make it out to be. I have doubts too, just like anyone else."

"I know, Angel," she replied. "And I know it’s hard. If there was anything more I could do to make it easier on you, I would. I hope you know that."

"I do know that, Donita. Believe me, if I didn’t, I wouldn’t be here talking to you right now." After a beat of silence, I released her hand and looked up at her. "Arizona, huh?"

"Arizona."

The way she grinned at me, I got the feeling that a little time spent in warmth and perpetual sunshine just might not be such a bad idea after all.

*  *  *

"She’s... big," I commented to my lawyer as we watched a woman the size of a small mountain make her way from the large sedan parked at the courthouse curb to the table we were currently occupying. Of obvious Native American ancestry, she had a long fall of deep black hair which ended below her waist, deep copper skin covered with intricate tattoos, intense almond eyes more black than a storm-tossed night, and the body of a female Arnold Schwarzenegger, pre-heart attack. Massive arms thick with muscle eased out from a sleeveless flannel, swinging easily with every step she took. Legs as solid and as huge as full-grown oaks strained the seams of well-worn jeans.

Staring at her as she approached, I was forced to admit the true inadequacy of my words. To call the woman simply ‘big’ was akin to calling my lover ‘pretty’. True? Yes. But hardly fitting the grandeur of the sight presented.

Before Donita could respond, if indeed she was even planning to, the woman stopped a foot or so in front of us both, all but filling up my vision with her sheer size. The two of us stood, Donita’s smile warm and welcoming. "Angel, I’d like to introduce you to my friend, Rio. Rio, this is Angel."

Mirroring Donita’s expression, I held out a hand. "Hello, Rio. It’s nice to meet you."

The reverse, however, was quite obviously untrue.

It was almost as if I were meeting Mouse or Derby for the first time back in the Bog, such was the chill that wrapped itself around my body as she looked at me. Her flat, black eyes held not even the faintest flicker of warmth, and her expression told me in no uncertain terms that she had assessed me carefully and found me wanting.

The woman who exited the Bog, however, was so changed from the one who entered it as to be a different person entirely. And that woman had changed even more during the last year. Instead of looking down and away as I might have once upon a time, I met her stare, look for look, feeling nothing more than a vague disquiet as the seconds blended slowly into minutes.

It was Donita who finally halted the standoff by stepping in between the two of us and laying a hand on my arm while looking at Rio. "Are the bags packed?"

"They’re in the trunk."

"Everything’s ready, then?"

"Yeah."

"Thanks. We’ll be along in a minute."

"Fine."

And with that, she turned on her heel and started back the way she had come.

"If that’s a taste of things to come, Donita, I think I’ll take my chances with Cavallo," I half-whispered as Rio took up a stance beside the car and stared out into the light traffic as if daring someone to hit her.

"I’m... not sure what’s wrong with her, Angel. Normally, she’s one of the sweetest people I know."

"Maybe she has something against green-eyed blondes."

"No. Not at all. She’s a little reserved at times, yes, but..."

"Reserved?! I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Donita, but that woman makes Ice seem like a regular Chatty Kathy!"

With a somewhat rueful smile, she turned to face me. "Just give her a little time to get to know you, Angel. She really is a good person, and before you know it, she’ll be joining your fan club just like everyone else who meets you."

"I don’t need fans, Donita. What I need right now is someone who doesn’t look at me as if I’m something they just stepped in on the sidewalk. Believe me, I have no desire to find myself being scraped off the bottom of her shoe somewhere."

"That’ll never happen, Angel. I promise. Please, just give it a chance?"

After a moment, I shrugged. "Why not? Worse comes to worst, I still have Corinne and her magic teakettle on my side."

Laughing, Donita threw her arms around me and pulled me close, kissing me on the cheek. "You’re one in a million, Angel," she whispered into my ear. "And Ice is one hell of a lucky woman."

"You just remind her of that when you see her again," I said, only half-joking. Giving her a final hug, I pulled away. "Thanks, my friend. Although it might not seem like it right now, I really do appreciate everything you’ve done. I don’t know where Ice or I would be without you."

"It’s my pleasure," she replied, her dark eyes sparkling. "You just be careful and stay safe, alright?"

"Will do."

"Let’s go then."

Side by side, we walked over to the huge silver sedan, a car that might have been all the rage prior to the oil crisis, but was now, in these days of streamlining, big enough to qualify for its own Congressman. Though I had no wish to be treated like a passenger in a taxi, Rio’s body language spelled out explicitly that I was either going to ride in the back with Corinne, or be forced to brush up on my hitchhiking skills if I ever intended to see Arizona.

Never having hitchhiked, I wisely opted for the former and slid into the back of the gigantic car with alacrity, pulling my feet in quickly lest they be amputated by a swiftly slammed door. "Service with a snarl," I remarked softly to Corinne as I tried to adjust clothing rucked up into uncomfortable crevices by my abrupt entry into the car.

"So I noticed. This behavior is rather unlike her."

I turned round eyes to her. "You know her?"

"Indeed I do."

Which, of course, could mean only one thing. "The Bog, right?"

"It’s not as if I’ve been making friends and influencing people anywhere else, Angel," Corrine replied, nudging me a bit. "Not for the past forty-some-odd years, at any rate."

"Please don’t tell me I have another Derby on my hands," I moaned.

Corinne snorted. "As if Ice would allow someone like that within a hundred miles of you."

My reply was abruptly silenced as the driver’s side door opened and Rio slid her massive bulk behind the wheel. Nary a word was passed between us as, with a roar of the engine and the squeal of rubber against road, I found myself moving forward into yet another unknown future. Only this time, the miles weren’t leading me into a future ripe with almost limitless, wonderful possibilities. They, rather, were leading me away from the only possibility I wanted—needed—in my life.

Ice.

It took every single atom of waning strength I possessed not to jump across the seat and wrestle the wheel away from the behemoth babysitter I’d so recently—and reluctantly—acquired. Even the thought of what my face would look like after I failed miserably in the attempt didn’t sway me.

The remembered look in Ice’s eyes as she silently asked me to have faith did the trick, however, and with fists clenched and jaw set, I slumped back against the worn, soft leather of the back seat and watched through weary, saddened eyes as the miles sped by.

*  *  *

Somewhere about three hours later, by my inadequate reckoning, too many nights of too little sleep combined with the soothing sway of the big car and made my eyelids grow heavy and drooping, the way they used to when I was a young child riding in the back of my father’s station wagon.

With that strange clairvoyance she always seemed to possess, Corinne read my mind like one of her precious library books and, giving me a warm grin, patted her lap. Well past the point of playing dentist to a gifted stallion, I took her up on her invitation without a second’s passing. Letting the comforting scent of her fill my senses, I felt myself drifting off into what I hoped would be a peaceful slumber.

It was a warm summer’s day.

The kind so perfect that it seemed to have been made just for me.

The sky, a brilliant, untouchable blue, seemed the perfect playground for the newly-born sun.

I found myself sitting beneath the welcoming shade of a towering pine, ostensibly writing in my journal. What I was really doing, however, was watching the splendor that was my lover as she laid out on the wooden raft which floated, buoyed up by empty oil drums, about fifty yards into the center of the lake.

Resting back on her elbows, her head tipped back so the wet, inky mass of her hair trailed along the weathered wood, eyes closed and lips parted just slightly, and both long, tanned legs stretched out to their fullest, she seemed the poster child for every boy’s first solitary foray into nocturnal bliss.

I felt a surge of jealousy as I watched the sun make sweet love to her bronzed and beautiful form.

My journal dropping unnoticed to the fragrant nest of pine needles, I stood and shucked off the long T-shirt which was covering my bathing suit, tossing it thoughtlessly god knows where as I ran down over the narrow beach and into the tepid water, suddenly unable to stand one more second separated from her.

My arms warmed to their task quickly, pulling me easily along through the water. Having long ago memorized the exact number of strokes needed to get from shore to raft, I stuck my hand out blindly at number forty, pulling up in surprise when it encountered nothing but air.

Blinking droplets from my eyes, I tread water, trying to discover if what I thought I was seeing was really what I was, in fact, seeing.

The raft was exactly as far away as it had been when I started swimming.

If I hadn’t known for absolute truth that the raft was anchored to the lakebed with a secure cement plug, I might have thought Ice was having me on.

"Ice?" I asked, well knowing she would hear me over the still waters of the lake. We were the only ones there, after all.

If she heard me, she chose to ignore my summons, seemingly content with the sun’s relentless seduction of her body.

Shrugging mental shoulders, I struck out once again, carefully counting my strokes and willing myself nearer with each one to the woman who was my heart.

Something brushed against the bottom of my foot, but I took it for an inquisitive fish and continued on unafraid.

When the contact was repeated, I kicked out strongly, my foot landing against a soft, giving surface. A surface which was most definitely not a fish. Unless I’d missed the biology class which would have let me know that fish had suddenly developed the ability—not to mention appendages—needed to grasp a person’s ankle and yank. Hard.

Just managing a startled breath before I was pulled under, I kicked for all I was worth, using every trick Ice had taught me in our years together, as well as a few panic induced ones that she hadn’t.

Finally able to break free a split second before the need to take a breath would have resulted in a rather rapid drowning, I rose to the surface and filled my lungs with sweet, sweet air instead.

"Ice!" I screamed when I had the lungs for it, hearing the sheer panic in my voice as my lover’s name echoed over the lake.

Any chance at seeing her response ended abruptly as the hand, joined now by others, found purchase on my flailing legs and again pulled me swiftly beneath the now frigid water.

Forcing my eyes to remain open, I looked down and almost screamed again as I saw the grinning, water-bloated corpses of Carmine and his minions gathering around me like sharks to a bleeding whale. Blood oozed out from the bullet holes each had suffered, turning the water murky and dark as their hands, slimy and rotting, wrapped themselves around my ankles, wrists and waist.

Twisting with all of my strength, I was able to break away, using the bodies beneath me to push off and shoot to the surface.

My relief was short-lived, however, and after one quick gasp, I was pulled under yet again. And I knew without doubt that my first taste of freedom would also be my last.

Just when the lack of oxygen began to become a seductive Siren’s call to death, another hand reached for me, from above this time, and I felt myself being yanked toward the lake’s surface by a strength known and loved only too well.

"Ice!" my mind screamed with the last of its energy, my lungs already preparing for their first clean breath in what seemed eons of tortured waiting.

"I’ve gotcha, Angel," came the blessed contralto purr of my lover. "Hold onto me. I’ve gotcha."

Hold onto her I did, with both arms and legs, as I took in great, heaving breaths and tried to meld our bodies together.

"It’s alright, my love. It’s alright. I’ve gotcha. You’re safe now."

Well and truly I believed, right up until the second that a death-frozen hand latched itself to the bottom of my bathing suit and once again pulled me beneath the water, this time dragging Ice down with me.

Though we both struggled with a might to rival the ancient Titans, we might as well have been fighting against the weight of the earth as we were pulled unceasingly down into the tenebrous, blood-filled depths of the lake.

Well knowing that I would never see air again, my soul did the only thing it could.

Unlocking my death-grip, I attempted to push my lover back toward the far-away surface, knowing that whatever Hell I found myself in would be made infinitely worse by having caused her death.

Baring her teeth in that fierce smile which scared as much as thrilled, she shook her head and grabbed onto me again.

This time, however, instead of struggling, she brought our lips together in what I thought was a final kiss. My eyes widened in shock as I felt the last of her air being blown into my starved lungs. They widened still further as, with a mighty wrench, she pulled me free and sent me rocketing back to the surface as if blasted from the world’s largest cannon.

My head broke through into the day’s warmth and I spent a moment instinctively gasping for air before I realized exactly what it was she had done.

The unmistakable sound of a gasoline nozzle slipping into the tank awakened me a split second before my scream would have shattered every window in the car.

"Are you alright, Angel?" Corinne asked from the darkness somewhere above my head.

"Yeah," I replied softly. "Just gimme a minute to collect myself."

"I still believe we should market these nightmares of yours, Angel. Apt to be a damn sight better than the current drivel filling the cracker-boxes calling themselves theaters these days."

"You don’t wanna go there, Corinne," I said, pulling myself up and away from her and running still trembling fingers through my hair. "Believe me."

"It was just a thought," she replied primly before lapsing into silence once again.

Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I gradually became aware of the yellowish light that filtered in through the windows. "Where are we, anyway?"

"Somewhere just outside of Knoxville, I believe."

"Knoxville? Tennessee? Isn’t that just a little bit out of the way for where we’re going?"

"There’s an ice storm headed out over the plains. She’s taking us via the southern route."

"You managed to get that much out of her, huh?" I tried hard not to sound as envious as I felt.

"But of course. I’m not the one she’s ignoring, after all."

"Just what I need," I sighed. "Trapped in a car for three thousand miles with Smug and Silent. And I thought my nightmares were bad!"

Her gentle laugh filled the car, chasing away the remaining fragments of my dream.

*  *  *

A few hours later, we pulled to a stop in front of a nationally known motel chain; a name you’d recognize easily if you’d ever been treated to the down-home earnestness of an announcer promising he’d keep the illumination burning for all and sundry.

Before I could even think to blink my eyes against the bright neon which cut through the car’s interior gloom like the motel chain’s promised beacon, the door beside me opened and a key, bearing the number 139, was thrust without comment into my hand.

"Thank...  you," I finished to an empty space. "Corinne..."

"I’ll talk to her, Angel. Tomorrow. This car seat is doing a great number of unpleasurable things to parts of my anatomy best left to the tender care of others. So, if you don’t mind too terribly much..."

"Out it is."

"I knew you’d see it my way."

Though my legs lodged a formal protest with my spine over being suddenly asked to bear my weight after so many hours of inactivity, they were soon happy with the chance to stretch and so promptly withdrew their grievance and willingly carried me to the open trunk, before which was standing Rio who shot me a look that would have frozen erupting lava, had a such a volcano been handy.

Responding to her look with a withering one of my own, I reached into the trunk and grabbed hold of my overnight bag, inside which lay nestled all the necessities for my life on the road. Pulling it out easily, I then reached for Corinne’s bag, which was a great deal heavier than mine.

For a moment, I thought my "tougher than thou" act would be all for naught as my rebellious arms almost failed in their appointed task, but, wisely succumbing to the scathing invectives tossed downward from my brain, I grasped hold of the bag and hauled it out, giving my watcher a smirk that would have done my lover proud.

Corinne gave me a round of nearly silent applause as I reached the door bearing the same number as the room key. Taking said key from my outstretched finger, she jammed it home in the lock and flung open the door. A blast of frigid, disinfectant-scented air wafted out, causing my entire body to erupt into goosebumps the size of small boulders. "Jesus," I gasped. "Did somebody forget to tell them it was November?"

"Apparently, Tom Bodette doesn’t get out much," Corinne muttered, striding to the air-conditioning unit and turning it off with a vicious twist of her wrist.

Shuffling forward, I managed to dump the bags on the bed before collapsing there myself. The bedsprings poked at my kidneys, reminding me of yet another task I needed to perform before I could try and relax the strain of the day away.

Getting up from the bed, I walked into a bathroom that made my cell in the Bog look positively mammoth. As I sat down on the commode, my knees brushed against the opposite wall. The image of Rio in a similar situation brought a nasty grin to my face and, though it embarrasses me to say so, I readily confess to hoping that the greasy burgers we’d eaten along the way decided to play absolute havoc with her digestive system.

Though little more than a closet with a nozzle, the shower beckoned me and I, in my utter exhaustion, couldn’t help but respond. Repeatedly smashing my elbows and knees to bleeding against the faux stucco of the room’s interior, I shrugged off my clothes, reached in and turned on the water as high and as hot as it could go (which was, unfortunately, no more than "gentle summer drizzle" and "slightly-less-than-tepid") and stepped inside, groaning with relief as the warm water hit my body.

My hands gliding over places which hadn’t seen my lover’s touch in months, I was sorely tempted to do more than just get clean, but the thought of Ice locked down in a rat-infested and pitch-black cell froze the little square of soap in its tracks and my libido promptly followed the water down the drain.

Drying off was another exercise in futility, given the scratchy towel of a size more commonly seen on the upper right corners of envelopes.

That task completed to the absolute best of my somewhat limited ability, I realized I’d forgotten to bring a change of clothes in with me, and after debating for a brief moment over the wisdom of calling for aid, I shrugged my shoulders and wrapped as much of the pitiful excuse for a towel around my waist as I could; girding my loins, so to speak, against the comments I knew would follow once I stepped out of the bathroom.

And follow they did, though thankfully they were limited to a slight, almost inaudible intake of breath and the widening of dark eyes behind prim half-glasses.

Flashing Corinne my most rakish grin, I brushed airily by on my way to the bed and my suitcase thereon.

And almost lost what little composure I’d managed to maintain when Corinne, too busy staring at me to pay attention to where she was headed, missed the entrance to the bathroom entirely and became intimate acquaintances with the wall next to it. Nearly biting my tongue clear through in my attempt not to give vent to the laughter rolling silent through my body, I heard clearly Corinne’s muttered invective which promised dire consequences of the arsenic kind should she ever have the great good fortune to meet up with a certain male member of the Bodette clan.

After she disappeared into the bathroom, I let my laughter run free as I fumbled in my bag for something with which to cover myself. I pulled out an overlarge T-shirt that I freely admit belonged to Ice. Unlaundered, her scent clung to the fabric. I breathed deeply of it as I pulled the shirt over my head, hugging it close to my body after it was fully on and crying just a little with missing her.

Knowing that tears at that point would quickly degenerate into a storm of mournful sobbing, I savagely brushed at my cheeks and slipped in between the cool sheets of one of the narrow beds, picking up the television remote and clicking listlessly through the dozens of channels available.

When nothing struck my fancy, I tossed the remote carelessly back onto the nightstand, punched my pillow a couple of times and, with a sigh, laid my body down on the bed. Though emotionally exhausted, the six hour nap I’d taken in the car guaranteed a restless night.

Corinne exited the bathroom clad in a demure nightgown which I would never have expected her to own, much less wear. Bypassing her own bed, she came to sit down on mine, smiling kindly down at me. "Can’t sleep?" she asked, stroking the bangs from my eyes.

"Not really, no," I replied softly, closing my eyes in response to the tender caress. "Do you think I’m doing the right thing, Corinne?" I asked after a long, silent moment.

"Do you think you are?"

I opened my eyes. "Would I be asking you if I knew?" Then I sighed. "I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be taking it out on you." The tears welled once again, Corinne’s sweet compassion breaking down any walls of resistance I might have had. "I’m... I just... I miss her."

She smiled tenderly. "It’s quite alright, Angel. I miss her too."

"Why does it always have to be like this? Every time I think we’ve earned a break, something happens to separate us. Why? Is our love such a sin that we’re destined never to share it for more than a heartbeat at a time?"

"You don’t need me to answer that for you, Angel."

"No. I guess I don’t." Ice’s past was something that would never leave us alone, unless and until she paid full restitution on it.

"And would you have made a different decision had you known, way back when, how this path would unveil for you?"

"No," I answered without hesitation, knowing it for absolute truth. "Not even for a second."

"Then I think you have your answer, don’t you."

I smiled a little at that. "Yes. I suppose I do."

Returning my smile, she gathered me close and laid a gentle kiss against the crown of my head. "Sleep well, sweet Angel," she whispered, releasing me. "Morning will no doubt come early."

"Goodnight, Corinne," I said, kissing her cheek. "Thanks."

Getting up, she sketched a bow and grinned, her eyes twinkling. "At your service, oh Angelic one."

Though I felt immeasurably better for our brief conversation, sleep was still a very long time in coming.

*  *  *

What little sleep I’d finally managed to get was harshly interrupted by a savage pounding on the door. Had I been a cat, I would have been hanging upside-down from the ceiling, my claws sunk full into the plaster as my body shook in uncontrollable fright.

As it was, I let out a breathless scream and hit my head hard enough against the wall to see stars floating through the blackness of the room.

My life being what it is, I fear I’ll never respond to a knock upon a closed door with anything close to equanimity again.

Beside me, Corinne shot from her bed in a move faster than any I’d ever seen her make, her nightgown trailing behind her in a surprised blur as she strode across the small room and yanked open the door. Stepping through the space created, she slammed the door behind her, bathing the room in dark silence once again.

Silence which was fractured by the sound of Corinne’s tightly controlled voice spewing epithets which would have peeled the wallpaper had she been enunciating them inside the room rather than outside the door.

While I might normally have either stayed nearby to listen or gone outside in an attempt to make peace, my heart was too busy trying to crawl out of my mouth for me to give more than a passing thought to either possibility. Instead, knowing my sleep was well and truly a thing of the past, I went into the bathroom and tried my best to prepare myself for the coming day.

By the time I came out, clean if not necessarily refreshed, Corinne was again sitting on her bed, looking completely composed, as if being jolted out of bed in the middle of the night was an everyday occurrence for her. She gave me one of those smiles that your pet cat might give you after he’s eaten your prized canaries and made vast inroads on your goldfish as well.

Knowing better than to ask, I contented myself with running a quick brush through my hair and packing up my things in preparation for our no doubt imminent departure.

Still wearing that look of smug satisfaction, Corinne brushed by me on her way toward whatever morning rituals she had to perform.

A very short time later, we were both packed and ready. Opening the door, I winced as a frosty November wind sunk talons into my overwarm body, the scent of snow in the air reminding me of things I was trying desperately to forget. Like long Autumn nights spent curled up in front of a blazing fire, my body so entangled with that of my lover that I honestly didn’t know where I ended and she began.

Enough of that, Angel, I told myself, looking up just in time to see the mother of all "hang-dog" looks being shot Corinne’s way by an obviously still-embarrassed Rio. When her eyes came to rest on mine, however, the mask of cold indifference slipped smoothly over her face once again.

With a vast mental sigh, I walked over to the open trunk and stowed my belongings, preparing myself as best I could for spending yet another day in the company of someone who, for reasons beyond my knowing, detested the sight of me.

In some ways, it was even worse than being in the Bog. At least there, I had love to balance out the hate, friends to balance out the enemies, and a sense of belonging which made even the hardest day easier to bear for the family I’d been so wonderfully given.

Now, even with Corinne’s loving, comforting presence never more than a breath away, I felt alone, adrift, lost in a way that frightened me no end. It left my defenses in such shambles that I didn’t even mind that Corinne had fought my battle for me.

I knew that I was headed square into the mouth of a very deep depression, one whose slippery slopes would be very hard to navigate once I got down far enough, but frankly, I couldn’t seem to dredge up enough energy to care.

Ignoring the deeply concerned look Corinne tossed my way, I slipped into the car and stared nowhere but forward, hoping that time and distance would be allies in a war I had no desire to fight.

PART 2

THE MORNING OF the forth day of our journey found us headed down a nearly deserted highway as the panoramic vista of the New Mexico desert unfurled itself, like a carpet preparing for the tread of a king, before us.

Never having been to this area of the country, my interpretation of the word "desert" ran along the lines of a Lawrence of Arabia type; vast, empty, lifeless, with a cloudless sky and rolling sand dunes. A beach in search of an ocean, in other words.

What peered back at me through the car’s lightly tinted windows was, however, as different and as foreign to me as a Martian landscape would have been. Where I had expected a vast, empty wasteland, the desert—a definite misnomer, in my opinion—was instead literally teeming with life. Strange, stunted plants dotted the landscape as far as the eye could see. Cacti stood like silent sentinels guarding all who lived in their domain. Hawks and other birds-of-prey circled endlessly in the vast expanse of deep blue sky while beneath them, all sorts of animals moved with quick assurance—hunter and hunted each fulfilling its destined role.

The wild, untamed beauty, untouched and untouchable, struck a chord deep within me. It was a land which promised, by its very nature, to give up its secrets reluctantly, if at all. Danger lurked everywhere, not in the least camouflaged by the true and undeniable beauty of the land.

Proud and remote, it seemed to issue a challenge I was helpless to ignore.

Come within. If you dare.

As I continued to stare out as the rising sun revealed more of the desert’s treasures, a smile creased the plains of my face. A curious sense of coming home filled my soul, lightening the heavy burden there immeasurably.

"What?" Corinne asked, looking at me with eyebrows raised.

"Ice," was my simple reply.

Brown eyes narrowed as Corinne peered out my window. After a long moment, she looked at me the way one might look at a friend showing the first signs of absolute lunacy. "I don’t think this is the right type of desert to support mirages, Angel."

I glared at her, then turned my attention to the window once again. "That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it."

After a long moment, Corinne’s voice came softly to my ear. "I believe I can understand the connection. Undeniably beautiful, mysteriously remote, and tangibly dangerous. An intoxicating combination."

I could see my broad smile reflected on the glass of the window. Though it wasn’t a necessity, it felt good to know she understood.

A flash of light caught itself in the periphery of my vision, and when I turned to look forward through the windshield, I saw the sun sparking off the gleaming metal of a tanker truck still some distance away and chasing the sun as it rose to the east.

As I often did while on such journeys, I wondered where the driver was from, and where he was going. Was he heading for home, or was he leaving it? Where would the setting sun find him? Home with his family? Alone in a hotel room with only a television for company? In some nameless bar, searching for easy companionship for the price of a beer?

Beside me, Corinne stiffened; an action which quickly brought me out of my nonsensical musings. The truck was a good deal closer now, and barreling down upon a red Jeep trundling along the one eastbound lane. "Jesus," I breathed. "Is he drunk??"

"I don’t think that’s the greatest of our worries right now, Angel," Corinne replied, her voice beyond tight.

I turned slightly to look at her, then followed her frozen stare back to the view presented us through the somewhat dusty windshield just in time to see the onrushing truck try to pass the slow-moving jeep by pulling oncoming traffic—which, at the time, consisted of only one thing.

Our car.

"Rio!!" I screamed, as if she couldn’t see the three tons of polished death screaming toward us like some great white shark on an intercept course with a piece of plankton.

At the very last moment, she jerked the wheel sharply to the right, veering off the road and onto the desert hardpan beyond. The sedan fishtailed wildly, the tires smoking and spinning in a useless attempt to gain traction on the loose sandy gravel of the desert floor.

For a split second, I thought we were going to flip over when the backwash of air from the narrowly missed truck blasted against us with the strength of a passing tornado. It was probably the only time in my life I actually thanked God for Detroit’s one-time propensity for making cars the size of small housing developments.

Somehow, Rio managed to keep us level, if not actually controlled. As she wrestled with the wheel clamped between white-knuckled hands, I heard a loud noise which heralded the explosive death of one of our tires just as Rio managed to get us off the desert and onto the road.

Once again unbalanced, the car did a slow looping skid onto the opposing lanes before stopping, with a sharp jolt which pulled the seatbelt tight against my hips, against a low bolder lying partially exposed on the other side of the highway.

"Jesus," I whispered again when the air finally reentered my lungs, the quietly ticking engine the only other sound to be heard.

Looking to my left, I saw a Corinne who sat stiff and still as a marble statue, her face drained of all color, her eyes wide and staring behind glasses which sat askew on her face, her jaw slack.

In short, she looked like a corpse.

"Corinne? Are you alright?"

After a moment, the corpse came back to life as her head slowly turned to face me. "It’s amazing how short one’s life really is when it’s flashing before one’s eyes."

Barking out relieved laughter, I pulled her as close to me as our seatbelts would allow, hugging her tight against my chest, beyond joyful that she was still among the living.

A moan from the front seat cut short our reunion, and when I looked forward, I saw the windshield sprinkled with droplets of blood, looking as if a grisly rain had somehow fallen from the cloudless sky.

Reaching into one of Corinne’s pockets, I pulled out one of her ever-present handkerchiefs and vaulted myself over the front seat like I used to do when I was a child. Of course, since there was a good deal more of me as an adult, the ‘vaulting’ didn’t go as smoothly, nor as easily, as I’d planned.

Flopping gracelessly into the front seat, I rearranged my limbs into their proper places and then took a long, assessing look at Rio. Her face was literally painted in blood from the combined forces of a gash over her left eyebrow and an obviously broken nose.

"I’ll need another handkerchief, Corinne," I said, pressing the one already in my hand against Rio’s forehead in an attempt to staunch the heavy bleeding.

As another square of cloth was handed over, I tilted Rio’s head back against the headrest and brought one of her own hands up. "Hold this," I ordered, clamping the second handkerchief over her nose and melding her hand to it.

A mumbled phrase sounding suspiciously like "fuck you" floated out from beneath the cloth.

"Not on your best day, sweetheart," I replied, grinning fiercely into her blazing, pain-shiny eyes. "Now just hold that cloth tight and keep quiet. I’ve got some other business to attend to."

Grabbing the keys from the ignition and unlocking the passenger’s side door, I stepped out onto the road and walked around to the rear of the car. The rear driver’s side tire was a shredded mess well beyond even the faintest hope of redemption.

Sighing, I went over to the trunk and popped it open, reaching in and hauling out all the baggage stored there. The bright, warm and unrelenting sunshine provided ample light as I fumbled around in the compartment for the jack and spare tire.

I heard one of the doors open and close as I set about dragging the items I needed from the trunk and setting them down on the hard-packed sand on the side of the road. As I watched, Corinne did a slow circle while taking in the sights through slightly widened eyes, her half glasses once again in their customary perch atop her nose. "I don’t suppose Triple-A comes out this far into the middle of nowhere."

Laughing, I hefted tire and jack, manhandling them around to the correct side of the car. "I’ve got it covered."

She leveled me look of pure speculation. "Yes, I believe you do." She continued to watch as I loosened the lugs holding the wheel on slightly before readying the jack. "Another of Ice’s lessons learned?"

"Exactly. My father thought I’d have a husband to do these things for me, so he never bothered to teach them to me. When Ice found out... well, let’s just say she made sure that I’d never be at the mercy of some friendly trucker with a tire iron and less than charitable thoughts."

"Smart woman, that Ice."

"You know it."

As I crouched down to set the jack beneath the car, I heard the door open and looked up just in time to see Rio emerge from the sedan, the makeshift bandages still pressed against her injuries. Her eyes flashing something other than pain, she took what appeared to be a menacing step toward me, either to pummel me senseless in payment for what I’d had the audacity to say to her, or to take the job of changing the tire into her own hands.

What little remained of my good humor snapped and I found myself slowly rising to my feet, lug wrench in hand. "If I need your help, Rio, I’ll ask for it. So just... go bleed somewhere else, will you? You’re blocking my light."

To my utter surprise, the standoff was over almost before it began. Lowering her eyes for a split second, Rio took several steps backward until she was even with the car’s hood. When she finally raised her head back up, I saw something—perhaps the tiniest shard of respect—glimmering there. While we weren’t suddenly best buddies by any means, I had the definite feeling that the playing field had been leveled, if only just a little.

The look of amused pride Corinne gave me caused a flush to heat my face and I crouched back down to hide it, fiddling with the jack and lug wrench I still had in my hand, and cursing her under my breath.

A short time later, it was done. After putting the tools and remains of the shredded tire back into the trunk and packing our belongings in there as well, I strolled around to the front of the car, taking a close look at the bumper, which was sitting snuggly against the bolder which stopped us.

Aside from a tiny scratch in the dusty chrome, the bumper was none the worse for the wearing. The same could not be said, however, for the bolder, which was sporting a very large fissure at the point of impact.

"They sure don’t make ‘em like this anymore," I said, shaking my head in amazement.

"That’s a fact," Corinne agreed from beside me.

After a moment, I turned to find Rio looking silently at us both. Taking a chance, I stepped over to her, stopping just outside her comfort zone. "I... um... Would you mind if I took a turn behind the wheel for awhile? Give your cuts some more time to stop bleeding?"

Her eyes narrowed, then, just as quickly, relaxed as she nodded, somewhat reluctantly, I thought. Still, a nod was a nod, and I practically jumped at the chance, quickly opening the driver’s side door and sliding into the seat. Because Rio was twice my size, my feet didn’t come anywhere near to the pedals on the floor. Reaching down, I pulled a hidden lever and eased the heavy bench seat forward to accommodate my smaller frame.

Hands on the wheel and feet easily reaching the gas and brake pedals, I grinned with pleasure, no longer feeling like a small child behind the wheel of Daddy’s sedan. "All aboard! Next stop...  um... where is our next stop, anyway?"

"Tucson," Corinne answered as she slid into the back seat, groaning with relief. "Angel, my varicose veins thank you for the extra leg room back here. My bunions sing your praises as well."

"As long as they don’t ask me to kiss them."

"You should be so lucky."

The passenger side door opened then, and Rio made as if to sit beside me. Halfway down, however, she got well and truly stuck, obviously not expecting that I would have pulled the seat so far up in the interim.

As her fanny hovered a good five inches above the seat, unable to move up or down, I tasted the blood which came from literally biting back my hysterical laughter. Looking at Corinne through the rearview mirror was quite possibly the worst thing I could have done. The speculative, totally evil look on her face almost sent me into convulsions.

When her fingers moved in a deliberate, exaggerated pinching motion, I lost all control, doubling over the steering wheel and choking on my laughter so hard I thought my lungs were going to fly clear out of my chest and land on the dashboard like a pair of glistening, overstressed balloons.

With a titanic grunt and a mighty heave, Rio freed herself from the car, then spun around quickly to glare at us both; her blood-caked face, blackening eyes and massively swollen nose only serving to make her look more menacing.

"Asthma!" I wheezed, fanning my heated and tear-streaked face as I tried desperately to gain some control over my hysteria.

"Horrible case," Corinne deadpanned from her seat behind me. "We’re just hoping the desert air does the poor dear some good."

Falling into the role I’d begun, I gave Rio my best impersonation of a woman trying desperately to breathe.

It was a pretty damn good impersonation, if I do say so myself. Especially given the fact that at that particular moment in time, I was a woman trying desperately to breathe.

"Perhaps it would be best, Rio, if you consented to share the back seat with me. Let the diminutive one sit all crouched up in front while you and I recline in luxury back here."

Had I the breath for it, I would have shot Corinne a look hot enough to curl her hair. Since breathing was still a priority, however, I settled for a nice mental fantasy of tying her down and beating her senseless with her own teakettle.

Diminutive indeed.

I didn’t even bother to turn my head when an imperious finger tapped me on the shoulder.

"Drive on, Jeeves. Tucson awaits."

Adding a fireplace poker to my little fantasy, I grinned as I started up the car and pulled back onto the highway.

*  *  *

"Stop here," came the imperious command from the backseat as I tried to navigate the spaghetti-snarl of intersecting freeways that marked the entrance to Tucson.

"Where here? Do you have a particular exit in mind, Corinne, or will the overpass do? I’m sure the trucks behind us would be more than happy to turn this car into an accordion, if that’s the look you’re after." I’ll freely admit to sounding a bit snappish, but I believe you would have too, had you spent the past five hours in vehicular hell, listening to two overgrown children sniping back and forth behind you. I spared a brief moment to wonder if it was some sort of cosmic payback for my own childhood spent doing much the same thing during long road trips with my parents.

"Keep driving," came the expected countermand from Rio, who’s voice sounded like it was coming from the bottom of a very deep, very full well.

"Get off at the next exit, Angel. I refuse to bled upon any more by this overgrown, pig-headed, sorry excuse for an adult."

"Keep driving. I’m fine."

Gritting my teeth against the overwhelming urge to just pull over and boot both of them out onto the middle of the crowded highway, I instead arrowed the car to the next exit and followed the long, curving ramp until it led me out onto a wide, nearly deserted street. Pulling off to the side of the road, I turned the engine off, left the keys in the ignition, opened the door, and stepped out onto the pavement, intending to put as much distance between myself and the "battling Bickersons" as possible before my head exploded.

It didn’t matter that I seemed to be walking into some modern-dress version of an Old West ghost town, where bars and chains adorned the dusty, empty windows and doors. It didn’t matter that most of the signs were in Spanish and therefore incomprehensible to me. It didn’t even matter that I could literally feel the unseen eyes assessing me and making my flesh go tight against my bones.

All that mattered was the blessed silence which surrounded me, all the more dear for bringing with it warm sunshine and fresh air. Closing my eyes and tilting my face up to the sun, I let its warm rays bathe the tension from my body.

"Angel?" came a voice from behind me. "What are you doing out there?"

When I didn’t answer, the car door opened and I heard the sound of sensible shoes hitting the pavement. A moment later, Corinne was by my side. "Angel? Are you alright?"

"As soon as this headache goes away, I’ll be just peachy."

"How...  ? Oh, because of the discussion?"

I turned to look at her. "That wasn’t a discussion, Corinne. I know discussions. I’ve had discussions. That wasn’t one of them. It was a war. Between two grown adults. In a car. For five hours."

"I get the point."

"Good. Because I don’t think I could summon up the energy to explain it again." I rubbed at my temples, trying to force the headache back down.

It wasn’t working.

"She’s bleeding pretty badly, Angel."

"Yes, Corinne, I’m aware of that. I’m very aware of that. The problem is, however, that the both of you seem to be much more interested in arguing about it than actually doing something about it. So, just go back in the car and beat each other senseless over it. I’ll be back later to take whomever’s left to the hospital, alright?"

"Angel..."

"No, Corinne." I sighed, forcefully cooling down my temper. "Look. I know Rio’s bleeding badly, and I’d love to be able to do something about it. I really would. But, as you can see, I’m in a town I’ve never been in before and whose signs I can’t even read. So I hope you’ll excuse me if I’m not quite at my best in this situation."

"You’re right. And I do apologize for my part in all this, if it helps any. Rio is as pig-headed as they come, but she comes by her hatred of hospitals honestly. Her mother was murdered in one."

"What happened?" I asked, eyes wide.

"Her mother was an ER nurse at the time. A man came in demanding drugs and shot her for the narcotic key in her hand. Rio hasn’t gone near a hospital since."

"God... that’s horrible!"

"Yes, it is."

Turning my head for a moment, I chanced to see a squat, low-slung and windowless building which looked more like a bomb-shelter than a business establishment. Attached to the roof was a huge billboard, pockmarked by bullet holes and weathered almost to splinters courtesy of the constantly beating sun, which simply read: La Clinica.

"Will that do? As a compromise, I mean?"

As Corinne followed my pointing finger, a smile broke out over her face. "It will do nicely, I think. And if not, I believe I have the fireplace poker stashed in the trunk somewhere."

"You’ll have to wait in line behind me," I said, grinning. "I think there’s a tire iron back there with her name on it."

Laughing, she slapped me gently on the shoulder, then made her way back to the car. I stayed where I was, enjoying the last bit of quiet and sunshine for as long as I possibly could.

The resolution was surprisingly anti-climactic.

After a brief, nearly silent conversation, Rio exited the car and brushed by me on her way to the clinic, still holding a crimson handkerchief against her bleeding nose. After a brief, sharp knock, the clinic door opened and the building seemed to swallow her whole, as if she never was, and never would be again.

Her smirk truly insufferable, Corinne waggled her fingers at me as she passed by, leaving me to play the caboose on this dysfunctional little train upon which I found myself. Shaking my head and biting back a smile, lest it somehow be misinterpreted as admiration (which it was, but she didn’t need to know that), I followed her into the clinic.

While austere in the extreme from the outside, when viewed from the interior, the clinic was a marvel of modern design. Shining and spotless, it was filled to the rafters with enough medical equipment to ensure quick and accurate treatment for any who came through its doors seeking aid.

I stepped inside just in time to see Rio’s broad form being ushered through a set of interior doors by a pair orderlies clad in blue scrubs. The receptionist smiled as I entered, gesturing with a wave of her hand toward the bank of immaculate, if not very comfortable, chairs lined up in rows along two of the walls. Corinne was already seated and flipping idly through one of the many magazines sitting on several tables near the center of the room.

"Do we need to fill out some forms or something?" I asked, sitting down next to her. Except for us, the waiting area was empty of human habitation.

"I’m sure we’ll find out soon enough," Corinne replied, turning another page with a wetted finger and examining intently the ad displayed there. "Advertising’s become quite the fictional enterprise of late. To look at this ad, simply drinking the beverage in question seems to promise that not only will one feel truly refreshed, but that a makeover, tummy tuck and breast enhancement comes free as part of the package. Almost makes me want to try a sip. My body could use a bit of a tune-up."

I laughed gently, appreciating her attempt to get my mind off my current surroundings. I hated hospitals, clinics, medical offices of all kinds. Having a lover unfortunately prone to spontaneous bullet holes made my hatred an honest one, I believe.

"Here," Corinne snapped, slipping a slightly tattered magazine in my hands. "Read this and stop fidgeting. You’re making me seasick."

"You know I can’t read Spanish, Corinne," I replied, leafing through the magazine.

"Then learn. I’ve no doubt that Rio’s treatment will take quite awhile and there’s really very little else to do."

"Yes, mother," I sighed, slumping back into my chair and flipping through the magazine’s glossy pages trying to make sense of what I was seeing and failing miserably.

At least my headache was gone.

*  *  *

Several hours, and a whole rack of magazines, later, a heavily drugged Rio was wheeled out into the waiting room looking like the last survivor of a really intense Mardi Gras. Her face was a scattered sunburst of colors which complimented the metallic splint which tented itself over her newly set nose.

A dapper young man wearing a long white labcoat over his scrubs, his name embroidered in red thread over the breast, gave us both a pleasant smile as he stopped and locked the wheelchair a couple feet away from us. "Are you here for Rio?"

"Yes," I answered. "Is she gonna be alright?"

"Well, she’ll have a pretty big headache after the happy pills wear off, but yeah, she should be fine in a week or two. Speaking of which..." His smile became even more broad as he slipped a prescription into my hand. "More happy pills. She can have one every four hours or so, but they’ll make her very sleepy, so make sure she isn’t driving or doing anything else that requires concentration."

Corinne took the slip of paper from my hand and slid it into her purse as I looked from Rio to the doctor. "Is there anything special we should do for her?"

"Well, her nose is splinted and packed pretty tight, so make sure she doesn’t have any trouble breathing, especially when she’s asleep. She’s probably swallowed a good deal of blood as well, so try and keep her head tilted to the side in case any of it decides to come back up the hard way."

I nodded my understanding of his instructions. "Anything else?"

"Other than keeping a close eye on her, not really. Like I said, it won’t be too long before she’s back to her old self again." Catching my grimace, he grinned. "Afraid I’d say that, weren’t you."

"Well..."

Laughing, he clapped me briefly on my shoulder, then stepped back. "Good luck."

"We’ll need it." Reaching out, I grasped his proffered hand in gratitude. "Thanks."

"De nada. Carlos will escort Rio to your car."

"It’s the beige sedan parked across the street," Corrine remarked, handing the buff orderly the keys.

Taking them, he smiled and nodded, then wheeled Rio out of the clinic.

As the doctor walked back through the doors and into the treatment rooms beyond, I accompanied Corinne up to the receptionist’s desk. "The damages?" she asked, taking out her wallet.

"None, senora. This is a free clinic set up for those who can’t afford to pay for medical services."

"We can afford to pay," Corrine replied, undeterred. "A nice round figure, if you please."

"But..."

Ignoring the woman, she pulled out ten crisp one-hundred-dollar bills, laid them out one by one atop the cluttered desk, and smirked as the receptionist’s dark, almond eyes grew quite wide. "Round enough?"

"But..."

"Round enough," Corinne answered for her, obviously not taking "but" for an answer. "Thank you for your most gracious hospitality." And with that, she closed her purse, turned on her heel, and left the clinic without so much as a glance behind, leaving me to helplessly shrug at the round-eyed receptionist who stared in disbelief at the small mountain of money lying in front of her.

After a long moment, she looked up at me. I grinned. "It’s just her way."

"Dios mio."

I chuckled. "You might be tempted to think so." A thought popped into my head. "Can I ask you a favor?"

"Anything, senora! Anything!"

"I... just need some directions. See, Rio’s our guide here. I’ve never been this far south before. Is there a place nearby where we could stop over for the night? It’s probably best if we continue our journey when she’s awake enough to help."

"Oh, si. Si. I know of a nice little place not too far from here, senora. Just outside of town and easy to get to. Let me write the directions down for you."

A short time later, armed with wonderfully explicit directions, I made my way through the crawling after-work traffic toward the place where we would stay the night.

*  *  *

"Nice place," I remarked as Corinne and I navigated a very drunken and half asleep Rio into the large room and onto one of the king-sized beds.

As soon as she hit the mattress, Rio turned onto her side and began to snore, long and loud, through her widely opened mouth.

"I still say we should have gotten two rooms," Corinne remarked, making as if to put her hands over her ears. "Elderly librarians with short tempers aren’t known to be at their best without the requisite eight hours of sleep per night."

"Angels aren’t either," I replied, wincing as a particularly loud snore nearly broke the windows.

"We could always smother her with a pillow," Corinne observed.

"I didn’t think suffocation was your style."

"For this, I’m willing to change my M.O."

"Perhaps. But where would we hide the body?"

She laughed. "You have a point. I’d say we could just leave her outside, but someone would likely just toss her back in again."

Chuckling, I walked through the large suite and pulled back the heavy curtains protecting the interior from the harsh desert sun. A sun which was just beginning to set behind the low mesa to the west of the hotel. A need gripped me, and I turned to my friend. "Can you watch her for a few minutes?"

"Of course. Running out on me already, are you?"

"No. I just..." I could feel myself blushing. "I’d like to see the sun set."

Her eyes held nothing but honest love and deep compassion. "I understand, Angel. Take your time. Just realize that in payment, I’ll expect you to clean up whatever mess she might make in the night."

I grinned. "Deal."

"Then be off with you, before I decide to make you share her bed as well."

And so I did.

*  *  *

Though the mesa wasn’t very tall, the trail was steep enough, and my legs burned pleasantly as I made it to the top. I faced away from the city, and the view of the desert from the summit was breathtaking; nothing but open land as far as the eye could see, free from any form of human habitation.

The view of the sky as the sun set was even more spectacular. Deep, blood red swirled and mixed with royal purple to form a gorgeous vista I couldn’t quite keep my eyes away from. It was better by far than any sunset I’d ever seen.

After making sure that the boulder at my feet wasn’t sheltering a snake or other venomous creature, I slowly sat down on it, watching as the sun made its triumphal march behind the mountains still further to the west.

"You’d like it here, Ice," I whispered to my absent partner. "So wild and free. No walls. No bars. Nothing but... peace. And beauty." A sudden chill came over me, at odds with the still-gentle warmth of the evening, and I wrapped my arms around my body. "I miss you, you know. So much. I keep telling myself that it’s for the best, and we’ll see each other soon. My brain listens, but my heart...  well, it’s got a mind of its own, you know?"

I felt the warm trickle of tears on my cheeks as the sky became a beautiful prism for my teary eyes alone. "I think I’d give anything just to feel your arms around me." I laughed a little. "I know that can’t happen right now, but you can’t blame a girl for wishing, huh?"

Wiping my eyes, I stood as the sun made its final descent behind the mountain. "I’ll be patient, my love. Just... don’t wait too long, ok?"

And as the sun finally set, casting the world below in shadow, a warm desert breeze enveloped me like a hug from my absent lover, chasing the chill away and leaving me with a profound sense of stillness and peace.

I could feel a smile form even as the tears dried gently on my cheeks.

"I love you, Ice. Hurry home."

*  *  *

The next morning, Rio was back to her old self. She awoke snarling, refused any of the pain medication we’d picked up from a pharmacy on our way to the hotel, pulled the packing and splint from her nose, and barked out orders at us, a right proper Drill Instructor to a squad of completely inept recruits.

Though her surly mood should have bothered me, it didn’t. That gift of peace I’d received the night before proved itself tenacious, and I hugged it to me as one would a blanket on a cold winter’s night, refusing to allow her poor temper and bad manners to take it from me.

Besides, within five hours--hopefully much less--our journey would come to an end, and God willing, I’d never have to put up with her again in such close and inescapable quarters.

Corinne wasn’t nearly so gracious, but a look from me held her tongue.

We were quickly on the road, with Rio once again in her accustomed space behind the wheel. The miles fairly flew by as within me a keen sense of anticipation grew from a small seedling to full, blooming life.

We headed south, and south again, taking progressively smaller and smaller roads, passing nothing but desert vegetation and the very occasional car coming north. Just when I felt sure that the Mexican border was to be our destination, we took a turn to the west on a very narrow road that the desert did its level best to reclaim, washing it over with sand which heralded the road’s infrequent usage. We drove west for several miles, threading our way through the foothills of several small mesas which stood like sawed-off chess pieces on the world’s largest board.

Another slow, meandering curve brought us out into open land again, and I saw something I never expected in a desert.

Trees.

Row upon row of perfectly manicured trees. Trees whose abundant greenery stood in stark contrast to the sun-washed brown of the surrounding desert. Trees whose sweet scent came to me through the car’s open windows and brought with it the images of...

"Oranges? Are those orange trees?"

"None other," Corinne replied, taking a healthy breath herself, and grinning.

"I didn’t know you could grow oranges in Arizona!"

"Ahh, Angel. I daresay you haven’t truly lived until you’ve tasted an Arizona orange. Sweet. Succulent. Simply bursting with juices. Rather like..."

"Don’t say it, Corinne. Just... don’t say it. Please."

"Spoil sport."

Choosing to ignore her teasing, I instead took in another deep breath, noticing that the scent of orange blossoms became heavier—cloying almost—the closer we came to the grove. It reminded me of the truth in the maxim: "Too much of a good thing isn’t always a good thing" and I put a hand up to my nose to stifle a threatened sneeze.

A wide path cut through the grove at a right angle, and when we came out on the other side, desert reigned supreme once again. Off to my right, I saw the low, barbed wire fence of a corral, and beyond that, dust being kicked up as a herd of horses came our way, led by a beautiful stallion—or what I took to be a stallion, my knowledge of horses minimal at best—with a coat the color of freshly spilled blood and a mane and tail black as printer’s ink.

He reared up high, displaying powerful, slashing hooves and shining, sweat drenched muscles, and I found myself falling in love with him at first glance. The entire herd raced us toward the breast of a small hillock, then stopped as their enclosure ended. We, of course, continued on, down into a valley which signaled the end of our journey.

A huge house sprung up from the desert floor as if birthed from the very sand upon which it rested. It was bone white adobe with a red Spanish-tiled roof and heavily tinted hexagonal windows. Though only a single story, it was very long and sported three front doors, each framed by a long, fluid arch.

Other, smaller houses formed a rough square behind the main house, with the stables off to the right and, beyond that, what looked to be a row of greenhouses which would require further exploration in the very near future.

As we pulled onto the long, circular driveway, I began to notice groups of people walking calmly, or purposefully, around the grounds. Though of all shapes, sizes, and ethnic origins, these people all had one thing very evidently in common.

"Where are the men?"

A sharp bark of laughter was heard from the peanut gallery, who currently took up residence in the driver’s seat.

"This is a women’s ranch, Angel," Corinne explained, shooting a glare toward the back of Rio’s head. "Men aren’t welcome."

Instead of saying anything aloud and giving Rio further ammunition to use against me in this personal war of hers, I settled for a simple nod, watching the women as they went about their day.

"My, my, my," came Corinne’s soft, awed voice to my left. "And me without my camera."

Curious, I gazed at the view from her window. And what a view it was.

A large, in-ground pool shimmered clear blue in the brilliant sunlight. In and around the pool lay almost a dozen courageous (it was warm outside, but not that warm) souls all dressed in the exact same costume.

Their birthday suits.

If my eyes weren’t so firmly attached to the back of my skull, they might surely have popped out of my head at the vision.

"Remind me to give the good Mr. Cavallo a nice big kiss when Ice finally drags him back this way, Angel. I think I may have found heaven."

I’ll admit it was heavenly for me as well, at first. While looking at the women, I pictured Ice’s long, naked body cutting through the sparkling water with the ease of a born athlete.

I pictured her climbing the ladder with sinuous grace, water rolling off her in sparkling sheets.

I pictured the smile that would cross her face as she saw me standing by the edge of the pool, waiting.

I pictured three dozen other naked women clustering around the bronze-limbed goddess who was my lover, blocking her from my view and touching her in all the places currently denied to me.

I blinked.

Then coughed.

Amazing how one woman’s heaven could so easily become another’s private hell.

As the car completed its entrance onto the ranch, the poolside view was mercifully cut off from my line of vision and I let out a deep breath of relief with the loss of it. After pulling to a complete stop, Rio turned off the engine and was out of the car so fast, I wondered briefly if she’d been sitting on a hornet’s nest, or something equally unpleasant.

Probably just the company she was forced to keep, I told myself with a mental shrug. I could hardly fault her for it, after all, since I was feeling the same way myself.

I got out of the car just in time to see her all but swallowed up by a group of cooing women. Watching her back straighten and her shoulders broaden under all the compassionate attention she was receiving, I—quite uncharitably—wondered what tale of her injuries she was conjuring to earn such fawning responses.

Enough, Angel. Bitterness isn’t one of your more charming assets, so just stick it back in the festering pit it came from and leave it there, alright?

My jaw set with newfound resolution, I reached behind the front seat and popped the trunk, then went around to the back to retrieve my luggage, setting each piece carefully down on the immaculate driveway, then doing the same for Corinne’s bags.

Having lost what passed for our hostess, I was at a loss for what to do next.

"Think it’d be considered impolite if we just burst right in and announced ourselves?" I asked Corinne as I continued to stare after Rio and her admirers.

"I don’t think that will be necessary, Angel."

I looked up just in time to see a woman come out from the house. She was dressed in faded jeans, a white shirt and dark leather vest, her face shaded by the wide brim of a white Stetson perched comfortably over her long, dark hair.

Squinting into the bright sunlight, I put a hand above my eyes, trying to see her more clearly and place the feeling of familiarity that washed over me as she walked toward the two of us.

"Welcome to Akalan, Angel."

It was the voice that did it. Even more than the respectful touch to the brim of the hat, or the smile which made the woman’s features suddenly recognizable.

"Montana?" I asked, so far beyond stunned that I couldn’t even see it from where I was standing. "Is that really you?"

"In the flesh," she said, grinning. "It’s good to see you again. You’ve changed since I saw you last."

Feeling tears well up in my eyes, I reached out and embraced her tightly, pleased when she didn’t stiffen or pull away. In my joy, I’d forgotten about her natural reserve, so much like my lover’s that it almost hurt to hug her.

"God, it’s good to see you," I said, finally pulling away and wiping my eyes with the heel of my hand. "Why are you here?"

At her laughter, I blushed, realizing a bit belatedly exactly how my question sounded.

"I mean... I thought you were in Montana?"

"I was, until three weeks ago," she replied, sharing a warm embrace with Corinne.

"What happened three weeks ago?"

"I received a call from a lawyer who expounded on the joys of wintering in the warmth and sunshine of Arizona."

"Donita?"

"None other. And, since the alternative was another winter spent up to my neck in snow, I allowed myself to see the wisdom of her words, and here I am."

"You came here for me, didn’t you," I said, as another piece of the puzzle fell neatly into place.

"I won’t deny that was a factor in my decision."

"But your home..."

Smiling, she held up a hand. "Akalan is as much my home as the ranch in Montana, Angel. Or even the one in the hills of western Pennsylvania. Where I am at any given point in time doesn’t much matter. What I can do and who I can help, however, does."

"But..."

Her smile broadened. "Look around you, Angel. What do you see?"

Following her gentle request, I looked around, then back to her, eyebrows raised, not sure exactly where she was leading.

"No answer? I’ll tell you what I see, then." I watched, fascinated, as her dark eyes scanned the grounds, missing nothing. "Where some might look and see only empty, arid desert and... yes, beautiful women..."

"Beautiful naked women," Corinne corrected from beside me.

"Point taken," Montana replied, smirking slightly. "I see hope, Angel. Simple as that."

"Hope for what?" I asked, honestly curious. While I liked and very much respected Montana, I knew her far less than the other Amazons who had befriended me. Part of the reason, of course, was that she was released so soon into my own sentence. And the rest, as I believe I’ve already mentioned, was due to her own reserved, quiet nature.

"Hope for the future. Hope for the community. Hope for safety, security, friendship." Her broad shoulders lifted in a shrug. "Hope as individual as the woman who wields it." When her gaze returned to me, it was soft with compassion and caring, yet bright with the passion of her convictions. "Above all else, Angel, this ranch is a place where hope is born and nurtured. Women come here from all walks of life. Many are bruised and battered, either emotionally or physically. Sometimes both. They aren’t as much running to us as they are running away from the lives they’ve lived before. Communities like this offer a sense of safety, of protection, and belonging that can help to start healing in women with nowhere else to turn."

"It sounds wonderful," I said, completely taken with her vision.

"It can be. It can also be rough, dirty and thankless. But it’s a job I wouldn’t trade for any in the world."

"With these perks, I don’t see why you ever would," Corinne remarked, frankly ogling a pair of scantily dressed women as they strolled past, arm in arm. They grinned back at her, waggling their fingers in invitation. "Oh yes, I’m going to love it here."

Montana laughed, something I’d never heard her do before, and I found myself charmed by the musical sweetness of it. "It’s good to see you again, Corinne. You’ll certainly liven this place up." Laying a hand on each of our shoulders, she gently guided us toward the house, our bags in hand. "Let’s get you settled in and then we can talk more, alright?"

"You can talk," Corinne said. "I find myself in sudden and dire need of a refreshing swim."

"Or a cold shower, " I joked.

"Just you wait, you sorry excuse for an angel. One day, sooner than you might expect, you’ll reach my age. And believe you me, I intend to be around long enough to see just what happens when you do."

Throwing back my head, I laughed, feeling better than I had in months. Was this what you had in mind when you set this up, Ice?

Then I laughed harder, though at myself.

Of course it was. Ice never did anything without a reason.

While I might have been safe in any one of several places, it was here where I could truly feel the beauty of hope once again.

Thank you, my love.

*  *  *

In direct and no-doubt deliberate contrast to the sunny warmth of the outside world, the interior of the house was cool, quiet and dim, courtesy of the heavy blinds which hung over the tinted windows and seemed to possess the added benefit of muting sound as well as light.

The living-room was huge and sunken, with heavily varnished bare wood floors and several large, comfortable-looking couches set up around a spectacular entertainment center which would have looked comfortable even in a movie theater.

Behind the living-room, bordered by an open rail, the kitchen stood. Its chrome appliances gleamed in the mellow, recessed lighting; appliances which looked large enough to hold and cook food enough to feed the hungry stomachs of an entire army and then some.

The dining room was to the left of the kitchen, dominated by a truly mammoth table with more than a dozen chairs drawn up tight against it, gently pressing against the shining, dark wood.

Long, dark hallways branched off to the left and right of the living-room, and it was to the right that we were directed by Montana, following her into the cool dimness and passing by quite a number of closed doors on our way. My room was last on the left, Corinne’s directly across from it on the right. The bathroom finished out the hall and had within it several stalls and at least two large showers that I could see, rather like a bathroom one would see in a college dormitory, I imagined.

While Corinne made a beeline for said bathroom, I entered the room that was to be mine for the duration of this newest adventure, taking in the neat, simple furnishings and pleasing earth tones with a satisfied eye. "This is wonderful, Montana. Thank you."

"My pleasure, Angel. I’m glad you like it." She watched quietly as I placed my luggage at the foot of the neatly made double bed. "I can leave you alone to unpack and get settled, or we can go back into the living-room and talk a little more. It’s your choice."

"The unpacking can wait," I announced, grinning. "My million and one questions can’t."

She returned my smile. "Talk it is. C’mon. I’m sure Corinne will catch up to us when she’s ready."

"If she doesn’t make good on her threat to start an orgy at the pool," I replied, only half in jest. The look on Corinne’s face as she took in the sights reminded me of nothing so much as a young child with his face pressed tight against a candy-store window.

"Without a doubt, Corinne is a treasure. She’ll likely have more admirers than even she can handle by the end of the day."

"That’d be a first."

Laughing, she looped a casual arm around my own and guided me back down the long, cool hallway until it broadened out into the main living area of the house. "Make yourself comfortable on one of the couches. I’ll get us something to drink."

Slipping into the cool comfort of one of the long couches, I leaned back against the soft fabric and closed my eyes, enjoying a brief moment of respite in an otherwise hectic day. When I opened them again, Montana was standing before me, hands wrapped around two tall glasses filled with liquid, lemons and lots of ice.

She handed one of the drinks down to me, then joined me on the couch, taking a sip of her own beverage and looking inquiringly at me. "Lemon water," she explained. "It’s the drink of choice down here. And pretty refreshing, as well."

As I took a tentative sip, I could feel my eyes widen in surprise. Montana wasn’t kidding. "It’s delicious!"

"Yup."

"Just lemons in water, huh? What’ll they think of next?"

"Well, they’ve already thought of lemonade."

"True."

After a brief moment of silence, I looked over at her. "So, this ranch is a sort of shelter for battered women?"

"It serves that purpose on occasion, yes. But it serves several others as well."

"Such as?" I hoped I wasn’t sounding too interrogatory with my questions. My curiosity has the oddest way of showing itself sometimes.

She didn’t appear to be offended, though. "Some women use this ranch as a retreat; a temporary refuge, if you will, from the stresses of their everyday lives. For others, it’s a permanent home; a separatist community where they can live their lives mostly free from the influence of males."

She smiled. "We’re pretty self sufficient here, as you may have already guessed. The house is on Reservation land, deeded to us by the Yaqui. We grow our own produce and sell the surplus either to the Reservation or to the surrounding towns, which in turn gives us enough money to pay our utility bills, food, sundries, and the like. Every woman who comes here, no matter the reason, is expected to lend her aid to the community in the best way she can. In return, she receives free lodging and food, and, if needed, help with other expenses as they occur."

"Are children allowed?"

"No. If we hear of a woman in need who has children, we help her find assistance elsewhere. All the ranches are for adult women only."

I nodded, sipping my water and listening to the quiet hum of the air conditioner as it cycled on. "Are there any other Amazons here?" I asked softly, somehow loathe to disturb the tranquility of the silent house.

"Besides us, you mean?" she asked, grinning.

Looking down, I blushed a little. In all truth, I’d forgotten I was, in fact, an Amazon. It wasn’t really something which came up in daily conversation outside of prison, and as that part of my life started to slip away into the past, some of my memories apparently had as well. "Yeah, besides us."

"Well... there’s Rio, who you’ve already met..."

I turned to her, eyes wide. "Rio? Rio’s an Amazon?"

"You say that like it’s a bad thing...  ?"

"Oh! No! No, not at all. Really. I was just... surprised."

Her expression turned serious. "Is there a problem, Angel?"

"No problem. Really." I tried a broad smile on for size, then winced at how poorly it fit.

Montana’s eyes narrowed. "Angel..."

"Really. It’s just .a difference of opinion, that’s all. Nothing to worry about."

"A difference of opinion about what." It wasn’t a question, and I knew it.

I sighed, slumping into the seat. "I wish I knew."

"Did she say something? Do something?"

"Honestly, Montana, it’s nothing to worry about. I’m sorry I said what I did. I’m sure Rio’s an excellent Amazon. We just... we just didn’t hit it off, I suppose. But that’s alright. Not everyone has to like one another. I’m ok with that. Honestly." I held my free hand up to show my sincerity.

"I’ll have a talk with her."

"No! Please! Please, don’t do that. She didn’t do anything wrong, and I’m sure everything will work itself out, eventually."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

After a long, assessing moment, she finally nodded, albeit reluctantly, I thought. "Alright. But if I see anything out of order, I will speak to her."

"Okay. Thank you."

As we lapsed into silence once again, I found myself looking around the house’s interior, admiring the southwestern color scheme and the simple wall hangings which added color to the bone-white walls. "You must have to sell a lot of oranges to pay the mortgage on this place," I said in an attempt to steer the conversation into other, safer waters.

Her gentle laugh told me I’d succeeded. "I don’t think the entire state of Arizona could produce that much citrus, Angel. No, this house was willed to me by the mother of a young woman I helped while in the Bog."

"Really?"

"Mm hm. The girl was very sweet, and kind. And quite beautiful as well." A melancholy smile spread itself over Montana’s features. "She was such an innocent when she first arrived, like so many of them are."

"Like I was."

"Yes. You remind me of her, somewhat. She was arrested for possession. A short sentence, but as you know, in the Bog, even a month can seem like an eternity, especially if spent in the ill graces of some of the women there."

I nodded, not quite managing to suppress the shudder that came with my own memories of my first weeks in prison.

"When we finally managed to get in and pick up the pieces, I wasn’t really sure how much was left. But she surprised me." Her smile was now proud. "She surprised all of us. The adversity made her stronger, and by the time she left us, it was as if a new woman had stepped out of the shell of the old."

"Where is she now?" I asked, sensing a sad ending, but needing to know.

"Dead. She returned here to be with her mother, and they were both killed in a car accident some years ago."

"I’m so sorry to hear that," I said, laying a hand atop hers.

"So was I." The sad smile returned.

"You loved her."

After a long moment, she nodded. "Yes I did. Very much."

"I’m sorry," I said again, at a loss. I wanted to hug her, but wasn’t sure if she’d accept such a gesture from me. Instead, I settled for squeezing her hand harder, pleased when she looked at me, thanks in her eyes.

"I’m sorry for your loss as well, Angel," she said, finally. "I was quite pleased when I heard that you and Ice had made it into Canada. I had hoped that you had finally found your dreams."

It was my turn to smile sadly. "We did. For awhile. Before Cavallo came in and started the whole avalanche." I sighed as the pain, a constant companion, settled itself on my shoulders once again, all the more heavy for the temporary respite. "I know it’s been three months, but it still feels so unreal, you know? Like a dream, almost. Or a nightmare." I shook my head. "Most mornings, I still find myself waking up expecting to still be in the cabin, Ice sleeping next to me. And it’s like I lose her all over again every time I do wake up. It makes me not want to go to sleep."

"I can understand that."

"Yeah. I guess you can." I absently wiped the tear rolling down my cheek.

"What happened to the woman who turned her in?"

"Ruby?" I laughed mirthlessly. "God, what a screw up. I find myself wanting to hate her. But I can’t. No matter how much I try, I just can’t. She acted out of love for me." I felt my fist curl and slam down on the forgiving cushion. "If I had only told her the truth in the beginning, none of this would ever have happened."

"You don’t know that, Angel. For all you know, telling the truth would only have meant a sooner ending. Sometimes people see with their eyes and not with their hearts. Your friend might have meant well, but she didn’t take the time to look beyond what she thought was the surface. You can’t take all the blame for this upon yourself. It does no good."

"Maybe not," I replied, looking down at my lap.

"So what happened to her?"

"I’m not sure. I guess she’s still in Canada. I doubt there’d be any reason for her to leave. Especially now." I closed my eyes against the memory of that horrible night, but it came anyway, mocking me with its stealth.

Corinne had gotten to me just as the last of the police cars pulled away into the night. I remembered screaming at the top of my lungs as she pulled me into a crushing embrace, holding me so tightly that I felt smothered against her body, unable to breathe.

I remembered trying desperately to pull free, but she held me with a strength I hadn’t known she possessed, refusing to let me slip away. Knowing, I think, what I’d do if I did.

After a period of time—a moment, a day, a century—she loosened her hold, and I pulled away, as if scalded by her very presence. I turned, and she was there.

The one who betrayed me.

The one who tore my heart out and held it bleeding in her hands.

The one who drilled a great, gaping rent into my very soul.

And then I just... blacked out is the only way I can think to put it.

I didn’t come back into myself until quite some time later.

Corinne was holding me once again. Of Ruby, there was no sign.

My right hand ached. When I looked at it, it was scraped, raw, bleeding, and swollen.

I knew I’d punched her. And part of me rejoiced.

Reading my mind as she always had, Corinne gently shook her head, then turned me to face the wall near the front windows. A wall which now bore a fist-sized hole in the plaster. A hole which was head-height on a person like Ruby. "You didn’t hurt her, Angel. You wanted to, I know. But you didn’t."

And that was all that was ever said on the subject.

And though I never saw Ruby again, to this day, my hand still aches when it rains, forever a reminder of the night I lost my soul and the woman, however unwittingly, who took it from me.

*  *  *

I wasn’t sure how I wound up in Montana’s strong arms, crying as if my very life depended upon this shedding of tears, but after a brief second of tense wonder, I simply surrendered to the inevitability of it and let the tears fall where they might.

Which, at the moment, happened to be all over Montana’s neatly starched shirt.

She didn’t seem to mind, however.

I hadn’t spoken of the events of that night since that night. With Corinne and I, it was almost balletic, the way we would adroitly maneuver so as to avoid the issue. And who else, really, had there been to discuss it with? Donita likely already knew the whole story—albeit a vastly shortened version, considering her source was Ice. The only other person I’d spent recent time with was Rio, and quite frankly, I would have rather bitten through a high-tension wire than to cry on that particular shoulder.

Montana, however, was somehow safe. At least, I assumed as much, since my body was telling me something my mind didn’t already know.

She reacted exactly right, simply holding me and stroking my hair until my cathartic release played itself out and left me empty, but in a good way. A way, I suppose, I had been unconsciously craving for the past three months.

Several moments passed before I finally pulled away and gave her a watery, half embarrassed smile as I wiped the remaining tears from my burning eyes. "I’m sorry for getting your shirt wet."

Her smile was kind. "Don’t be. You’ve been needing to get that out for a long time, haven’t you."

"Yeah. I suppose I have." I took in a deep, shuddering breath, then let it out, amazed with the lightness I felt deep inside, as if a festering wound had finally been lanced, the poison flowing out with my tears. "Thank you."

She shrugged. "That’s what friends are for, right?"

I nodded. "Yeah. Thanks. Friend."

"You’re welcome. Friend." Chuckling softly, she stretched. "Better now?"

"You don’t know how much."

"Good. How about if I let you free to go exploring? Poke around a little, get a feel for the place. After all, it’s gonna be your home for awhile."

I nodded again, smiling this time. "I’d like that."

"Alright then. Dinner’s in about four hours or so. You’ll hear the bell when it’s ready." Getting up off the couch, she escorted me to one of the front doors and ushered me out. "Have fun."

"Thanks. I plan to."

PART 3

THE AFTERNOON PASSED into evening rather quickly as I explored the grounds, poking my nose in anywhere and everywhere and generally making a nuisance out of myself.

As I’d known I would all along, my meanderings eventually led me to the stables and corral beyond. I spared several moments to watch a group of women industriously muck out the stalls, change out the food and water, and do whatever else needed doing to make the stables ready for the horses’ return.

Then I moved on to the corral, climbing up the split rail fence to sit atop one of the posts and watch as a number of women put some of the horses through their paces. Of particular interest to me was a young, lithe, blonde woman who was racing her beautiful chestnut mare around three barrels set up in the central ring of the corral. Horse and rider moved in perfect symmetry, flowing like water around each barrel as women on the sidelines cheered and whooped. Another woman, broad and squat, pumped a triumphant fist in the air, a stopwatch clenched tightly between her palm and fingers.

Hats sailed into the air as the young woman slipped down from her horse, her boots kicking up clouds of dust as they reconnected with the desert floor. She was immediately engulfed by a crowd of cheering onlookers as her horse was gently led away by one of the stable-hands.

Several moments later, the crowd parted and the young woman walked out from the masses, dusting off her clothing and putting her hat back on her head, setting the brim with a casual hand. Walking in my direction, she stopped just shy of the fence and tilted her head up to look at me, smiling. "Hey, there," she said in a musical voice that was vaguely familiar to me, but one which I couldn’t quite place.

"Hello. That was some riding you did there."

Her fair face colored a little as she shrugged and stuffed her hands into the pockets of her jeans. "It wasn’t bad, I guess. I’ll have to get a lot better, though, if I’m gonna have a chance in the Buckeye Rodeo."

"Well, you looked pretty damn good to me. I’m probably not the best authority on the subject, though."

She blushed again, then laughed. "Maybe not on barrel racing, but you’re pretty good at other things."

I could feel my eyes narrow. "Excuse me?"

"You don’t remember me, do you."

I winced. "No, I don’t think so. I’m sorry."

"Don’t be sorry. Please. I wouldn’t expect you to remember me. I’ve changed a lot since you saw me last, even if it wasn’t that long ago."

I peered down at her. "Alright. You’ve baited the hook and thrown in the line. Do you want me to just swim around a little before I go for it, or would you prefer it if I just grabbed on tight so you could reel me in?"

"Sorry." Her smile came again, bright and white. "My name’s Ericka, and you saved my life, once."

"In the Bog?"

"Yup. Mouse and her buddies were set on having me for dessert, but you made sure they went home empty handed." She shook her head, her long blonde hair fanning out in amber waves behind her. "You were amazing. I’d never seen a woman fight like that before. It was... unbelievable."

It was my turn to blush and look down at my hands as the awe in her voice washed over me and brought with it, I’ll readily confess, no small sense of pride. I remembered the incident vaguely, as I remembered most of those long ago fights in the Bog. There were so many that after awhile, they all just tended to blend together into one long, nearly never-ending conflict.

My pride wasn’t so much with my fighting abilities, such as they were—and are—but rather with the simple fact that I was given the opportunity to help in the first place. It felt good to know that I was a person others could look to for help, just as it felt good to remember that fact. Especially now, when all it seemed I could do was to seek out and rely upon the help of others.

"I didn’t mean to embarrass you," she said softly, laying a gloved hand on my thigh in a gentle touch.

"You didn’t. It’s just..." I sighed. "That’s not important now. I’m glad I could help."

"I’m glad you could, too. It was the closest I ever came, I think, to dying. Quickly, I mean. I’d been dying slowly for years."

"How do you mean?"

She shrugged again. "I was hooked on drugs for a long time. Cocaine, mostly. My arrest should have given me a wake-up call, but it didn’t. Drugs were easier to get in the Bog than they were on the streets." Her laugh was mirthless. "Course, the price was higher. And when I finally decided to stop paying it, well... you walked in on the result. That’s when I decided to quit. Cold turkey all the way. It was really hard, especially at first. But every time I was tempted to score some more coke, I remembered the look on your face when you walked into that room and started beating the crap out of those idiots. And I figured that if someone like you could care so much for someone like me, someone you didn’t even know, then I figured maybe it was time that I started caring for myself, too."

"That’s a wonderful story."

"Every word’s the truth. You saved my life in more ways than one that day, Angel. And I told myself that if I ever got the opportunity to thank you, I would." She looked directly at me, the fire of sincerity burning in her bright hazel eyes. "Thank you. I mean that, from the bottom of my heart."

Jumping down off the fence-post, I pulled her into a tight hug and felt her return the embrace with strength and vigor. Pulling away, I smiled at her. "You’re welcome, Ericka."

She blushed again. "Well, actually, they don’t call me that anymore."

"No?"

"Nope. See, when I heard that you were an Amazon, I decided that I wanted to be one as well. Kinda schoolgirl crush-like of me, I know, but that’s how I was back then. So I started working out to get back into shape again, and started hanging out with some of the other Amazons. And then, right after you were released, they made me an Amazon." She grinned, gesturing to herself. "I’ll bet you can guess what they named me."

Taking a step back, I made a show of carefully examining her from tip to toe. "Cowgirl, right?"

"Got it in one."

"Figures. Amazons," I snorted, "not an original one in the bunch."

Her laugh and the dinner bell sounded at the same time, jolting me a little. She touched my shoulder in sympathy. "Did that to me the first couple of times, too." Then she looked down at herself, shaking her head. "Well, I’d better get cleaned up before Montana gives me fifty kinds of holy hell for tracking dirt through the house again. See you at dinner?"

"Sounds great!"

*  *  *

That night, sleep claimed me more easily than it had in a very long time. The evening had passed quickly and, for the most part, pleasantly as I spent the time exchanging spirited banter with Cowgirl, Montana and Corinne and ignoring the other end of the table, where Rio held court, her fawning cronies slavish to her every word and action.

That I actually felt tired when it came time to turn in was a blessing in itself, and once the lights were turned off and a quiet good-night was said to my absent lover, I turned to my side, closed my eyes, and remembered nothing until I woke up again.

Which, unfortunately, seemed to be smack-dab in the middle of the night, judging from the absolute lack of light from the direction of the window.

My heart rate was up, though not from fear. At least I didn’t think so. A feeling more akin to anticipation washed through my body, standing the hairs up on my arms and behind my neck. I had the feeling of being watched, though I knew, beyond all shadow of a possible doubt, that I was most definitely alone.

Had it been a dream? Some nightmare which had evaporated back into the dark mist the second I opened my eyes?

No. Nightmares and I were old friends, especially of late. And this simply didn’t feel like the aftereffects of one of their regular visits.

What then?

Cautiously, as soundlessly as I could, I turned from my side to my back.... and almost jumped clean out of my skin when my cheek brushed against something soft, cool and giving.

Scrabbling backward, I almost fell off the bed, my arm reaching somehow behind me to turn on the light. My free hand curled into a tight fist as I blinked against the bright light, breathing in quick pants through my nose as I waited for my eyes to adjust to the change.

"What the...  ?"

Laying on the pillow, completely devoid of thorns, lay one perfect, blood-red rose.

I stared at it dumbly for a long moment, my mind not comprehending what my eyes were seeing.

As if still asleep and dreaming, I watched as my hand slowly snaked out, fingers extended to their maximum length and gently brushing the stem before pulling away slightly, as if afraid they would be bitten. I looked on as they approached the rose again, this time taking it into a careful grip and pulling forward until the bloom was directly under my nose.

Inhaling deeply, I was unable to stop the smile which spread across my face.

"Ice," I sighed with pleasure as I took another deep breath, then gently brushed the incredibly soft petals against my cheek.

Then I stopped, abruptly, as I realized where I was and what I was doing.

My heart sped up again.

"Ice?"

Wide-eyed, I craned my neck until the vertebrae popped, scanning every inch of the room for my lover’s dark presence.

My first waking impulse was confirmed, however.

I was completely alone.

Adrenaline shot me out of bed like a rocket, and my hand was twisting the doorknob open before my feet even realized they’d hit the floor. Yanking the door open wide, I stepped into the dim hallway, almost colliding with Corinne, who filled up part of said hallway, her head cocked at an odd angle, as if listening to something I couldn’t hear.

The near collision brought Corinne’s attention to me, and she took a long look at the rose that was still in my hand before dragging her eyes up to my own. "Secret admirer?" she asked, smirking.

"Where is she?"

"Your admirer? I may be good, Angel, but even I’m not that good. To ascertain where she might be, one would have to first know who she might be, yes?"

A harsh, barely restrained whisper from the living-room cut off my retort and I pushed Corinne none-too-gently out of my way as I strode down the long hallway, preparing myself for the much awaited sight of my lover.

What I received instead, however, was the vision of Montana and Rio at right angles to one another; the former standing calmly with a piece of white paper in one hand; the latter gesturing wildly, her face brick with barely controlled rage.

"Do it, Rio. Now. I won’t ask you again," Montana said, her voice calm and uninflected.

"Fuck that, Montana. Everything was fine here before that blonde-headed bitch came down here."

"What’s going on, Montana?" I said upon hearing my cue.

Rio whirled at the sound of my voice, her dark eyes absolutely blazing with anger. "You!"

Reaching out, Montana easily spun the much larger woman around to face her. "Now, Rio."

After a long moment, Rio’s broad shoulders slumped in defeat. "Fine," she said, jerking away from Montana. Whirling again, she strode toward me, her fists clenched tightly at her side.

I braced myself for what was coming, both unwilling and unable to back down from her dangerous threat.

At the last second, she stepped left, jarring my shoulder with the side of her body. The rose in my hand flew loose from the impact, and, turning, I watched helplessly as she kicked it against the door, scattering the beautiful petals across the floor and crushing a few beneath her boot as she left the house, slamming the door behind her.

I turned slowly back. "Montana?"

"I’m sorry, Angel," she whispered.

"What’s going on?"

Walking until she drew even with me, she handed me the sheet of paper she was holding.

It was a note. That much I could tell from my first quick scan. Unsigned, but that didn’t matter, as I knew the bold handwriting as well as I knew the beat of my own heart.

If I were Cavallo, you’d all be dead.

Let me down like this again, and you’ll wish I was.

"Ice wrote this," I said, stating the obvious.

"Yes. I found it stuck into my headboard with this." Holding her other hand out, she displayed a wicked-looking knife, its sharp edge glimmering malevolently in the dim lighting.

"Where is she?"

"Gone." She sighed. "Long gone."

"And you sent Rio to find her?"

"No. Rio’s one of the best there is, but even she couldn’t find Ice if she doesn’t want to be found. Rio’s in charge of security here. I sent her off to call for some reinforcements."

"But why? Why doesn’t she want to be found? Why didn’t she stay? I don’t understand." I felt those damn tears wanting to fall again, but at that point, I think I was just too angry to give them the satisfaction of wetting my cheeks.

Montana sighed. "I don’t understand either, Angel. The one thing I do understand is that she was testing us; testing our defenses. And we failed. Miserably."

"You can’t blame yourself for this, Montana. It’s Ice we’re talking about, after all. I mean, she’s... was... is... hell, I don’t know anymore... an assassin. This kind of thing is what she used to get paid to do, remember?"

"Yes, Angel. I remember. But how can I be sure she was wrong? How can I be sure that even if we didn’t stop her, we could stop Cavallo? Or, for that matter, any half-baked idiot or jealous boyfriend who came in here wanting to tear the place up?" She looked down at the knife in her hand, turning it over, and over again. "I used to think we were up to any threat. Now I know how foolish that idea was."

"Montana, you can’t..."

"Yes, I can, Angel. I can and I will. The lives of every woman here, including you, are my responsibility." She looked at me once again, her jaw square and tight. "I failed this first test. Thank god we all lived through it. I’ll be damned if I fail again. If you’ll excuse me, I have some business to attend to."

Nodding to each of us in turn, she turned crisply and disappeared back down the opposite hall to what I assumed was her own room, leaving Corinne and myself to stare after her in shocked silence.

*  *  *

I spent most of the rest of the day shuttling wildly between anger and grief, hope and despair. Part of me was so angry at Ice that I wanted, given the impossible opportunity, to throttle her. Though I well understood her innate need to see to it that I was safe as it was possible for me to be, I didn’t understand why that need had to come at the expense of my own innate need to see her, safe, whole, and, most importantly, free.

Much as it shames me to admit such a thing, part of me was glad Rio had bumped the rose from my hand and crushed it beneath the heel of her boot. The rest of me, however, spent long, painful moments on my knees, gathering up each and every petal I could find as some sort of tangible link to the woman who held my heart in her hands.

Since I knew that sleep wouldn’t let me catch him quite so easily the second time around, I gave up even bothering to try, and instead showered and changed, then padded out to the kitchen, where work had already begun preparing meals for a new day as yet undawned.

Pitching in allowed the time to pass quickly and mindlessly, and before I knew it, I was up to my elbows in soap suds, washing away the fruits of my morning labors.

The kitchen crew, at least for breakfast, was made up of an older, quieter group of women who seemed far more interested in getting the meal made and the dishes cleaned than expending energy on gossiping about who did what to whom, when, where, and how often.

That’s not to say there wasn’t talk, because there was; just not very much of it.

After the last dish was washed, dried, and put away, I escaped the suddenly too small confines of the house, and stepped out into the warm, bright desert day with a distinct feeling of relief. Taking in a deep, cleansing breath, I allowed my feet to take me where they would, not at all surprised to find myself once again perched atop a corral fence-post as the horses were released from their night-time abode.

The bay stallion, of course, led the way, and I felt a little smirk form, tipping my figurative hat to him for getting the plum job of being the only male around for miles. He snorted and bobbed his head at me, as if in agreement, before bounding away, most of the herd in tow.

I watched his antics with pleasure, enjoying the way the sunlight dappled his coat and brought the thick, corded muscles of his massive body into sharp relief. He reminded me, more than slightly, of the horse Ice had carved for me last Christmas—almost a year ago, now.

God, has it really been a year? How could time have gotten away from me that quickly? How could...

Any further thoughts along that maudlin line were halted as I felt a gentle nudge to my knee. Startled, I almost lost my balance, but maintained it by grabbing onto the nudger, which in this case happened to be the nose of a beautiful dappled gray pony, who indignantly snorted my fingers from her nostrils.

I couldn’t help but laugh (almost losing my balance again, incidentally) as she appraised me with one huge, dark eye before lowering her head to nudge against my leg again, this time higher against my thigh, her nostrils whuffling as if in search of a treat.

"I’m sorry girl," I said with genuine regret. "I don’t have anything for you."

A musical laugh sounded next to me, and I looked up to see Cowgirl astride a massive horse, the brim of her white Stetson tipped low to shade her face from the relentless sun. "Don’t worry about Cleo, Angel. She thinks she’s a puppy. C’mon, Cleo, give the woman some room. She’s not your personal feedbag."

"That’s alright," I replied, giving the horse a scratch between the eyes. "I don’t mind. She’s kinda sweet."

"Oh, she’s sweet alright. Keep paying attention to her like that and you’ll find yourself with an eight foot shadow for the rest of your life."

"Don’t mind the mean lady, Cleo," I stage whispered, continuing to scratch my newfound friend. "She’s just jealous ‘cause you only have eyes for me."

Cowgirl snorted as she led her horse around in a tight circle. "While I work on trying to get over my envy issues, would you like to take a ride with me? I need to fix some fence out on the back part of the corral and I’d enjoy the company."

I winced. "Well, as much as I love horses, I’m afraid I haven’t ridden one since I was a kid."

"That’s no problem. We’ll just let you ride your new friend there. She’s pretty forgiving."

I looked at Cleo, who tossed her head, then nudged me again.

"What the heck. Looks like I’ve been outvoted anyway."

*  *  *

The sun was very close to setting as I walked my tired, sweaty and saddle-sore body back toward the house. I was exhausted, beyond doubt, but pleasantly so. Cowgirl’s gentle company managed to keep my mind away from sadder things, and her sweet voice belting out country song after country song kept me laughing and humming along, though I couldn’t, as my father was wont to say, carry a tune in a bucket.

I stepped around Rio’s car, which was once again parked in front of the house, and spared a quick wave to Corinne, who was lounging by the pool with a bevy of naked beauties attending her every whim. Grinning and shaking my head at her good fortune, I opened the door and stepped into the house, just in time to see an almost exact replay of the scene early that very morning, this time set in the living room.

Both turned to me as I entered, but any thoughts of simply reversing my steps and spending the night in the stables was erased as Montana beckoned me forward with a smile.

"I... um... didn’t mean to interrupt. I’ll just... be going to my room to wash up."

"No, that’s alright, Angel. I’m actually glad you came back. I have some friends..."

Any further words were blocked out as I felt an unfamiliar, and somewhat gruff, hand clasp hard onto my left shoulder. Already tired and wary from the resentful glare I was getting from Rio, my body reacted without thought, doing what it had been trained to do when it perceived a threat.

Reaching up, I grabbed the hand on my shoulder, twisting the wrist as I thrust my hip out to the left. With a smooth, controlled motion, as I’d been so carefully taught, I threw the body behind me over my hip, then straddled it, glaring down at the idiot who dared to grab me from behind like that.

A glare which quickly changed to a look of shocked disbelief as I recognized the woman I’d just thrown to the floor.

"Pony? Is that you?"

"Surprise?" she wheezed through the broad, proud grin threatening to split her face in half.

"Pony!!" I yelled, grabbing her hand and hauling her back to her feet with adrenaline-fueled strength. "How did you...  ? Where did you...?" The rest of my babbling questions were lost as I pulled her tight against me in a hug.

Chuckling low in her throat, she returned the embrace before lifting me off of my feet and twirling me around before setting me back down again. "Damn it’s good to see you again, Angel!" After giving each cheek a loud, smacking kiss, she pulled away to the length of her arms and boldly appraised me from head to toe, her eyes lingering longer in some places than others. "Lookin’ good," she said, leering.

"You’re not looking half bad yourself, Pony," I replied, laughing through my tears.

"I’ll bet you say that to all the studs, Angel," came a very familiar, very loved, and very much missed voice behind me.

Stunned, I whirled, feeling my jaw unhinge as I did so. "Critter?"

"Hey there, stranger." Her smile as bright as the Arizona sunshine, she opened her arms and I ran willingly into them, feeling her hug engulf me like the warmest of blankets.

"I don’t believe it," I blubbered. "I can’t believe you’re here. How...  ?"

"Thank Donita and a very shocked parole board," she said, her own eyes suspiciously bright. "They sprung Pony and I together. I think they’re still trying to figure out why they did that."

"What about Sonny?"

Her smile faltered just a little. "We’re hoping for a little better luck the next time around. She misses all of us, but she’s doing ok." She smirked. "She found a new looooove."

Laughing, I grabbed Pony’s arm and pulled them both in for another tight hug, happy beyond belief that these two old, beloved and cherished friends were with me once again, especially at a time when I needed them so very desperately.

After pulling away, I gave then each a long, assessing look. "Neither of you has changed a bit. Not a bit!"

"You sure as hell have!" Pony replied, poking at my belly and scowling. "Not that you weren’t a knockout before, Angel, but you’re positively buff now! What gives, woman? Ice put you on some steroids or something?"

I laughed. "No. Nothing like that. I came by these muscles honestly."

"Honestly? What’d ya do? Haul rocks around up there in bumfuck?"

"Pony!" Critter yelled, slapping Pony on the arm.

"Hey!" Pony yelped, rubbing her arm and scowling at Critter. "It’s an honest question! When I first saved her ass, she was all skin and bones and babyfat. Now she’s got more muscles than I do!"

Critter laughed. "God, Pony. You’re so butch."

"You got a problem with that?" She turned back to me. "Spill it, Angel. What do I gotta do to get a body like that?"

"Well, for starters," I replied through the smirk that was forming, "you could build your own house."

"Bu.... " Her eyes widened. "You built your own damn house??"

"Well, I didn’t build it myself, no. But I helped. A lot." I winced over the memory of strained muscles and splinters and blisters and everything else that went along with building our cabin. That wince quickly turned to a grin, however, when I remembered the tender care Ice took with my injuries, and the many evenings spent face down and blissfully naked as my lover’s hot hands expertly removed each and every bit of soreness from my abused muscles, replacing that soreness with languor, or passion, however she saw fit.

Looking up just in time to catch Critter’s knowing smile, I felt a blush heat my face and quickly looked down again, trying to regain my composure.

Completely oblivious, Pony poked me again. "I can’t believe you built your own damn house."

"Well, I did. I also chopped about a forest’s worth of firewood, walked almost everywhere I needed to go, and swam two miles in the lake every morning and every evening in the summer."

Absolute silence reigned as Pony stared me with eyes the size of silver dollars. After a long moment, she covered her face and shook her head. "Never mind," she mumbled through her fingers. "Forget I asked. I’ll just keep the body I got."

Grinning in absolute satisfaction, I turned to see Montana looking at us with an unreadable expression on her face. Of Rio, there was no sign at all. "Where’s Rio?"

"She left."

"Left?" Pony asked. "Where the hell’d she go? We were supposed to go over the security measures, damnit!"

"Something’s been eating at her all day," Critter supplied. "She’s not like her usual self at all. Is there a problem?"

"It’s been longer than all day," Montana replied, giving me a significant look.

That was something Pony didn’t miss. She whirled back to me, dark eyes narrow and penetrating. "What’s goin’ on, Angel."

"Nothing, Pony. We just... we didn’t hit it off real well, that’s all."

"That’s bullshit. You’d hit it off with the devil himself, Angel. What’s really goin’ on."

I shrugged. "I don’t know. There’s obviously something about me that rubs her the wrong way. I don’t know what it is, but I’m sure we can work it out eventually." I smiled. "Not everyone has to like me, you know."

"When I’m around, they do," Pony growled, fists clenched.

"Pony, calm down," Montana said. "It’s gone beyond that now. You know how proud she is. When I had her bring you and Critter in, she got upset. She thinks I’m questioning her abilities."

"And she’s blaming Angel for that? That’s absolute bullshit! If she’d done her job right in the first place, she wouldn’t have had to worry about it!"

"Pony..." This time, it was Critter’s turn to try.

"Forget it, Critter. I don’t know what damn bug flew up her ass, but I’m gonna pull it out for her. Through her throat."

"Pony, there’s a lot going on..."

"Fine. She can have a nice long time to think about it from the comfort of her own bed after I put her ass in traction."

As she turned to stomp away, I grabbed her arm, surprised at the ease with which I turned her back to me. "I appreciate this, Pony, but please, let me handle it myself, ok? When this whole thing cools down, I’ll try and have a talk with her. You can even come along and hide in the shadows if you want. Just please... this is between Rio and I. Let’s keep it there for now, alright?"

She scowled at me, obviously not ready to give up her anger, but finally nodded and gently pulled her arm away from my grasp. "Fine. But if you think I’m not gonna rag her ass over the security situation, you’ve got another thing coming. It’s not just Cavallo we need to worry about, you know. There’s a whole planet full of crazies who’d love to bomb this place off the fucking map. If she’s not doin’ her job right, then I’m gonna call her on it."

I returned the nod. "That’s fine. I’m guessing that since you’re down here, that’s your job."

"Damn right it is."

Critter laughed, pushing Pony toward the door. "Go scare the venom out of a rattlesnake or something, Cujo, willya?"

"Fine," she grumped, then turned and left the house without another word.

Unable to stop myself, I just threw back my head and laughed, crossing my arms over my stomach. "God, I missed you guys!"

"We missed you too, Angel," Critter replied, slinging an arm over my shoulder and ruffling my hair. "We missed you too."

*  *  *

"...and the next thing we knew, there she went, ass over elbows, right into the septic tank. The stink didn’t come out for weeks! It followed her around like a cloud."

I collapsed against the pillows, weak with laughter, not even bothering to wipe away the tears of mirth which were coursing down my cheeks.

"Yup," Critter continued, her face the very essence of the word ‘smug’. "Ol Mousie was never the same after that. I told her she’d wind up smelling like shit one day. I was right, too. Literally."

Rolling over onto my stomach, I tried desperately to stretch out the cramps that were tearing at my abdominal muscles, already abused from a day of horse riding and hard physical labor. "Stop," I gasped. "Please. You’re killing me over here."

"Sorry." She didn’t sound very sorry at all.

But she did stop, which was a blessed relief. When my hysteria finally got itself back under control, I flipped on my back again and propped myself up on my elbows, fixing her with a pointed look. "You’re bad."

"Sure am."

"Well," I said, sobering up a little, "much as I missed you guys, I don’t miss waking up every morning wondering if someone like Mouse or Derby is waiting to rearrange my face for looking at them the wrong way." Shaking my head, I sighed. "I just wish I don’t sometimes get that feeling when Rio’s around."

"I wish you didn’t either, Angel. I’m not sure what’s going on with her. Rio’s one of those really big people who scares the crap out of you to look at her, but she’s really sweet underneath. At least, she used to be. God knows what’s wrong with her now."

"So, you knew her before, then?"

"Yeah. In the Bog. She got there about a year after I did. She was huge even then, but those muscles were just for show. She couldn’t fight worth a spit in the rain."

"Really?" I asked, finding that hard to believe.

"Yeah. Really. She might have been strong, but she was slow, and clumsy as all hell. The bullies held off at first, because of her size, but once they found out she couldn’t fight, they were all over her like white on rice. It would have been pretty funny if it wasn’t so damn sad to watch."

"What happened?"

"Ice happened. They were giving Rio all kinds of holy hell out by the weight area one day. A few of them were holding her down with the barbell she was lifting pushed against her chest. The rest were punching and kicking the crap out of her. The rest of us were kinda standing by because it seemed like she was big enough to take care of herself, but evidently Ice didn’t think so, because she came out of the prison and before any of us could think to move, it was over." Her look of wonder was obvious as she thought about that incident. "Two of ‘em wound up in the hospital. The rest... well... let’s just say they weren’t in any shape to bully a tadpole for a few months."

I snorted softly. "Why am I not surprised?"

Critter grinned. "I’d be surprised if you were." She shifted positions, coming to lay on her back next to me, our heads sharing the same pillow. "So anyway, Ice sorta took Rio under her wing and taught her how to fight. She took to it like a duck to water, and before we knew it, she was using those muscles for more than just impressing the ladies."

"Did she ever bully anybody once she could fight?"

"Rio? No. Not at all. Like I said, she’s as sweet as they come. God, you should have seen the look on her face when Ice made her an Amazon. I thought she was gonna bust out crying in front of everyone."

I couldn’t help but shake my head in amazed disbelief. The picture of Rio that Critter was painting was as different from my own version as night is to day. Suddenly, a thought popped into my head. "Critter, were Rio and Ice..."

She looked at me for a long moment. "Are you asking me if they were lovers?"

I nodded.

Her brow furrowed, but after a moment, her expression cleared as understanding dawned. "You’re afraid she’s jealous, aren’t you."

"It would make sense, yes. An ex-lover having to play taxi-driver to the current lover, carting her to hell and back, then being told her skills aren’t enough to protect her." I shrugged. "I’d probably be angry too."

"Well, it would make sense, if that were the case. But, as far as I know, it’s not. Rio worshipped the ground Ice walked on—hell, we all did—but they weren’t an item. Friends, yes. Involved, no."

"Well, I guess that takes us back to square one again," I said, gently hitting the mattress with my hand.

Critter grasped my other hand, threading our fingers together. "Maybe she just has some personal stuff going on right now, Angel. Maybe all this just came at a bad time for her. Maybe after Pony settles things down here, that talk you were thinking about might not be such a bad idea."

"You’re right. I just hope I can wait that long."

She laughed. "You’ve been with Ice for what... seven years now? If there’s one thing you have in abundance, Angel, it’s patience."

"A virtue that’s being sorely tested right about now, let me assure you," I said, scowling.

Laughing again, she rolled over and kissed me soundly on the lips, then jumped up off the bed. "Lemme go see if Pony needs me for anything, then I think it’s time to hit the bed. It’s been a long day. Night, Angel."

"Night, Critter."

A jaunty wave, and she made for the door.

"Critter?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

A half-cocky smile graced her lips as she sketched a half-bow in my direction. "Anytime, Angel. Anytime."

*  *  *

The next several days passed quickly and without incident as I gradually became accustomed to my new, if temporary, home. I spent most mornings in the kitchen with Corinne, helping to prepare breakfast for the thirty or so women who stayed at the ranch. It was the only real time we had to spend together, so I valued each morning for the chance it gave me to be with her, no matter how briefly.

Critter and Pony were busy as well, reinforcing ranch security with Rio. To her credit, Rio seemed nothing if not extremely dedicated to her job, throwing herself into it one thousand percent of the way and making sure that mistakes like that of a week ago would not be repeated on her watch.

I didn’t have the heart to tell her that, where Ice was concerned, those mistakes would always be repeated. Not that it would have mattered, really. She would likely have smacked me senseless if I did.

She seemed a bit calmer with Pony around, though, so I had hope for an eventual reconciliation between us, given the opportunity.

I’d spend a good bit of the daylight hours at the corral, watching the horses, feeding and grooming any that needed it, and generally keeping myself busy and my mind off my absent lover, as best as I was able.

My best was frequently not good enough, and the ache in my chest only got stronger the more time passed without seeing her. I often found myself talking to her, much as one would a deceased loved one, sharing bits of my day with her, and telling her how much I missed her.

An evening ritual had also developed. I’d saddle up my newfound equine friend and set out for the westernmost part of the corral to watch the sun set over the distant mountains. The sight never failed to take my breath away, and it was the one time in the day when I felt closest to Ice.

I shed more than a few tears on those solitary treks, but always returned home feeling better for having gone.

One night, long after the sun had set, I escaped from the too-warm and too-noisy confines of the main house, taking in the cool quiet of the desert and feeling my body calm instantly as the peaceful night drew me in and made me welcome in its darkness.

I headed toward the stables, several carrots in hand, knowing that Cleo’s placid, silent company was just what the doctor ordered for me.

As I entered the cool comfort of the stables, taking in the smell of hay and horses with almost absent pleasure, I heard an odd, rhythmic thumping noise which let me know that I wasn’t the only two footed animal in the place.

Still, the building was relatively well-lit and the horses seemed unconcerned, so I paid no significant mind to the noises and instead moved to answer the anxious greetings of Cleo, who could smell carrots, it was said, from a continent away. With a head cold. In a hurricane.

As she strained her neck near to breaking in order to quickly lip up the treats I had for her, I couldn’t help but laugh at her antics, and give her a fond and happy scratch between the eyes.

When she inhaled what was in my hand, she nudged my chest, whuffling for more. I laughed again, delighted, and as I pushed her insistent nose away, I heard the noises in the rear of the stable stop.

A moment later, a long, wide shadow fell over me.

I looked up to find Rio standing by the open doors, her black eyes glittering with anger, a large knife in her hand.

As I turned to face her, a smirk curled one corner of her upper lip. "Evening, blondie." She gave an exaggerated look around. "Where are your little protectors? Aren’t you all joined at the hip or somethin?"

Pulling away from Cleo, I squared myself to face her. "What do you want, Rio." I could feel my body tense, but I fought it, trying to remain as calm as possible.

The knife flashed as she gestured with it. "Your head on a platter would do, for starters."

Though I kept my gaze pinned to her, in the periphery of my vision, I could see several implements that could be used as weapons should I need one in a pinch. That thought calmed me, relaxing my bunched muscles. "Well, you certainly brought the right tool for the job."

She looked down at the knife as if just realizing it was in her hand. After a second, she dropped it to the ground. "I don’t think I’ll be needing it on the likes of you."

I felt myself shrug. It was amazing how cool and centered I felt. Of course, hearing the low tones of my lover in my thoughts helped immeasurably as well. "Your decision, I guess." As she started to come forward, fists clenched, I held up a hand.

Stunned, she stopped in her tracks and stared at me.

"Before you start rearranging my limbs for me, I have a question."

She squinted at me. "Are you nuts?"

"Maybe. But I still have a question."

She scowled. "What."

"Why?"

"Why what?!"

"Why are you doing this? Why do you hate me so much? I’ve obviously done something to offend you. I figure if you’re going to rip me to shreds, you could at least be nice enough to answer that."

She shook her head, not even considering the question. "You wouldn’t understand."

Then she came at me, her arms open wide for a classic bull rush. It was a move I’d seen a hundred times before. I was, I’ll admit, a little disappointed at her lack of originality.

I was working under no illusions, however. If she got close enough to get her arms around me, I’d be in for a world of hurt. Someone as big and as angry as Rio could easily kill me, even without meaning to do so. And even if she didn’t, I was sure she’d have no qualms about beating me so badly that I’d wind up wishing I was dead.

Waiting until she was almost on me, I simply ducked beneath one of her outstretched arms, darting away and turning just in time to see her narrowly miss the stable wall.

"Try me, Rio," I said as she turned, her face twisted in a snarl of rage. "I might understand better than you think."

"Forget it, blondie." She rushed me again, this time in a more controlled maneuver, then swung one of her long arms out in a wicked cross that would have surely crushed my skull to bits if I hadn’t ducked out of the way just in time.

Another punch came, and then another, but somehow I managed to evade them all.

She was strong, and quite obviously skilled, but no match for the woman I had made a habit of sparring with daily. Her swings seemed slow and almost clumsy in comparison to Ice’s sinuous fluidity.

Still, I kept my eyes open and my hands poised, ready to try my best to deflect anything I wasn’t quick enough to dodge.

Then a huge foot, topped by a tree-trunk sized leg, swung out to connect right at the nerve center of my right thigh. My leg gave out and I went down, quickly rolling away through the straw-strewn floor to evade a flurry of further kicks.

Just as I was about to trap myself in a corner, her foot slipped and she almost went down, her arms pinwheeling wildly for balance. Taking advantage of the opportunity presented, I stopped my roll and jumped back to my feet again, stiffened fingers working desperately to loosen the cramp she’d given me.

The knife glittered up at me through the straw on the floor, but after only a second of consideration, I looked away from that particular temptation. Never again would I go down that road.

Seeing my hesitation, she pounced, easing in and walloping me with a kick to the gut that, though partially blocked, sent me stumbling backwards for several feet while gasping for breath. I hit the wall, then bounced off, managing to evade her wild left to my head as I did so.

When the right followed, as I knew it would, I threw my hands up, catching her at the elbow and using a little move Ice had taught me to spin her away from me and into the wall I had just moved away from.

She hit it with a force to rattle the timbers, then turned, slightly dazed and badly out of breath.

"Talk to me, Rio," I said, circling away from her and back toward the shadowy part of the stables where there was much more room. "Tell me why you’re doing this."

Gritting her teeth, she pushed away from the wall, then kicked up the knife which laid at her feet. "Shut up and fight, bitch," she growled, stepping forward and slashing wildly at me.

I danced away. "I am fighting, Rio. I’m fighting to understand why you’re doing this." I evaded another slash, then ducked around the corner, using the maneuver to kick out at her as she came around to get me.

While my original goal, the knife in her hand, was missed, I did manage to get her a good on in the gut, which brought me precious seconds to regroup.

"Ice taught you to be an Amazon. Did she also teach you to come after unarmed women for no reason?"

"You don’t know anything about what she taught me!"

"Oh, I think I do," I countered, circling. "Because she taught me the same things she taught you."

"You’re not an Amazon! You’ll never be an Amazon!"

"How can you say that? You don’t even know me, Rio."

We continued to circle one another in and out of the shadows, the knife always between us, and my eyes never straying from it.

"Oh, I know all about you, bitch. I know that you’re no Amazon. An Amazon doesn’t suck the life out of people. An Amazon doesn’t make people weak and soft."

"Who have I done this to, Rio?"

"Ice, goddamn it!" she screamed, her face red with rage. "Even you’re not that stupid!"

"Maybe I am, because I still don’t understand."

"It’s all your fault, bitch. It’s your fault Cavallo’s still alive. It’s your fault she got arrested. You made her weak. You made her soft." Each short sentence was punctuated with a thrust of her knife. "The Ice I know wouldn’t play house with some blonde snatch and let the cops get the jump on her. The Ice I know would never have let Cavallo go after she had her gun to his head. The Ice I know..."

The click was loud in the echoing confines of the large stable. I froze in place as I saw the glittering silver of a gun materialize out of the shadows and press its malignant barrel against Rio’s right temple. "Go ahead and finish what you were saying, Rio." The dark, velvet purr of my lover floated out of the shadows, causing every hair in my body to stand at stiff and almost painful attention as my muscles clenched and unclenched in pure animal reaction to her sudden presence. "The Ice you know... what?"

Rio was as stiff as I’d ever seen another human being. Her eyes were wide and rolling, and the dim lighting of the stables sparkled off the fat beads of sweat forming at her hairline and upper lip. Her mouth opened and closed, but only a strangled wheeze managed to escape. I could literally smell her abject terror, even over the heavy scent of hay and horses.

"Go ahead, Rio. Finish."

Another strangled wheeze was her answer.

A soft, mocking laugh filtered through. "What’s the matter, Rio? Cat got your tongue? You seemed just fine a minute ago."

"I..."

"Ice," I said softly, taking a short step forward. Though it might have been insane, I found myself suddenly having a sort of strange sympathy for the woman who’d been trying to murder me just moments before. "Please..."

"Well, since you don’t want to talk to me, Rio, maybe I’ll talk to you instead, hm?" The gun disappeared back into the shadows where my lover stood, and a black gloved hand grabbed Rio’s shirt and turned the terrified woman to face in Ice’s direction. "Apparently you’ve forgotten a few things I’ve taught you, my friend."

"Ice..." I tried again.

"Rule number one. Never pick up a knife unless you plan on using it on someone." A booted foot slashed out of the darkness and the knife flew from Rio’s hand, spinning over my head and landing in a hay bale several feet behind me.

"Rule number two. Never threaten an innocent woman."

Rio’s breath exploded from her lungs in an agonized croak as she bent nearly double from the fist Ice drove into her belly.

She was quickly yanked back up once again, however.

"Rule number three." The soft, dark laugh sounded again. "Ah yes. I never mentioned rule number three to you before, did I? No matter. Now’s as good a time to learn it as any, right?"

I could see her huge body spasm as she was shaken, hard.

"Rule number three. It’s the simplest of them all, really. Touch Angel. You die. Got it?"

Rio was shaken again when she remained silent.

"I asked you a question, Rio. Answer me."

"Yes," she whispered. "I... understand."

"Good." There was a smile in Ice’s voice, but I knew that it was a smile I would never wish to see. "Now, it seems we have a little problem, don’t we. You broke Rule Number Three, and it’s the most important one of all."

"Please..." Rio and I spoke at the same time, but Ice continued to ignore us both.

"It occurs to me that instead of threatening Angel, you should be on your knees thanking her, Rio. Because if it weren’t for her ‘softening’ me, your brains would be splattered all over this stable. And I think we both know that, don’t we?"

Another silence. Another vicious shake.

"Don’t we?"

"Y…yes."

"Good. So. I’m gonna be nice just this once and let you use your ‘get out of Hell free’ card. Just make sure you never, ever even think of doing it again. Because I promise you this, Rio. You will die."

As if shot from the mouth of a large cannon, Rio literally flew the length of the stables, landing against the far wall and slumping bonelessly to the ground.

The stables went silent once again, and for a very long moment, I feared Ice had slipped away once again. Somehow, though, I could still feel her presence. That strange sensation I always felt when she was there persisted, giving me hope and the strength I needed to cross those last few feet and step into the shadows.

Before I could, though, she stepped out into the light, birthed from the darkness as if demon-spawned. Her pale eyes glittered coldly and a cloud of energy dark as the shadows from which she’d materialized wrapped itself tight around her like a shroud.

She was dressed completely in black, her hair pulled back into a tight braid which brought the beautiful, chiseled planes of her face into sharp relief.

"Ice?"

Almost as if pulled from the depths of a nightmare, her gaze sharpened and focused on me for the first time. And then, before my own eyes, it seemed to soften as she took me in. The tight, coiling energy surrounding her seemed somehow to dim, and the slightest of smiles graced her lips. "Hey," she said, her voice little more than a whisper.

Satan himself couldn’t have stopped me from running into her welcoming arms.

Crushing our bodies together, I wrapped myself around her like a strange, four-limbed octopus, breathing in the scent of her and listening to the slow beating of her powerful heart beneath my ear. "Don’t go," I whispered, knowing I was begging, but not caring. "Please stay."

Her long arms came around me, strengthening our bodies’ embrace, and I could feel the gentle brush of her lips against my hair. Her ribs expanded as she took in a deep breath, then expelled it as a gentle sigh which ruffled through my hair, warming my scalp.

A moment later, I felt her muscles loosen as she gently separated our bodies along their lengths. Her chin lowered slightly as she looked down at me. "Please," I whispered again, laying my hand atop the one which cupped my cheek, "stay. At least for tonight."

The intensity of her gaze stripped bare my soul, leaving me a trembling supplicant to her dark majesty.

When those eyes zeroed in on my lips, I felt a flash-fire of arousal sweep through me with an almost painful intensity, calling up from deep within visions of dangerous, wild things which lashed out from their penumbral lairs to feast upon the blood of innocents.

A gloved hand moved to my chin and suddenly that dark, roiling energy was transferred to me through the searing touch of hot, wet, hungry lips moving against mine, consuming me to ashes where I stood.

"Stay here." Her voice was husky and raw and wanting as she pulled away from me, from us.

I couldn’t have moved if I had wanted to. My feet had grown roots which fastened me to the dirt-packed floor. I watched, helplessly, my fingers brushing lips which felt nothing save the power of Ice’s kiss, as she crossed from light to shadows and back to light again, walking with firm purpose toward the back of the stables.

Bending down, she pulled Rio easily up by the front of her shirt, then ducked close to whisper something in my erstwhile tormentor’s ear. Though I couldn’t hear what was being said, the look of dumb, pathetic gratitude in Rio’s eyes as she nearly bowed deep in my lover’s presence gave me all the information I needed to know about that particular conversation.

She was sent stumbling from the stables, an arm clutched hard against her belly. Ice turned, her eyes quickly scanning the building’s interior. A brief smile crossed her face, and before I could think to move, a blanket-roll came sailing forth from the darkness, only missing my head because my hands happened to get in the way.

I looked down dumbly at it for a moment, and when I looked up again, Ice had disappeared.

The fear that she’d left broke my legs’ paralysis, but before I could take more than a few stumbling steps forward, she returned again, astride the blood bay stallion I’d spent so many hours admiring.

She rode him barebacked, her powerful legs gently resting against his muscled sides, her long fingers twined in his dusky black mane. He held her easily, not even twitching with the weight on his back, as if he had been born and bred for that very purpose.

His neck proudly arched, he looked down at me, his dark eyes alight with some sort of half-amused knowledge. Or perhaps it was mischief. As I’ve said previously, my knowledge of horses is quite minimal.

He stepped strongly forward at Ice’s gentle command, and the next thing I knew, a gloved hand had clasped me securely and I was lifted onto his back with an ease which never fails, to this very day, to both awe and thrill me.

"Hang on," came the low-voiced command as my hands were wrapped around Ice’s lean waist, the bedroll crushed comfortably between us.

"Forever," I whispered, resting my cheek against her back as she urged the stallion onward and out of the stable.

The corral gate was open, and since I knew it hadn’t been that way when I entered the stables, I surmised that it was one of the little tasks Ice had sent Rio on when she pushed her on her way. With a soft "Yah!", Ice sent us on our way, and my gentle hug became a hanging-on-for-dear-life white knuckled death-clutch as the earth flew quickly beneath the horse’s galloping hooves.

"Oooo I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die. I don’t wanna die. Ohhh nooo, I don’t wanna die."

I could hear the chuckle rumble through her as she clasped my hands more tightly in her own and let the stallion have his head. Soft tendrils of hair blew loose from her braid and brushed against my nose and cheeks, reminding me of happier times, and calming me right down to my soul.

Closing my eyes, I burrowed my face into her hair and allowed the scent of her to lead me onward into the unknown.

Some time later—frankly, I was too terrified to bother knowing exactly how much—the stallion’s frantic gait changed to a steady rocking walk, and then to a gentle halt.

Before I knew it, I felt my arms unwrapped from around the waist of my anchor. Then strong hands lifted me and lowered me gently down to the ground once again. Prying my eyes open as I attempted to gather what remained of my wits, I looked around, taking in the beauty of the secluded spot Ice had chosen for us.

And secluded it most definitely was. A three hundred sixty degree panoramic view brought with it no signs of civilization whatsoever. We could have been on the moon for all the life I saw.

Sentient life, that is. Tall, soft grasses with feathery tops grew in abundance atop the broad, flat mesa upon which I found myself. Overhead, the sky was an immense, jeweled tapestry. Without lights to dim its splendor, nor buildings or tall trees to shrink its vastness, it seemed to fill up the entire world in a way I’d never seen before, making me feel very tiny and very insignificant in comparison.

A long, warm body wrapped itself around me from behind, halting my reflexive shiver unborn.

I was hugged briefly, then had the blanket roll taken gently from my hands. As I looked on in silence, Ice unbuckled the straps from the roll, then set the blankets out on the ground, going down to one knee to smooth them out and tack them down with a few judiciously applied rocks to the corners.

Then she looked up at me, the barest ghost of a smile caressing the corners of her lips, and held a hand out. Moon-bathed, her face was a curious combination of gentle light and murky shadow, but her eyes, clear and bright, were the only home I ever needed.

I went to her, feeling strangely innocent; a bride on her wedding night accepting the gentle invitation of her betrothed.

A large, gloved hand clasped itself warmly around mine and a gentle kiss was placed atop my knuckles. Her smile broadened then as she looked up at me, that crooked grin that even now never fails to still my heart for the briefest of moments and always brings an instant answering smile to my own face.

"C’mere," she whispered, her voice barely heard over the gentle hiss of the wind against the tall grasses.

I lowered myself slowly to my knees, feeling the soft leather of her hand trail warmly up my arm and down my side to clasp securely at my waist, steadying me.

I looked up at her, my goddess of the night, as the moonlight anointed her from behind and created a brilliant, shimmering halo around her body. The expression of absolute adoration in her eyes as she looked down at me stole the breath from my lungs and the strength from my muscles.

The world around me ceased to exist. Time was only measured by the beating of my heart. "I love you," I said simply, in a tone I knew was very close to awe.

Truer words were never spoken; dearer words were never meant.

"I know," she returned in kind.

We came together as one being then, emerging from the darkness of our separate selves to meld once again in a language neither of us needed to speak. A language of love and building passion. A language of giving and taking and intimate knowledge. A language which eased hurts and filled to overflowing the empty spaces left behind.

Lips met lips in sensual urgency as hands fumbled at buttons and buckles. I almost screamed in relief as my shirt was torn open in a great rending of seams which echoed through the still desert night, borne up by the currents of the softly blowing wind.

Chill air was replaced by the inhuman heat of my lover’s hands as she teased and taunted, running long, strong, and vastly knowing fingers over my breasts and circling my nipples with merciless abandon until I all but cried out my surrender.

A low chuckle filled the night air, and I was eased gently onto my back as her lips left my mouth and blazed a hot and needy trail down the length of my jaw before finally settling at the sensitized flesh of my neck. My hands fisted the coarse blankets beneath me as strong teeth made their presence felt and a darting tongue danced along my pulsepoint, causing stars the heavens had never seen to begin dancing behind my tightly clenched eyes.

"Dear god," I gasped, and writhed helplessly as her hands left my breasts and moved lower to remove the impediment of my jeans while her teeth and tongue continued to work their magic on my trembling flesh.

A moment of panic froze my movements as I felt her body leave mine, but when I opened my eyes, a hard, sharp wave of intense arousal swept through me, stronger by far than any tidal wave that had ever been birthed from the depths of a churning, frothy sea.

A silver-gilded goddess knelt above me, her nimble fingers removing the last of her clothing and allowing the moonlight to trail along her magnificent body in a lover’s possessive touch.

I couldn’t stop the moan which came forth from between dry lips as I watched her hands run freely down her breasts and belly, following the moonlight’s anointed path and making me wish with all of my being to be given the power to shine down on her so intimately, if only for just a moment.

With a growl I didn’t even know I had in me, I bolted upright and wrapped my hands around her waist, stealing her from the moon’s embrace and bringing the wild, primal beauty of her into my arms, where it belonged.

I heard her quiet moan as I nipped and licked the satin skin of her muscled belly; felt her hands twine in my hair as my tongue found a home in the well of her navel; smiled against her skin as her hips thrust gently forward in unmistakable response to my attentions.

Unable to wait even the length of one more beat of my heart, I lowered my chin to trail ardent kisses down her lower belly, and to seek out the scent and taste of her, something so missed and so needed and so very much cherished that tears formed in the corners of my eyes for the sheer joy of finding it once again within my reach.

And then, finally, after so long waiting and wanting, the taste of her was finally on my tongue. I moaned in utter bliss, hearing the soft, answering moan from above as Ice’s fingers tightened in my hair while her hips began a slow, gentle rocking which brought more of her into my mouth and filled me with indescribable, heart-clenching joy.

My hands wandered down from her waist, over her hips, and down to clench the tightly bunched muscles at the backs of her thighs. I could feel those muscles quiver beneath my palms as she tried to fight the combined hold that gravity and my mouth had over her.

Smiling slightly, I redoubled my efforts, pursing my lips and taking her deep within as my tongue danced against her, long and slow.

The trembling in her legs soon became violent tremors. Her hands clenched reflexively, the incredible strength of her pulling me tightly against her and driving my tongue deeper and then deeper still.

Until finally the edge was reached and, with a long, low moan, she released against my tongue in a great, shuddering wave which brought tears of happiness to eyes long used to sadder emotions.

Her legs gave out, finally, and I helped her down as best I could until she was sitting back on her heels and looking at me with an expression of half-dazed wonder, hands laying limply on her thighs.

A giddy sort of joy rose from my up from my belly and curved my lips in a wide grin. "Gotcha, didn’t I," I said, mock-buffing my nails against my chest.

"That you did," she growled, her crooked smile broadening my own. "That you most certainly did."

I laughed, a gleeful chuckle. "I’ll have to remember to write this down, then. It’s not often that I..."

Any further words were swallowed as a six foot ball of naked, sexual heat seared my lips with her own and powered me once again onto my back. "Turnabout is always fair play, sweet Angel," a low voice rumbled into my ear. "And I intend to...  play... a great deal."

I would have gulped, had I the saliva for it. Instead, I gasped, then moaned as a tongue traced a path around my ear, followed quickly by the gentle bite of teeth which suckled and worried at my lobe. Her hand wandered, once again teasing my breasts, finding each nipple with unerring intimacy until it was all I could do just to remember my own name for the fire she was fanning deep within. "Do you like this game, my Angel?"

"Yes, I... god!... there!...  I . oh!. .do. Very... oh yes, please... much.... "

Her laughter rolled through me. "Good."

My body was the sun, burning hot and bright as her hands remapped its peaks and valleys, never stilling, never lingering too long before moving on in their quest.

Her body was the moon, bathing me in its magnificent radiance.

And when she finally entered me, thrusting with a strength and a tenderness which were hers and hers alone, I gave up a sobbing prayer of thanks to the heavens which birthed us and brought her back to me, fully whole, fully strong, and fully alive.

My release came quickly beneath the tender mercies of her skilled and knowing touches. The second was building before the first even died out.

I needed more, needed the power of her love, and she gave it willingly, not stopping even after a second climax left me breathless and shaking.

I felt her strength against me as she moved to straddle one of my thighs, her breath warm and moist on my sweat-drenched cheeks. "I love you, Angel," she whispered, as she began a gentle rocking against me, building a rhythm between our bodies. "So very, very much."

Turning my head, I captured her lips with mine, sinking my hands into the thickness of her hair as our love and passion built strongly once again. Our bodies, wet with sweat, slid against one another with a delicious friction. The coarse fabric of the blanket created a friction of its own as it slid against my back and hips in time to Ice’s ever increasing thrusts.

Radiant energy passed from one to the other of us, binding us closer still, until finally our mouths separated when the need for air became too much. Her eyes glittered as she thrust herself against me, soft grunts speaking their own passionate language to the depths of my soul and beyond. Her fingers danced within me as she moved, inviting me to share this journey to the stars with her.

"Together?" I whispered, gasping deep as my muscles clenched and tightened, promising the release my very soul hungered for.

"Always," she answered, feeding me her own climax through the deep indigo of her eyes.

We stayed frozen for a long moment, two statues locked together by an unbreakable bond, until finally Ice’s eyelids fluttered and closed and she slumped down full upon me, chest heaving as she regained her breath.

As I attempted to bring my own breathing back under control, I turned my head and nuzzled the sweet flesh at the juncture of her neck and shoulder. I smiled slightly as I felt a shudder run the length of her body, then kissed the spot in question, eliciting a smaller, but nonetheless easily felt, tremor.

Growling slightly, she pulled away and turned, using her arms to gather me close against her, breast to breast and belly to belly. "You alright?" A tender kiss was placed, like a benediction, on my forehead.

"I’m... wonderful." As if she couldn’t tell it by the dopey, blissed-out grin I was sure was on my face.

"That you are," she said, chuckling.

"You’re not so bad yourself, sweetheart," I replied in my most saucy tone, only wanting to hear that laugh tickle my ears again.

I was well rewarded as her low laughter filled the cool night air, warming my insides right down to my toes. Unfortunately, the same could not be said about my outsides. As the cool wind wafted across my sweat-soaked skin, I shivered from the chill.

"Cold?" She pulled me more tightly against her body, enveloping me in the heat of her.

"A little."

A long arm detached itself from my waist, and a bare second later, I was wrapped in one of the blankets, snug as a babe in her mother’s warm arms.

"Better?"

"Mmm. Much."

"Good."

As I listened to the slowing beat of my lover’s heart, my eyelids grew heavy as I found myself in a place filled with wondrous beauty and infinite peace, a place only found within the safety of Ice’s embrace.

As I drifted in this place, my mind wandered from thought to thought until one stood out and caused me to stiffen. "Ice?"

"Mmm?" came the contented murmur of my lover’s sleepy voice.

"As much as I can’t believe I’m saying this, do you think maybe we’d better go back now? Before Montana calls in the National Guard, I mean?"

"All taken care of." I felt her stretch against me, then settle back, tangling our legs together and taking in a deep, contented sigh.

I pulled my head back slightly to look up into her eyes. "Rio?"

"Rio."

I nodded, then nestled into her warm body, smiling slightly as I felt her rest against my hair. "Thank you, by the way."

"For what?"

"Being my knight in... um... black cotton."

Snorting softly, she shook her head, her chin brushing gently along the top of my scalp.

"How long were you there?"

"Since before you came into the stables."

Shock ran through my body, and I pulled away again to look up at her. "Then why...  ?"

She shrugged. "You were handling it."

I could feel my jaw hang suspended, like that of a gaping fish, as I continued to stare at her. Though a woman of relatively few words, sometimes those she chose to utter made me feel more than fifty feet tall.

Smirking slightly, she brought a hand up and gently closed my mouth. "Don’t want a scorpion crawling in there."

If any threat in the world could have broken the spell I was under, it was that one. Had Ice not been holding me, I would have jumped clear up to the moon. Though I’d never seen one up close and personal, my hatred of scorpions was already legendary, if to no one other than myself.

And now, apparently, to Ice as well. "Don’t worry. There aren’t any around here."

I could feel my eyes narrow. "How do you know?"

"I just know," was the soft-voiced reply.

"Alright then. But if I get stung on the butt, you know who’s going to be sucking the poison out."

"With pleasure." Her tone of voice caused me to think that perhaps finding such an insect was suddenly quite high on her list of priorities.

I grabbed her in a tight hold. "Don’t even think about thinking about it."

An evil little smirk was her only answer.

Stealing a kiss from her lips, I laid my head back down against her shoulder, reveling in the smoothness of her skin against mine and the scent of our loving which surrounded us both. The brush of her fingers against my hair as she started a slow, gentle stroking caused yet another smile to break out across my face. I knew, without any sense of false modesty whatsoever, that I was the most loved and cherished person in all the world at that very moment in time.

A moment I hoped would last an entire forever’s worth of forever.

After several long moments spent in silence, listening to the gentle hiss of the wind against the grass, my mind turned back to other things. Less pleasant things. Things that had no business being spoken of after what we just shared—and were continuing to share—but nevertheless just wouldn’t go away.

Ice must have felt the change, because her hand stilled and she pulled away just far enough to look into my eyes. "What is it?"

I laughed to keep from crying, and she knew that too, because her eyes narrowed and her head tilted as her hand came up to cup my cheek.

"What Rio said back in the stables," I said through a tremor in my voice, "was it true? Did I make you soft? Weak?" I sighed heavily, lowering my head so as to avoid looking into her eyes. "So much of this is my fault."

The hand on my cheek lowered to grip my jaw, forcing my gaze back up. Though her touch remained gentle, her eyes were anything but, reminding me of nothing so much as the roiling black clouds which preceded a midsummer’s furious storm. "Don’t you... ever... say that... again."

"But..."

"Never. Do you hear me?" Her body, once sated and soft, was now hard and stiff with anger.

I felt her stiffen further, fury literally radiating from every pore, and as I felt her muscles begin to move in what I knew was a prelude to escape, I did the only thing my heart would allow. I threw myself on top of her and held on as tightly as I could. "I’m sorry," I said, half sobbing. "Please, don’t leave. I’m sorry. Please."

After a long moment of intense inner struggle, she relaxed somewhat beneath me, though her eyes still blazed out their anger.

"I’m sorry. I should never have said something like that. I don’t know why I did. Please..."

When several more moments passed in silence, I sighed and rolled away, berating myself internally for picking the exact wrong time to forget how to keep my damned mouth shut.

As if agreeing with me, the wind blew harder suddenly, and even though I was still half covered by the blanket, it was as if I was naked to the world without the living heat of my lover pressed so close against me. I fought against the forming shiver, but it came anyway, making me even more miserable than I already was.

Not more than a second later, I was once again enfolded in wonderful warmth as she eased up behind me, grasping me tight and pulling me close. "Never doubt my love for you, Angel." The low, serious timbre of her voice hummed through me, warming me even more. "Never doubt yourself. Never doubt the gifts you’ve given me."

Her arms tightened their hold around my body. "You haven’t made me weaker, Angel. You’ve made me stronger. You’ve taught me how to feel again. And how to love again." My scalp tingled from the kiss she pressed onto it. "You are a gift beyond price to me, Angel. And anyone who doesn’t believe that, or can’t accept it... can just go straight to Hell." I felt her chest and belly press against my back as she took in a deep breath of air, then let it out slowly. "And if need be, I’ll put them there myself."

Tears trailed down my face. "You’re... incredible."

"’You’re not so bad yourself, sweetheart.’"

The mimicry was damn near perfect and my laughter flowed freely, easing the last of my soul’s somber aches.

Turning easily within the nest of her arms, I pressed my lips to hers in a kiss of profound gratitude which quickly grew into something stronger and more passionate.

The sounds of laughter and tears were slowly replaced by the soft sounds of loving in the cool of a sweet desert night.

*  *  *

The house was tomb-silent as I stepped inside and closed the door gently behind me. Pushing up the sleeves of the too-large shirt Ice had given me to replace the one she’d ripped to shreds (and let me tell you, the added benefit of seeing Ice sitting astride that stallion in nothing but her jeans and a smile more than made up for the destruction of a one-time favorite shirt) I broke out of my bliss-induced haze just long enough to wonder at the silence and chance a look around.

Nearly a dozen women looked back at me from their places on the couches and chairs in the sunken living room. The expressions of awe on some of the faces caused me to whirl and look behind me, thinking that perhaps Ice had reconsidered and decided to spend the night after all.

But no, the door remained resolutely closed, and I remained alone and standing on something which was quickly coming to resemble a stage.

A piercing whistle shattered the unnatural stillness, and when I whirled back around, I saw Cowgirl coming to her feet, a knowing and incorrigible grin on her face. Throwing me a wink, she brought her hands together and started clapping.

Others stood, joining her, and soon the entire house was filled with wolf whistles, thunderous applause, and comments ribald enough to sear the skin from my face.

In a state of embarrassment more acute than any I’ve ever known, I whirled around again, intending to charge right back outside to escape the spontaneous combustion which was threatening to consume me on the spot. Only to find the way blocked by a leering Pony and a grinning Critter who stared at me, arms crossed against their chests and feet spread wide against any possibility of an escape.

"Don’t make me hurt you again, Pony," I half-growled as I slapped away the hand which was intending to turn me around to face the music, as it were.

"Ooo. More butch lessons from Ice, I see." Her leer grew more pronounced as she tried again. "Were they before or after she..."

"Pony...  ," Critter warned, seeing the glint in my eye.

"C’mon, Critter! It ain’t every day someone survives a knife fight with Rio and goes riding off into the desert to get banged by Ice, ya know. I’m just expressing my admiration here."

Critter barked out her laughter. "God, Pony, you are so damned crude."

"I call em like I see em, babe."

"Keep calling ‘them’ like that and you’ll never see ‘them’ again," I warned through gritted teeth.

"Enough!"

Turning at the sudden silence in the room, I saw Montana and Corinne striding toward me, identical expressions of serious resolution on their faces. "Everyone to bed." Montana ordered, sweeping the group with her lancing gaze. "Now."

With some good-natured protesting, the group broke up and filtered through the house to return to their rooms and bed down for the night.

"Don’t you have things you should be attending to?" Montana asked as she arrived at my side, pinning Pony to the door she was guarding with a very pointed look.

My friend paled slightly, then blushed, ducking her head very much like a chastised schoolgirl. If there was a pebble on the ground, I think she would have kicked it. "Yes."

"Then I suggest you attend to them."

Muttering something a touch too soft to be easily comprehended, she spun on her heel and took the ready escape I had been seeking just a moment before, closing the door swiftly behind her.

Corinne closed the distance between us, took my hand, and gently ushered me through the house and into my own room, Montana trailing silently behind. Once the three of us were safely ensconced in my room, Corinne released my hand and smiled. "Are you alright?"

"I didn’t think it was possible to die from embarrassment," I said, chuckling slightly. "Now I’m not so sure." I ran my hand through my still damp hair. "But yeah, I’m alright."

Reaching out, she gave me an "around the shoulders" type hug, something most unusual for her. When I looked up as she pulled away, her eyes twinkled and she fingered the fabric of the black top I wore.

I could feel my eyes widen when the realization sunk in. I couldn’t help but grin. "Who knew there was such a pile of warm mush beneath that granite exterior?" I joked, enjoying the blush which briefly suffused her face.

Easily evading her kidding slap, I turned my head to see Montana studying me intently. I felt a blush of my own coming on, and thanked god that the shirt I was wearing, high necked as it was, covered what was no doubt a multitude of sins.

"Are you sure you’re alright?" she asked.

"Pretty much, yes. Is there a reason you’re asking?"

"Do you want to press charges?"

I could feel my head cock as I looked at her. "For being kidded? I don’t think you can arrest someone for embarrassing you. Can you?"

"I was speaking about Rio," she replied with an air of exaggerated patience.

"Oh. Rio." I could feel the bridge of my nose crinkle with distaste. Still... "Um... I don’t think that’ll be necessary. I think she’s pretty much learned her lesson, don’t you?"

"This isn’t about learning lessons, Angel. She came after you with a knife. She could have killed you."

"She could have, yes. But she didn’t."

"Again, you’re missing the point."

Holding up a hand for quiet, I sank wearily down onto the bed. "No I’m not, Montana. I understand your point. And your concern. Believe me, I do. It’s just that..." Steepling my fingers together, I sighed, then looked up at her. "I think people are entitled to second chances. She made a mistake, and I know it was a big one. But it was a mistake just the same. In the end, she realized her mistake and no harm was done."

Corinne snorted. "From what I was given to understand, Angel, Rio didn’t exactly ‘realize’ her mistake on her own. She had it beaten into her."

"She didn’t..." I sighed again. "Ice was very angry."

"And she had every damn right to be," Corinne growled.

I looked up, surprised. Swearing was very unusual for her. As was growling.

"What? She’s just lucky Ice stepped in. Were it me, I would have killed her. Then asked questions."

Smiling slightly, I reached up and took her hand in mine, giving it a fond squeeze. "So no, Montana. I don’t want to press charges. I think that whatever crime she committed has been more than paid for already."

After staring hard at me for another long, tense and silent moment, Montana finally nodded. "Fine. I’ll have her pack her things and be out of here by sunrise." Then she turned to leave.

"No! Wait. Montana, that’s not necessary, is it?"

She turned back to me, a strong sheen of regret easily evident in her eyes. "Rio has broken every oath she has sworn to uphold, Angel. She’s turned the Amazon name into a mockery. That’s not something I can just overlook, no matter how much I might wish to."

Corinne, beside me, looked thoughtful. "Perhaps if she was stripped of her membership, yet allowed to make restitution with the possibility of regaining her status within the group?"

Montana frowned slightly, but after a moment, her expression cleared. "You’ve given me something to think about, Corinne. I’ll let everyone know of my decision in the morning." Looking at me, she smiled slightly. "I’m glad you weren’t harmed, Angel. You’re a very special person."

"Thanks," I replied, returning her smile. "You’re pretty special too."

As soon as the door closed quietly behind her, I let out the deep breath I’d been holding and fell back onto the bed, my feet still planted firmly on the floor, my arms flung wide. "God. What a mess."

"It could have been worse," Corinne observed, coming to sit down beside me and shoving one of my arms out of the way.

"True. I could be lying dead in a pile of horse manure right now."

Chuckling softly, she grabbed my hand and gave it a pat. Reaching out with her free hand, she again plucked at the long-sleeved black shirt I wore, rubbing the fabric between her fingers. "So...how was she?"

"Corinne!" My shock was, of course, feigned. This was Corinne, after all.

"Now whose mind is in the gutter, hmmm?" Her grin was merciless. "I simply wish to know how she’s doing, Angel. Not what she’s like in bed. I have a pretty good idea of that already."

Moaning, I covered my face with my hands, feeling the heat of embarrassment warm the skin of my palms. "Is tonight ‘Kill the Blonde’ night and someone forgot to mention it to me?" As plaintive wails went, it was a pretty good one, if I do say so myself.

She laughed, then ruffled her fingers through my hair. "So?"

"She’s... good. I think those months in jail affected her more than she’s willing to let on—she’s lost a bit of weight—but otherwise, she’s doing alright."

"Now tell me something I don’t know," she teased.

Pulling my hands away from my face, I sighed. So much for snuggling down under the covers and letting the memories of the wonderful night I had just spent with Ice lull me to sleep. Rolling over to my side, I tried a diversionary tactic. "We really didn’t spend that much time talking, Corinne."

"Nice parry, Angel. And I just might be willing to buy that load of fertilizer you’re trying to sell. If it was coming from anyone else. Now spill it."

"Can’t it wait until tomorrow? Please? I’m exhausted." Maybe the old ‘end around’ would work.

"I’ll just bet you are, my dear." Nope. Didn’t work.

"Fine," I said, rolling back onto my back. "What is it you want to know."

"Everything you do, of course."

Chuckling, I shook my head, eyeing her. "Is that all?"

"Pretty much, yes."

And so I told her everything I knew, which wasn’t, of course, very much at all. I explained to her how, by Ice’s telling, Cavallo was a small cog in a very big wheel. The spokes of that wheel were made up of bribery, kickback schemes, money laundering, jury tampering and other like crimes all situated within the judicial arm of the state government. Not only was Cavallo himself participating in many, if not all, of the criminal activities taking place, he was also, it was believed, in possession of a very important list. A list which contained the names of many of his co-conspirators, some of which he was also practicing his own extortion schemes on in return for his silence in those matters.

A very special, very secret probe, made up of members of the Commonwealth bureaucracy, was very interested in what Cavallo knew. Very interested. And they figured that if they could just get a hold of him, they could make him crack.

"That doesn’t sound very plausible. They already had their chance at him. He didn’t crack."

"Oh, but he did, Corinne. Ice said he sang like a canary."

"Then why...  ?"

"He was under the influence of narcotics at the time. They’d just finished plucking eight bullets out of him, remember?"

"Ahh yes, now that you mention it."

"So, his statements were inadmissible as evidence, and by the time they got around to trying again, his lawyer had him trussed up and gagged and that was the end of that."

"Well, if they want him so badly, why don’t they just get off of their fat posteriors and hunt him down themselves?"

"Believe me, Corinne, I asked that question a time or ten myself."

"And?"

I shrugged. "Ice guesses it’s because they don’t know who the good guys are anymore. That’s not the reason they’ve given her, but it’s the one she thinks is the truth."

"They don’t even trust their own?" Corinne’s eyes were round with disbelief behind her glasses.

"Makes you think, doesn’t it."

She shook her head. "And they call us criminals."

I laughed softly, though in truth, the situation was as far from amusing as it was possible to get.

"So, they offer Ice a deal she can’t refuse and set her up as a tasty little sacrificial lamb."

"That’s about the gist of it, yeah."

"And if she should fail..."

A leaden ball settled itself into my stomach. Failing was definitely number one on my list of things not to even consider.

Corinne gazed at me with eyes filled with compassion. "Forget I said that."

Nodding, I gave her a grateful smile, shoving the notion to the deepest recesses of my mind, where it would linger and, I was sure, come out in nightmares, each worse than the last until a cold sweat would become my nightly companion.

Giving my hand a final squeeze, Corinne stood up and smiled down at me. "Thank you for indulging my rampant curiosity, Angel. I’ll leave you to your dreams. May they be sweet ones."

"Thanks, Corinne. Yours too."

Her gentle smile became a leering grin. "Living in a house surrounded by a bevy of naked bathing beauties? How could they be anything but?"

As she gently closed the door on my laughter, I dragged myself up from the bed and walked to the window, pulling the heavy blinds aside just enough to look out into the dark desert night. "Thanks," I whispered before turning away slipping under the covers, allowing the scent of my lover still clinging to the shirt I wore to lull me into the place dreams were born.

And they were sweet.

PART 4

THE NEXT SEVERAL days passed quickly and, I’ll be the first to admit, almost without notice, wrapped up as I was in a haze of sweet memories. After learning of Montana’s decision to allow Rio to stay on, albeit without her membership in the Amazons, part of me wanted very much to finally clear the air with my one-time nemesis. Every time I thought to approach her, however, Pony or Critter would sweep down and give the poor woman yet another back-breaking chore to accomplish.

Still, on the few occasions our eyes chanced to meet, her expression was one of such supreme sorrow and regret that I felt my heart going out to her in a way it had never done for the people who had tormented me in the past. So I made myself a firm promise that we would get together and talk. Soon.

Early one afternoon, as I was making my way from the house to the stables, a bit of commotion stirred the women walking the grounds, and when I turned around to look, a dusty pickup was pulling the last several yards into the driveway.

As soon as it stopped, an attractive young woman—blonde, with a California tan and a beaming smile—hopped down from the cab. Seemingly from nowhere, Cowgirl blew by me and, with a loud whoop of joy, leapt into the woman’s arms, pinning her against the truck and melding their lips together in a kiss which sent the already warm temperature up another ten degrees.

"Cheeto," came Montana’s voice from behind my right shoulder.

Turning my head, I looked at her, a question in my eyes.

"Don’t ask," she replied, smirking.

"Probably best that I don’t," I agreed.

After a very long, heated moment, the strangely-named Amazon—at least I assumed she was an Amazon, though her parents could well have been flower children with a fondness for Frito-Lay products for all I knew—released Cowgirl, grinned broadly, and waved to the rest of us.

Then, walking over to the passenger’s side of the truck, Cheeto opened the door and helped a young woman exit the cab, holding the woman’s arm until her feet gingerly came into contact with the ground.

A gasp went through the small crowd of onlookers as the young woman looked up, tucking a length of light brown hair behind one ear and smiling shyly at the gathered women.

I heard my own gasp join the rest as I saw the tragically marred beauty of the woman before me. Dark eyes peered out through swollen, blackened flesh. Her cheeks were puffed out to what I believed to be at least twice their normal size, the left one sporting a knot the size of a cue ball. Ugly black bruising stained the skin of her jaws and neck, where it disappeared beneath the collar of her shirt.

"Bastard." The snarled epithet came from somewhere behind me, and I could feel the crowd’s anger radiate through the yard.

The young woman dropped her gaze, her hand wandering, birdlike, to her throat. If it weren’t for the horrific bruising which covered her face like some demon’s patchwork quilt, I’m sure her blush would have been readily seen.

From beside me, a woman stepped forward, taking the stranger into a tender embrace. As if breaking a dam, others came forward, and still others, until the woman was surrounded by a circle of support.

"Her name is Nia," Montana explained, low voiced, as I looked on, my jaw hanging agape. "Unfortunately, she’s an all too frequent visitor to Akalan."

"Who did this to her?"

"Her husband."

"Oh no," I half-moaned, half-whispered as my mind was suddenly deluged with scenes I spent long years trying to forget. Scenes of Peter standing over me, teeth clenched in an animal’s snarl, eyes bulging, hands tightly fisted—waiting to lash out... waiting... waiting... waiting.

I closed my eyes against the strength of those images, then opened them quickly when the small group of women brushed by me, Nia safely ensconced between them.

"Are you alright, Angel?" Montana’s voice was soft with concern.

I turned a weak smile toward her. "Yeah. Just dealing with some memories."

She nodded sagely, but remained quiet.

"You said she’s been here before?"

"Many times, yes." Now her voice held a note of deep sadness.

"The same man...  ?"

"Yes."

"So why does..." But I trailed off, the question unfinished. It was the same question I’d asked myself a million or more times in my own life, and one for which there was no ready answer. Did she feel trapped, as I had, with nowhere to turn? Did she feel somehow deserving of his fists, his fury? Did she believe his tearful recriminations, his promises to do better, his pleas for just one more chance to show his love?

I’d believed each and every one of those things in my own marriage. And though it shames me now to admit such things, back then, it seemed my only chance for survival. The woman I am now would never, I hope, accept the lies nor cower before the cruelties, but the woman I was then felt she had no choice in the matter.

Hindsight is, as is often said, viewed through perfect vision.

After a brief squeeze to my shoulder, Montana left me alone with my thoughts.

*  *  *

Nighttime came quickly and, as I was settling down for some well-earned rest, a soft knock came to my door. "C’mon in."

The door opened slowly, and Nia peeked in, freezing as soon as she saw me. "Oh. I’m sorry. You’re getting ready to sleep. I’ll just..."

"No, that’s alright," I replied, hastening to sit up. "Please. Come in."

"Are you sure?"

My heart breaking at her timidity, I gave her my brightest smile. "Sure I’m sure." Pulling my arm from beneath the blankets, I patted the bed. "Make yourself comfortable."

"I... um... just came to see if I could borrow some toothpaste. I... don’t have any and I...  kinda saw your light on under the door."

"Help yourself," I replied, gesturing to my toiletries laid out neatly on the dresser-top.

With the bearing of a beaten dog, she made her way over to the dresser, retrieved the requested item, and after looking at me for another long, assessing moment, finally sat down gingerly on the bed, as if expecting me to kick her off at any second..

"I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. I’m Angel."

Keeping my smile as bright and friendly as possible, I slowly extended my hand, watching as wary eyes took the gesture in. After a moment, she wiped her own hand off on her pants and extended it to meet mine. I began to clasp it gently, then stopped, looking down.

Only by the grace of some beneficent god was I able to keep the gasp in my throat. Though a woman I knew to be younger than myself by at least two years, her hand had the look of a crippled octogenarian beset with a horrible case of arthritis.

I knew without asking, however, that no disease laid its touch on those once supple fingers. Rather, they were deliberately broken and then refused treatment, left to heal as best they could. The end result was a crooked tangle of swollen joints only vaguely resembling the hand it used to be.

Noticing my stare—how could she not?—Nia smiled hesitantly, and retrieved her hand. "I... got it stuck in a..."

"Don’t," I whispered, on the verge of tears. "Please."

"Don’t what?" she asked, her expression the very picture of innocence. An innocence I wasn’t even close to buying.

"Don’t lie. Not here. Not to me. Please."

"But, I’m..."

"Please."

I watched as her shoulders slumped and her head bowed. "Maybe I should just go."

"Is that what you want to do?"

She looked at me for a long, silent moment. "No. Not really."

I smiled again. "Then stay."

Her smile was tiny, but it reached the dark of her eyes. "Alright. Thank you."

We sat in silence for a moment as I cast about for a conversation opener. "So... have you settled in ok?"

The smile broadened. "Yeah. The Amazons are so nice. They always make me feel at home here." She looked down at the bedspread, tracing an abstract pattern on its surface. "And safe, too." Then she looked back up at me. "You’re one, aren’t you? I think I remember them talking about you the last time I was here."

"Good things, I hope."

"Oh yeah. Very good things."

I grinned. "Guilty as charged. So to speak."

Her hand went up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear—a nervous gesture that I well recognized, having done the same thing a million or so times myself. "If you don’t mind my asking, what did...  ?"

"I killed my husband."

Amazing how I could state that without any inflection in my voice whatsoever.

"You k... For money?"

I caught myself laughing. "Not quite. We didn’t have two nickels to rub together between us."

Her eyes were round within their swollen, black mask. "Then why?"

Could I speak of this thing aloud? Could I let it see the light of day in a way it never had before? Even with Ice, I had never spoken of it. It was something which was intuitively known, resting comfortably between us, yet not needing to be explored. A pink and purple elephant which grew smaller with each passing year.

In the end, however, I didn’t seem to have much choice in the matter. It was almost as if fate had decreed that I save my story for someone who really needed to hear it. And it appeared that person was Nia.

"He was raping me at the time," I replied in a voice I scarcely credited as my own.

"But... that’s impossible! You were married!"

Though a thousand sharp retorts entered into my mind, I found I couldn’t utter even one. Not to a woman who had endured just as much as I had, and probably even more. "Rape is rape, Nia," I said, in the softest tone I could manage. "It really doesn’t matter who’s doing it at the time."

"But how...  ?"

I shrugged. "He wanted something I wouldn’t give him. So he took it." My gaze turned inward, viewing a movie meant for my eyes only. My arms came up to cross my chest, my hands gripping my shoulders in a hug of solace against the memories. "I didn’t mean to kill him. I just wanted him to stop. But..." Tears threatened, but I fought them back, heaving a great sigh and letting it go. "He just wouldn’t listen."

"What happened?" Her voice was timid, unsure, delicate almost.

The movie continued to play, drawing me back to that night with vivid clarity. The sounds were there. The sights. The scents of alcohol and cigarettes. "I begged him... god... over and over... begged him to please stop... please stop hurting me. He wouldn’t listen." I took in another deep breath, still fighting tears of anger and anguish, trapped in the past as surely as a rabbit in a snare. "A bat... I kept a bat by the side of the bed. He worked nights, and I was... afraid. Afraid that someone would break in and... do exactly what he was doing to me. I didn’t think. I couldn’t....  I just reached out and grabbed it. And hit him. To make him stop, you know?" I felt my fists clench at the bed linen, wadding it up tight against palms wet with sweat. "And it worked. He stopped. He just... slumped down on top of me."

The tears fell, hot and scalding down my cheeks. I lifted a hand, brushing against them almost absently. "I remember not being able to breathe. So I just... pushed... him away from me. I remember him rolling off, like a rag-doll, almost. And I realized, when I looked down at him, that I’d done more than just hurt him."

I looked up at her, wishing with all my heart, mind and soul that the eyes I was seeking out were a pale blue fire instead of the deep, somber brown I was actually seeing.

"I’d killed him."

"No," she whispered.

"Yes. He was my husband, and I killed him."

The look in her eyes changed then, and to my horror, I saw the tiniest spark of speculation brighten their somber depths.

"No," I said, reaching out and grasping her wrist firmly. "No. That’s not even something to consider, Nia. Take it from me. It was the worst mistake I’ve ever made in my life."

The speculative gleam remained, though she tried her hardest to eclipse it with a look of practiced innocence. "There isn’t anything to consider. Richard loves me. He’d never do something like that to me."

I met her stare, suddenly feeling old beyond my years. My hand floated up to her cheek, pausing when she flinched away. "Love doesn’t hurt, Nia. Not like that."

It was as if my words had drawn a veil across her eyes. She stiffened, then pulled away from me, as if I had somehow become suddenly dangerous; a thing to be feared.

And perhaps, in a very important way, I had.

"I think I’ll... go back to my room now. It’s been a long day and I’m really tired. Thanks for letting me borrow this," she said, standing and waving the toothpaste tube. "I’ll get it back to you in the morning."

Like a seasoned general who knows that losing a battle just might mean winning the war, I backed down and gave her a smile and a nod. "You’re welcome. Thanks for coming by to talk. It’s good to meet you."

Her smile became a bit shyer, a bit more genuine. "It’s good to meet you too. Goodnight."

"Night."

Though the house was still and quiet, I spent the night wrapped up in a misery of memories, wishing for nothing so much as a pair of strong, loving arms to hold me close and chase away the demons of the darkness.

*  *  *

The days marched on in their interminable fashion; tin soldiers with no watch-spring to wind them down. Where I thought our night-time conversation would make Nia wary of my company, she seemed, instead, to seek me out, albeit tentatively, much like a child who wants desperately to jump from the high dive, yet can only manage a walk to the very edge before turning and scampering away in fright.

We talked of many things. Her childhood, which was very much like my own, yet very much different as well. Her marriage and life with Richard, the man she called her husband when words like "jailer" and "keeper" would have been much more appropriate. To my mind, anyway. Her hopes and dreams, which seemed to all revolve around this man in one way or another.

In many ways, being with Nia saddened me. It was so hard seeing someone in such a high state of denial, especially when I had been in much the same state earlier in my life. In other ways, though, it showed me just how far I’d come from the woman I used to be all those years ago.

My chores at the ranch kept me busy, and almost before I realized it, another Thanksgiving was nigh. Living on Native American land with a group of women of many different nationalities changed the "flavor" of the holiday, to be sure, but because each and every one of us had something to be thankful for, the festivities went full steam ahead.

I woke up that morning feeling rather out of sorts. I wasn’t exactly sure why until an offhand mention by Corinne brought home the differences between this Thanksgiving and the last, the first one I had prepared with my own hands, in my own home, my lover by my side instead of just in my memories.

Corinne, Critter and Pony tried their best to keep my mind and hands busy, and for a time, I’ll admit that I was able to lose myself in the pleasant tasks that went with a feast’s preparation.

But after the meal was cooked and laid out on the table, after everyone had gathered and thanks were given, I’m afraid that the feast I had spent all day preparing suddenly lost its appeal, especially where my stomach was concerned.

After pushing the food around on my place while trying to give the impression that I actually consumed some of it, I threw my napkin down on the still-full place and made as if to rise from the table, well before even the quickest of eaters had thought to go back for seconds.

A gentle touch to my shoulder made me turn, and when I looked up, it was Montana’s face I saw. "If you’re through, do you have a minute?" she asked quietly.

I nodded quickly, fully expecting to be the first tapped for clean-up duty. I didn’t mind, really, since it was another task which would hopefully keep my mind carefully numb. Holidays without the ones you love most deeply can be the most depressing of days. At least they are for me.

I know that sounds incredibly selfish and more than just a bit petty, and in many ways, it probably is. Looking back over that time through the wonderful gift of hindsight we’re all blessed with, I had so many things to be thankful for. I was free. I was warm, dry and well-fed. I was surrounded by people who loved me and cherished me for who I was. I was safe from harm and free from danger.

Why, then, did I feel so incredibly alone?

Rising to my feet, I followed close behind Montana. Instead of leading me into the kitchen, however, she instead ushered me down one of the darkened halls and into a room I hadn’t yet seen. Soft lighting glowed from a small lamp on an equally small table set next to a deep-set window, heavily shuttered against the blinding sun. The walls were a soft white, the carpet a peaceful pale blue. Bookshelves lined three of the four walls, and several comfortable looking chairs sat to either side of the table.

I loved it on sight.

Walking over to the table, she picked up the handset of a cordless phone, returned, and handed it to me, smiling slightly.

Taking the phone, I stared at her. "What do you want me to do with this?"

Her smile broadened, becoming a grin. "Normally, you put it up to your head and talk into it."

"Fun-ny." Even so, I decided to do as she suggested and put the phone to my ear. "Hello?"

"Hey."

My hand went numb and I felt all the blood rush from my face, leaving me slightly dizzy. "Ice? Is that really you?" Tears clouded my vision, but I didn’t care. I barely noticed as Montana quietly left the study, closing the door softly behind her.

"Happy Thanksgiving, my Angel."

"Oh god, it is you. Hi, sweetheart. How are you?"

"Doin’ alright. How ‘bout you?"

"I’m..." My throat closed for a moment. "I’m crying right now, but otherwise I’m ok."

"Don’t cry, Angel." The note in her voice only served to cause more tears to fall.

"No, they’re happy tears. I’ve just missed you. So much."

"I miss you too, sweet Angel."

The sound of breaking glass came over the line, then, followed by loud, masculine laughter and the slightly discordant strains of music. "Where are you?"

"Mexican cantina," came the succinct answer. "The Yellow Dog, if the missing letters are any indication."

"Charming," I replied, grinning like a madwoman behind my tears.

"Definitely high society."

More breaking glass, more riotous laughter.

"How are... things?" I asked finally, feeling like some absurd extra in a James Bond movie.

"Slow. Cavallo’s on the run. One of my ‘helpers’ tipped off the wrong man." The disgust was plain in her voice.

"Where are your ‘helpers’ now?"

There was a moment of silence, and I pictured her craning her neck to see through the crowd. "About one tequila away from passing out. Again."

"And they’re supposed to be helping you?"

Her snort sounded softly over the phone line. "Guarding me, actually."

"That’s even worse!"

"Not really. It’s better for me when they’re out of my hair."

I sighed. "I suppose that’s true."

A silence settled between us then, though it was a comfortable one. That might seem silly, being quiet over the telephone, but since it was, at that point, my only connection to her, I took it willingly.

"Ice?" I asked when the sounds of laughter came through the line once again.

"Mm?"

"If those guys are as bad as you say they are..."

"Worse."

I chuckled. "Ok, worse. But...  couldn’t you just... you know... give them the slip? Come back over the border? We don’t have to go to Canada. I mean, the desert here is huge. No one would ever find us. And... I really like it here. We could..."

"I can’t do that, Angel," her soft voice broke in.

"But why?" God, did I really sound as petulant as I thought I sounded?

"You know why."

"No I don’t, Ice. I don’t know why. You’ve got a chance to be free of all this. Why can’t you just walk away? It would be so easy."

"For how long?"

That question stopped me dead in my tracks. "What?"

"For how long, Angel? How long do we run? How long do we hide? How long do we look over our shoulders until some other well meaning neighbor does something without thinking? Until Cavallo finds our trail again and tries to finish what he started?" Her sigh was heavy and filled with emotion. "I won’t put you through that anymore, Angel. I won’t put us through that. Not anymore."

"But..."

"No, Angel. Whatever happens, it ends here."

A shiver ran down my spine at the chord of utter resolution in her tone. Running my free hand over a bare arm, I wasn’t surprised to feel the gooseflesh pebbling my skin.

"No more running, Angel." Her voice was hoarse, raspy. "No more."

By some sort of weird telephonic osmosis, the immense weight of that promise came to rest on my soul. It took up the burden gratefully while the rest of me seemed at a loss. "You shouldn’t have to go through this alone, Ice," I whispered faintly, knowing she would hear me. "Not while I’m sitting safe up here. It’s not fair. Not by a long shot."

"I’m never alone, Angel. You live in my heart. Don’t you know that by now?"

Have you ever had one of those moments when you were so filled with absolute, spellbinding joy that your entire body just goes numb from the sheer enormity of it?

I was having one of those moments. I stared at the phone dumbly, as if it had just sprouted wings and was threatening to fly off.

When a loud burst of static shot through the line, I almost dropped it, and by the time I managed to collect my scattered wits and put the receiver back up to my ear, I heard a woman’s voice speaking in very rapid Spanish.

Then the line went dead.

"Ice?"

Nothing, of course.

"Ice? Are you there?"

When the fact that that particular corpse had no hope of being revived filtered through my still-benumbed brain, I slowly replaced the phone back on its cradle, brushing my fingers against the warm plastic just briefly before letting go entirely.

I felt the very tips of my fingers then trail lightly against my lips, as if to seal in a phantom kiss. Her last words to me rolled through my mind over and over, unceasing and powerful as waves crashing against a distant shore.

"Wow," I whispered the four walls surrounding me, my voice as awed as a child’s on Christmas morning.

*  *  *

Some time later, I found myself out past the well-lit courtyard, drawing the darkness around me like a well loved coat. The moon hung pregnant and low. Low enough to touch, I thought as I tried to do just that, my hand obscuring its deep-pitted face for a moment. The night wind was cool upon my skin. I felt alive, awake, aware, much like the desert around me.

A slight scuffle behind me heralded the presence of a nighttime visitor. Took ‘em long enough. I chuckled inwardly, waiting with the patience of Job for my watcher to reveal herself as I continued to stare at the moon.

"Um... hello?"

Smiling slightly, I turned to watch Nia step diffidently to my side, her own smile shy and slightly off-center.

"Hi, Nia. What brings you out here so late at night?"

"They... um... wondered if you were ok. But no one wanted to go and find out for themselves." She shrugged. "I said I’d do it. So, here I am."

"That’s very sweet of you, Nia. But I’m alright. Really." Looking back up into the sky, I breathed deep of the fresh, cool air. "Just enjoying the peace and quiet."

She laughed softly. "Yeah, it’s pretty much of a zoo in there. Everybody’s fighting over who has to do the dishes and what to watch on TV."

"Why doesn’t that surprise me?"

She laughed again, a free and unfettered sound that clashed with the healing bruises on her face. After a moment, her expression became more serious. "Did you... talk to Ice?"

I looked back at her with some surprise. In the several conversations we’d had, Ice’s name was never mentioned.

"That’s what they were guessing back at the house." Her tone became slightly defensive, as if she’d taken my surprise for anger.

"It’s ok," I hastened to assure her. "I just wasn’t aware you knew who Ice was."

"Are you kidding? Everybody knows who Ice is!"

I couldn’t help but laugh at her enthusiasm. "Oh they do, do they?"

"Sure. I mean, you can’t hang around the Amazons for ten minutes without hearing about her. It’s like she’s some kind of god or something."

"She’s not a god, Nia. She’s a woman. An extraordinary woman, perhaps, but a woman just the same."

"That’s not what they say."

Smiling, I put a hand on her arm, pleased when she didn’t flinch away. "Take it from me."

After a moment, she nodded, then craned her neck to look up at the sky. Letting my hand drop away from her wrist, I joined her in her study and a somewhat content silence fell between us.

"Are you scared?"

Her question was so softly uttered that at first I thought it was only the wind. But when I turned my head, I saw her looking directly at me, her dark eyes questioning.

"Of what?"

Dropping her eyes from mine, she studied the dirt beneath her feet. "I... um... heard what she did to Rio in the stables the other day."

I blinked as my mind scrambled for a foothold in the conversation I seemed to be having.

"They say she almost killed her," she continued, still staring at the ground.

"They say that, huh?"

She nodded. "Yeah."

"Rio wasn’t in any danger of dying." I knew that as well as I knew my own name. "Ice was very angry."

She looked up, not quite meeting my eyes. "Because Rio was threatening you, right?"

"Yes. That’s right."

"The Amazons say she’s a very violent woman sometimes."

"Rio?"

"No. Ice."

"She can be." Again, I spoke honestly, feeling no need to sugarcoat a fundamental truth.

This time, she met my gaze dead on. "And that doesn’t scare you?"

A simple question, yes. But the answer was anything but simple. But if that night on the dock, seemingly so long ago, had taught me anything, it was that my perceived fear of Ice was really a fear for Ice. "Not in the way you’re thinking, no," I answered finally, knowing she wouldn’t be pleased with the answer, but having none other to give.

The look she gave me in return was one of patent disbelief and I’ll admit that I felt my jaw stiffen at the seeing of it. "Those stories you told me about your husband. Isn’t being with someone like Ice sort of like jumping from the frying pan into the fire?"

"Nothing could be further from the truth, Nia. Ice would rip out her own heart before she’d raise so much as a finger against me."

"But how can you say that? How do you know?"

When my voice came, it was my heart that spoke the words. "Because she loves me."

And that was the most fundamental truth of all.

After a very long moment, she finally looked away. Her body seemed smaller somehow, as if my words had deflated something she held very tightly within her. "Oh."

Sensing her need to be alone to ponder what I’d just told her, I laid a gentle hand on her shoulder, and when she looked up, gave her the slightest of smiles. "I’m going to go back inside. Will you be okay out here?"

Returning my smile, she nodded. "Yeah. I’ll be along in a little bit."

"Alright then. Happy Thanksgiving, Nia."

Her smile broadened. "You too, Angel. And... thanks. For giving me something to think about."

"Anytime."

As I walked back into the house and prepared myself for bed, another Thanksgiving day passed into the mists of time, with an ending much sweeter than its beginning.

And for that, I was truly thankful.

*  *  *

It seemed that my head had hardly warmed the pillow when I found myself awake again. Craning my neck, I caught the none-too-faint noises of a door closing and feet quickly marching down the hall, sounds which had woken me from my sleep.

Slipping out of bed and tugging my T-shirt down to cover everything that needed covering, I quickly padded across the room and opened my door just in time to see Pony blow, like a hurricane, into the room next to mine. Nia’s room, my mind helpfully supplied as I crossed glances with Critter, who was following close behind, a no nonsense expression setting her face in somber lines.

Shouting, followed by a high, breathless scream vaporized the last of the sleep clinging to my system and, startled, I ran from my room into Nia’s. Pony was standing above the bed, her face brick with rage. In one tightly clenched fist lay the sheet that had once covered Nia’s body. The other hung loose by her side, though her muscles bulged beneath the tight shirt she wore, telling their own story about the state of her anger.

Nia was curled in a fetal ball on the bed, her hands wrapped tight around her head. She was moaning loudly in what I took to be sheer terror.

"Back off!" I yelled to Pony, pushing past Critter and slipping into bed beside Nia. I tried to gather her up into my arms, but at the first touch of my hand, she screamed again and jerked away, rolling over to the very edge of the bed and staring at us all with wide, blank eyes.

"What the hell is going on here?" I demanded, more than a little angry myself.

"Tell her, Nia!" Pony shouted. "Tell her what you did!"

Nia’s only answer was a moan.

"Go on! Tell her!!" The veins in her neck stood out in stark relief against the flushed rose of her skin. "Tell her, damnit!"

"Pony, stop! Please! You’re scaring her to death!"

"She deserves it! She deserves more than that! She...goddamnit!!!" Throwing the twisted sheet down onto the bed, she turned and stalked over to the window, whipping the heavy blinds aside and peering out into the coming dawn.

I turned my head from that scene bestow a totally bewildered look on Critter, the only one among us who seemed to have retained at least some semblance of sanity.

"She called Richard to come and get her. Even worse, she gave him directions to the ranch."

"What??" In utter disbelief, I turned to Nia, who was once again huddled in a tight ball, apparently well past the point of responding to anything. I turned back to Critter. "How do you know?"

"Another Amazon, Tweaker, was with Cheeto in Las Vegas when they picked up Nia. Tweaker stayed behind to make sure Richard didn’t follow them back to the ranch. Last night, she overheard him talking to a group of his buddies, saying that his wife had called him and he was going back down to, as he put it, ‘break the bitch out’." She ran one hand through her hair, sighing deeply. "That was about four hours ago. Tweaker’s tracking them as we speak."

"How many?"

"Six. In three cars."

"Shit."

She sighed again. "Yeah."

Pony turned slowly from the window, letting the blinds drop back into place. "That bitch has put every single woman on this ranch in danger." She laughed mirthlessly. "It’s not like any of us was surprised when she called that overgrown shitbag. She’s done it more times than I can count." Her fists clenched again. "But this... this..." Her jaw clamped down so tightly, I thought her teeth would shatter. "Motherfucker!" She turned back to the window again.

Resisting the urge to get up and try to offer comfort to Pony—a useless gesture in any event—I settled for relaxing slightly and looking up at Critter. "What now?"

It was Pony who answered, however, still staring out the window. "We’re gonna make sure that fucker forgets this place even exists." When she turned to face us, all traces of anger were gone. In its place stood calm resolution. "Critter, wake up Cheeto and have her help get all the women from the cottages in here. Once everyone’s inside, lock the doors and don’t let anybody leave. Not for any reason. Got it?"

Critter nodded.

"I’ll wake Montana and gather the rest of the Amazons. We’ll stop that bastard in his tracks. Understood?"

"Understood."

"Alright then. Let’s get to it."

"What about me?" I asked, slightly miffed at being left out of the plans.

"You stay with her. Make sure she doesn’t do anything stupid." The sneer on her face was quite pronounced.

Feeling myself stiffen, I came to my feet before I quite realized I was even standing. "Pony? Could I speak to you for a moment? Outside?"

Open-mouthed, she looked at me as if I’d grown another head.

"Now."

After a long, silent battle of wills, Pony backed down slightly, nodded brusquely, and stalked out of the room. I glanced at Critter. "Will you stay with her for a minute? I don’t think it’s a good idea to leave her alone right now."

"No problem," she said, favoring me with a slight smile that had more than a touch of awe mixed in.

When I walked out into the hallway, it was to find it lined with women, each with a shocked expression on her face. I looked at Corinne, who was standing closest.

"I’ll help with Nia," she whispered, and I gave her a grateful nod. If anyone had any hope of comforting Nia, it was Corinne. She just has a way of reaching out to the unreachable. It’s a gift, and one I’d gladly pay good money to have.

Ignoring the rest of the women, I followed Pony down the hallway, through the living room and out into the cool dawn. When she stopped, I stopped, staying several feet behind her and staring at a back she had turned to me. "Pony," I said softly.

Her fists clenched and the broad, thick muscles in her back bulged under her shirt, but she didn’t turn around.

"Pony, please."

When she finally turned, her expression was a curious mixture of anger, respect and a curious sadness. "Little Angel’s all grown up, huh?" she said, a bittersweet smile on her lips.

"Pony... it’s not like that..."

"Isn’t it?"

"No. It isn’t."

"Then maybe you could explain it to me, Angel. Because the last time I checked, I was responsible for security here. Which means that in a situation like this, everybody listens to me. Even Montana. Or are you above that now?"

"I’m not above anything. You know that."

"All I know is what I saw, Angel. And what I heard."

I laughed a little. "Funny. I was going to say the same thing."

Dark, narrowed eyes stared back at me. "What do you mean?"

"Pony, do you realize how much you terrified Nia back there?"

"So? You heard what she did!"

"Yes, I did. But do you also realize that what you did to her, how you yelled at her, was probably almost exactly like something her husband would do? I know it’s exactly what Peter used to do to me."

Her lips parted slightly as her eyes widened. Obviously, it was something she hadn’t considered.

"Look. I know you were angry. You have every right to be. What she did was foolish and thoughtless. But it’s also in the past. What we have to do now is to work on some way of rectifying her mistake."

"That’s what I’m tryin’ to do, Angel! Or do you think I’m just givin’ orders cause I feel like it?"

"I realize that, Pony. But..." How to put this tactfully.

"But what?!"

So much for tact. I sighed heavily. "Listen. Keeping Nia locked up here isn’t any better than the relationship you just got her out of. I know you don’t like it. I don’t like it either. It’s dangerous. But the fact of the matter is that Nia did call her husband. And she needs to be given the choice to see him or not. If you take that choice away from her, can you really say that that’s any better than what he would do to her?"

"Sure I can," she replied, sneering. "I’m doing it because I want to protect her, and everyone else."

"And I’m sure that sometime in his life, her husband thought the same thing. Either way, it’s wrong. Nia is an adult. She needs to be treated like one."

"Then she damn well needs to start acting like one!"

I took a step closer. "That’s not for you or me to decide, Pony. You need to let her make this choice. It’s the right thing to do, and I think you know that."

I could see the knowledge come to her face. I could also see, by the set of her jaw and the tenseness of her body, how hard she was still trying to fight it. "I don’t have time to be anybody’s babysitter," she said finally, grudgingly.

I couldn’t help smiling. "You won’t have to. I’ll do it."

"Oh no. No. No. No. No. No. Forget it, Angel. Not a chance in hell."

"Pony..."

"Forget it, I said! No way, Angel. I do that, and I might as well let that bastard husband of hers put a gun up to my head and pull the trigger. At least then I’ll only die once. You get hurt out there, and Ice will cut me up into little bitty pieces, then kill me, then resurrect me, then kill me all over again. Nope. Not happening. Sorry."

"Pony, listen to me."

"Nope. Sorry."

I looked at her, struck with the almost unbearable urge to laugh. I could almost picture her on some playground somewhere sticking her fingers in her ears and shouting "I’m not listening! I can’t hear you! LaLaLaLa!"

I guessed my struggle against laughter must have shown up on my face, because she halted her rant in midstream, planted her fists on her hips, and stared at me. "What’s so damn funny?"

I wiped the smirk off my face, feeling oddly chastised, like a child with her grasping appendage caught in a baked goods container. "Nothing."

"Yeah. Right."

Clearing my throat, I struggled to get the conversation back on course. "At least hear me out, Pony."

"Can you handle a gun?"

"No."

"Then forget it. Period. End of story."

As she turned to leave, I reached out, grabbed her arm, and turned her back to face me. She looked at me, down at her arm, then back up at me. "You know, I’m really getting tired of you doing that to me."

I dropped my hand to my side. "At least hear me out," I repeated. "Please."

Crossing her arms over her chest, she leveled her best glare at me. "Fine. Start talking."

"Nia trusts me. And I think, in some way, she respects me as well. We share the same history. If I take her out there, maybe she’ll be able to see exactly the kind of person her husband is. And maybe she’ll stop going back to him."

To her credit, she was really listening to what I had to say. "That’s a hell of a lot of maybes for you to risk your life like that, Angel."

"You’re risking your life too, aren’t you?"

"Yeah. But I’ll have a gun in my hands."

"And I’ll have twenty women with guns all around me. I think that evens the odds a little." I reached out again, and this time, she accepted my touch. "I wouldn’t suggest this if I didn’t believe it would work, Pony. All I’m asking is for you to have a little faith in me and believe it too."

"And if I don’t?"

"Then I’ll do as you ask and stay inside. No questions asked."

As she looked at me, I could almost see the gears turning inside her head. After a moment, the faintest of grins curved her lips. "You know the name of a good shrink?"

"What?" I asked, blinking at the non-sequitor.

"I think I need to have my head examined."

When the meaning of her words caught up to me, I laughed out loud, crushed her to me in a grateful embrace, and kissed her soundly on the lips. "Thank you, Pony! You won’t regret this!"

Laughing again, I pulled away, turned, and ran for the house.

When I found she wasn’t behind me, I turned again, to find her just where I’d left her, mouth agape, her eyes glassy. "Pony?"

"Bu....  Wa... He..." For a brief moment, I saw only the whites of her eyes, and I thought sure she was about to faint. Then she blinked, shook herself, and looked around to see if anyone had caught her brief lapse into insanity.

Unable to help myself, I laughed again, then completed my trek to the house, grinning like a madwoman.

*  *  *

Stepping inside Nia’s room, I wasn’t surprised to see her safely ensconced within Corinne’s all-encompassing embrace. The dampness of Corinne’s nightgown attested to the many tears shed by the younger woman, and when I softly closed the door behind me, she gifted me with a tremulous smile, her head tight against Corinne’s generous chest.

"How are you feeling?" I asked as I came to sit beside them both, laying a hand on Corinne’s warm arm in thanks.

"A little better now, thanks," she said very softly, her eyes not quite meeting mine. Straightening a little, and wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, she pulled away from Corinne’s hold, still not meeting my eyes. "Listen, I’m sorry about all this. I know you must think I’m some kind of nut for calling Richard."

"I’m not here to judge you, Nia. None of us are. I think I can understand a little bit why you called him. I might have done the same thing, once. That’s not the problem here."

As I fell silent, she finally met my eyes, her own round and dark and full of tears.

Though part of me felt for her, I had to harden my heart just a little. "The problem, Nia, is that your mistake in giving your husband directions to the ranch could put some innocent women in danger. Do you understand that? And why it’s so?"

"But Richard wouldn’t..."

"Stop it, Nia," Corinne interjected, reaching out and tipping the young woman’s chin up, forcing those round eyes to meet hers. "Right now. If you wish to continue to lie to yourself, feel free. But don’t force the burden of those untruths on others who don’t deserve it."

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," Nia mumbled, but I could see that she did, in fact, know. Guilt was written in bold strokes across her face and her eyes wandered downward, despite Corinne’s firm grip on her chin.

Knowing that continuing further down this path would only lead to Nia withdrawing into herself once again, I decided to try a different direction. Summoning up my friendliest smile, I turned it toward her and held out my hand. "C’mon. Let’s get dressed."

Her eyes narrowed, suspicion seen easily within their clear depths. "Why?"

I affected an offhand shrug. "Well, since your husband and his friends are coming down to pick you up, don’t you think it might be better to meet them in something a little more... substantial... than your nightgown?"

That "Angel just sprouted another head" look came back again, directed at me through two sets of eyes this time. I seemed to be getting that look a lot lately. I shrugged again, inwardly. Whatever works.

"You mean you’re just gonna let him waltz right in here and take me?" Nia asked finally.

"Isn’t that what you want?" When I wanted to, I could look very innocent indeed. In the periphery of my vision, I saw Corinne quickly hide a smirk behind her free hand. Ok, maybe not to people who knew me really well. "I mean, you did call him to come get you, right?"

"Yeah," she replied, though her voice didn’t sound quite so sure as before.

"Let’s get a move on, then."

But Nia didn’t move. Not an inch.

"Well?"

"Maybe I changed my mind?"

Corinne snorted. "It’s a little too late for that, my dear."

"Corinne..."

"No, Angel. I’m right. It’s about time we stopped coddling this woman. She’s made her bed. The best thing for all concerned is to let her lie in it. We’ve all had to do it a time or two. Perhaps it’s best to allow her her turn."

Nia straightened. "But maybe I made a mistake! You said you could forgive a mistake!" She was talking to us both, and we both knew it.

It was Corinne who answered. "Forgiveness is one thing, Nia. Forcing others to live with the consequences of that mistake is another matter entirely."

Nia’s eyes brimmed with tears again, and I watched, not without some sadness, as they spilled past the barrier of her lids and trickled down her bruise-shadowed cheeks. "So what do I do?"

I sighed, then held out my hand again. "Do you trust me, Nia?"

After a very long moment, she nodded, sniffling. "Yes."

"Then come on and let’s get dressed."

"But..."

"Please."

Her gaze was timid as she looked from me, to Corinne, and back. "Ok," she whispered, her expression much like that of a condemned prisoner taking her final walk. She took my hand and I helped her to stand, then gave her a gentle push in the direction of her closet. Giving her an encouraging smile, I then turned and made for my own room to change into something more suitable for the occasion.

Since I didn’t have any suits of armor or bullet-proof vests handy, I settled for a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Ok. One of Ice’s T-shirts. I suppose you could say that I’d suddenly developed a taste for larger clothing. Go figure.

When I looked up after brushing out my hair, I saw Corinne standing behind me, her face expressionless. "What?" I asked, turning and laying the brush down on the dresser.

"Please tell me you’re not going out there, Angel."

"I’m sorry, Corinne. I can’t tell you that."

As I moved to walk past her and out into the hallway, she laid a hand on my arm, stopping my forward progress. "Don’t do this, Angel. The others are more than capable of handling that piece of excrement without your involvement. Don’t put yourself in danger when there’s no need."

Turning toward her, I gently removed the hand from my arm and stood with it clasped in my own. "I need to do this, Corinne. Nia trusts me, and maybe, just maybe, I can get her to see her husband through the eyes of reality instead of that little fantasy she insists on putting before the world. She’s made her mistakes, and she’s paying for them, but I think she deserves this shot." I looked down at our joined hands. "I wasn’t able to prevent things from going too far with Peter. Maybe my being there with her will keep her from making the same mistake I did." I looked up at her. "I need to do this. I don’t need your blessing. But I do need your love."

As I watched, her face softened, her smile beautiful and tender. "You always have that, Angel." She squeezed my hand, then let go, giving me a gentle shove out into the hallway. "You’d best get going before I change my mind and do something that will doubtless land me in the ICU, courtesy of Ice’s fist."

I laughed, pressing a quick kiss against her cheek. "Never happen, my friend."

Her return smile was wicked. "Never say never, Angel."

"I’ll keep that in mind," was my retort as I stepped fully into the hallway and went to collect Nia, who was coming out of her own room at the same time. She looked more than a little green around the gills, but when our eyes met, I could see her swallow convulsively, then straighten her neck and tilt her chin slightly in a rather impressive display of confidence.

Smiling, I gently touched her arm. "Let’s take care of business."

As we walked down the hall, we passed a large group of women filtering into the house, some with mild looks of alarm on their faces, others just looking for the first available place to lay their heads, it still being rather early in the morning.

I caught Critter’s eye, and she gave me a brief smile and a short nod before turning away to deal with her charges. Cheeto entered the house as Nia and I left it, ushering still more half-asleep women into the house. She gave us both a small, polite nod before brushing by to continue her duties.

The sky was a stunning blood red as the sun shone its crescent over the tops of the far-off mountain ranges. Looking at it, I wondered if the color was an omen, then shivered internally at my own ghoulish thoughts.

The air was cool and crisp, a slight breeze ruffling my hair and leaving goosebumps in its wake as it brushed gently against my skin.

The courtyard was a bustle of activity, with woman moving to and fro, their faces set with serious purpose. Taking Nia’s hand in mine, I moved out beyond the crowd and headed toward the stables, where I could see Pony and the others assembling.

It was a mixed group of women gathering there—both Amazons and several permanent residents of the ranch, each of whom looked supremely confident and capable, even in the face of what was sure to be a dangerous situation. They formed a single-file line facing Pony, who was kneeling on the ground in front of a long box from which she removed weapons, handing one to each woman in turn as they approached.

I could feel Nia stiffen beside me, her hand becoming warm and clammy as it rested in mine. I turned my head to see her staring at each weapon as it emerged from the box, her eyes wide and frightened. Smiling slightly, I tightened the grip of our hands and started forward again, determined to drag her behind me if I needed to. Thankfully, after a minor stumble, she quickly began walking under her own power.

Just as we were about to reach the group, the corral gate opened and Cowgirl rode out atop her spirited horse. Seeing us, she grinned, tipped her hat, twirled her rifle once in an impressive maneuver, and gently urged her horse into a trot in the direction of the orchard, giving us all a cheery wave as she passed.

A moment later, Montana emerged from the corral, seated astride a truly magnificent dappled gray mare who sported a snow-white mane and tail. Twitching her lips in a semblance of a smile, she touched the brim of her hat in a very Cooper-esque fashion, settled her rifle comfortably against her thighs, and, with a quiet ‘hut’, sent her own mount after Cowgirl’s.

We started forward again and, hearing our approaching footsteps, Pony gave us both a wave and a jaunty grin before standing up and brushing the desert sand from her knees. "Great day for a bloodbath," she joked with a gallows humor I well remembered, if couldn’t quite appreciate, given the circumstances. "We’re just about ready."

Soft footsteps from the interior of the stables heralded Rio’s approach, and when she stepped from the shadows into the newly risen sun with a gun in her hands large enough to bring down an entire herd of stampeding elephants, I’ll admit my heart considered fainting dead away and taking the rest of my body with it.

She stared at me for a long moment, her dark eyes wary and watchful, before apparently realizing why my face was as white as the sun-bleached steer’s head which hung above the stable doors. Blushing sheepishly, she lowered the barrel of her shotgun until it faced the desert floor and held up her free hand, palm out, facing me.

It was then that my lungs remembered what their true purpose was and I took in a grateful breath, happy when that simple action dissipated the dizziness I was beginning to feel.

"Sorry," she mouthed, before turning her attention to Pony and dragging the now-empty wooden box back into the stable.

"Are you ok?" Nia asked.

"Um... yeah. I just... you know... saw... something."

She giggled a little, which relaxed us both. When Rio stepped out again into the sunlight, her gun was pointed carefully at the ground. Our glances crossed briefly, and then she turned, taking her place at Pony’s left shoulder as the women moved out of the courtyard and onto the path that would lead them to the orchard.

I turned to Nia. "You ready?"

Looking up at me, her expression was, by turns, doomed and hopeful. "You don’t suppose I could just... go back to my room and pretend this day never happened, do you?"

"Well, you could do that, yes."

For a brief second, her eyes lit up brighter than a joyful child’s on his birthday. Then she sighed. "But if I keep hiding from my mistakes, nothing’s ever going to get better for me, is it."

"Nobody knows what direction someone’s life will take," I said with as much compassion as I could. "Not even their own. But this seems like a good place to start, yes."

She looked as it she were biting into a lemon. "Somehow, I knew you’d say that."

"Ms. Predictability," I said through my grin, "that’s me."

*  *  *

The shade beneath the orange trees was cool, dim and fragrant. I tried my best to blend in with the thick foliage around me, but I knew that unless these trees were suffering from a spectacular case of fungal rot, my bluejeans and black T-shirt could never be mistaken for part of the scenery. Nia, who was standing by my side as if glued there, was much better dressed for the occasion, sporting brown slacks and a green top. She was so frightened, however, that I didn’t have the heart to tell her that standing next to me was like keeping company with a neon billboard. Or a bullseye.

Squinting against the dappled sunlight that occasionally filtered through the grove, I tried to spot the other women who were ensconced, as I was, within the thick fall of heavy foliage, but it was like looking for a needle in a haystack. Except for Pony, who was standing behind the tree in front of me, and Rio, who was standing across the small road which led through the trees, it was as if the rest of the women had never been there at all.

Standing plastered against me, I felt Nia shift, then shift again.

"What’s wrong?" I whispered.

"I gotta pee," she replied in a five-year-old’s voice as she continued to squirm against the pressure in her bladder.

The only thing that kept me from exploding with laughter was the vivid memory of my own similar situation while waiting to cross into Canada two years before. Some of my mirth must have shown on my face, however, because she scowled at me.

"It’s not funny."

"No, I know it’s not," I hastened to reassure her, "but you’re kinda gonna have to hold it for a little..."

My helpful advice was interrupted by a horse’s quiet nicker. Pony turned to me, her face set. "They’re coming."

Nodding, I looked back at Nia. Her face was chalky white, her expression slightly ill. "I... um... don’t think ‘holding it’ is gonna be a problem anymore."

Resisting the urge to step delicately away from her, I settled instead for a sympathetic smile. "Well, that’s one less thing to worry about, right?"

The sounds of trucks barreling down the unpaved road made whatever she might have said into a very moot point. Feeling her stiffen beside me, I knew without even the slightest hint of a doubt that she was readying herself to bolt. Much as I wanted to restrain her, I knew I couldn’t. Not and remain true to my own ideals, not to mention the spirit and intent of Montana’s ranch.

To my immense surprise, though, instead of fleeing, she simply looked at me. "Please," she whispered. "Don’t... Don’t make me do this. Please..."

"You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Nia," I replied, gently as I could while sparing a glance over my shoulder to track the progress of the oncoming trucks that I could barely see past the line of trees blocking my vision.

"I can’t... I’m so... so scared." Her hands knotted in the fabric of her shirt, twisting so hard the fabric came very close to tearing. "He... He..."

Ignoring the action at my back, I turned my attention fully on Nia, sensing an epiphany in the making.

Her eyes were wide and dark and full of tears as she stared at me, past me, staring at something my own eyes couldn’t see. "He hurts me," she whispered, as if saying it louder would seal her fate.

Blindly grabbing the front of my shirt, she buried her flushed face into my chest. I cradled her to me, knowing exactly what she was going through and crying a little for us both.

Her moans turned to muffled sobs and I comforted her as best I could, all the while tracking the action behind me by sound alone. When the trucks skid to a stop and a door opened, I turned, taking Nia with me, and shuffled forward slightly to a break in the heavy leaves blocking my vision.

It’s amazing how such monsters wear the mask of the ordinary so easily. And that’s just what he was.

Ordinary.

Ordinary face, ordinary body, ordinary clothes. A man you’d pass on the street without looking twice. Without wondering if perhaps he beat the holy hell out of his wife for the unpardonable sin of breathing too loudly.

I strained my ears to hear his voice and was not surprised to hear that it, too, was ordinary.

"Get those horses outta the way, bitch. You’re blockin the road."

"You’re trespassing on private property," Montana coolly responded.

"I don’t see any signs," he scoffed, spitting off to the side.

"There aren’t any," Montana agreed.

"Then who says it’s private property?"

"I do."

"And who are you? The fucking Queen of Sheba?"

"I might be."

"Just let me pass, dyke, before I run you and your fucking horses over."

"I suggest you do as I say and go back the way you came."

Crossing his arms over his chest, he squinted at her. "Or what?"

I heard the shot before I saw Montana’s gun move, and watched as Richard danced away from the puff of desert dust blew up from where his foot had been a split-second before. When he looked up at her, his mouth was a perfect "O" of shock, and for a brief instant, he had the look of a schoolboy just caught with his father’s Penthouse.

"Go home, Richard," Montana said, her voice full and deep and unbending.

"Not without my wife," he snarled, finally gathering his wits about him. "You fucking kidnapped her and I’m not leaving till I get what I came for."

"She wasn’t kidnapped, Richard. You know that as well as I do."

His face flushed red. "Bullshit. You bunch of man-hating dykes kidnapped her like you always do, twisting her mind against me, filling her head with all kinds of shit until she finally gets wise and comes back to me. Now give me what I came for or I’ll burn this place down and all you fucking dyke bitches with it."

"I can’t give you what you don’t own. Go home."

"The fuck I will." Spitting once again, he turned and gestured to his buddies, who were staring at him through the dusty windows of their trucks. "Let’s just go the fuck around. We’ll be in and out before they know what hit em."

This is it.

Straightening, I pulled away from Nia’s death-grip on me and instead took her hand. "C’mon."

"What? Where?"

"We’re going to stop this. Now. Before anyone gets hurt."

Her eyes were wide as saucers as she stared up at me. "We who?"

"Just c’mon," I replied, turning and half-pulling her along behind me.

"Where the hell are you going?" Pony hissed, reaching out to grab me as I strode by.

Ignoring her, I kept on walking, determined to halt this fiasco in its tracks. As if sensing my mood, both horses tossed their heads a little and backed away, leaving me a clear path ahead. I stepped forward, taking Nia along for the ride, until the sun shone warm upon my face. Then I stopped and watched as Richard’s body froze, half in and half out of his truck.

After staring at us for a long moment, a cruel grin twisted his lips and he slowly pulled out of the car, straightening and crossing his arms over his chest. "About damn time. I knew you dykes didn’t have the balls to pull this off. Come on, woman. Get your ass in the car now."

It nearly broke my heart to see Nia cringe before this maggot in the guise of a man. Her pulse was fast and thready beneath the touch of my fingers and her body trembled in fright.

Richard’s cocky sneer turned quickly into a scowl. "You mind what I say, Nia. Get in the car. Now."

"Maybe she’s afraid you’ll beat the crap out of her again," Cowgirl observed from atop her horse.

"Shut your trap, bitch, before I shut it for you!"

"I’d like to see you try it," Cowgirl replied, smirking.

Obviously shaking off the temptation, he looked back at his wife. "Don’t make me come after you, Nia. Your ass is already in enough hot water as it is, making me come all the way down here. Don’t make it worse on yourself." His voice was almost soft, his words almost kind, but the false compassion didn’t even come close to reaching his eyes.

Taking in a deep breath, Nia straightened somewhat and pulled away from me. I nearly panicked, until I heard a word sounding suspiciously like "no" come from her mouth.

Apparently, Richard heard the same thing, because both his arms and his jaw dropped as his eyes widened. "What?!?"

"I said no, Richard. I’m sorry you came all this way for nothing, but I’ve changed my mind."

Disbelieving, I turned and watch as her lips moved. Yes, she was the one saying the words, in a voice that sounded very much like hers, but with something—fortitude, perhaps? desperation? doom?— delivered a subtle change to the tone of her voice; a subtle, but undeniable force to the words she was giving voice to.

Across the clearing, Richard made as if to clean out his ears. His neck stuck out—rather like a turkey’s I thought—as he tried again to stare her down. "I better not have heard what I think I just heard, bitch."

"I’m not coming back to you, Richard. Not now. Not ever. I’m...  really sorry I called you, but... just go now. Please? It’s over."

His face went white, then quickly flushed to a deep red before settling, finally, for a truly impressive purple shade. "It’s over when I say it’s over, you fucking cunt!"

Fists clenched in fury, he closed the gap between us in long strides, coming so close so quickly that I didn’t even have time to get scared. Instead, I found myself watching as he shot out an arm as if to grab Nia by the throat and choke the life out of her.

In a completely reflexive motion, my own arm darted out and stopped his fist dead in its tracks. As if in slow motion, his head turned in my direction, his expression one of patent disbelief that someone—a woman no less—could actually be doing this to him.

My muscles strained against his rage-fueled strength, but the knowledge of what he’d do if I let go made my task, if not easy, at least bearable.

"You better let go of my hand, bitch, before I rip your fucking head off."

Before I could answer, steely fingers bit into my shoulder and I was wrenched away from the scene and into Pony’s somewhat prepared arms.

"You like beating on women, big man?" Rio’s voice roared out. "Why don’t you pick on someone who can fight back, huh?"

Struggling out of Pony’s tight grip, I looked over to see Nia being hugged tight by another Amazon whose name I didn’t know. Quickly, I turned back to the scene unfolding before me.

"Come on, ya cheap little prick," Rio taunted. "Hit me. I dare ya."

Obviously stunned at the sudden change in game plan, Richard’s only answer was to blink stupidly at her.

"Coward," she spat. "What’s a matter, little man? Your balls crawled up inside your asshole, did they?" She said this last as a loud aside, deliberately turning her head toward the rest of us and living him an opening big enough to drive a tractor trailer through.

I almost shouted a warning as he gathered himself and launched at her, but she turned in more than enough time, stopping his advance with a hook to the face that flattened his nose and sent him stumbling backwards several steps, blood spewing from between the fingers now covering his broken face.

That action, apparently, got his friends’ attentions, because the clearing was then filled with the sounds of truck doors opening as seven men stepped out into the light of the day, their expressions murderous.

That sound, however, was quickly overtaken by the music of a dozen Amazons exploding from the trees, their rifles cocked, ready, and aimed at the idiots who thought to help their unfortunate "friend".

"Show’s over, boys," Montana drawled. "Get back in your trucks before the coyotes eat what’s left of you after we’re through with target practice."

If the situation hadn’t been so serious, I would have laughed as the men slipped meekly back into their trucks almost as a single unit, all the testosterone suddenly gone from their puffed up little bodies.

"Well, well, well," Rio remarked conversationally as the last of the men was safely tucked away inside his truck, "looks like your buddies have about as much guts as you do, wife beater. Maybe next time, you’ll pick your friends a little better, huh?" Her laugh was loud in the otherwise silent clearing. "C’mon, prick. Lay one on me like you do your wife. Or ain’t ya got the sack for it anymore."

I watched as her muscles rippled like mercury beneath the heavy denim of her workshirt as her body prepared itself to react in whatever way she demanded. Unlike the last time I’d seen her fight, Ice’s teachings were plain to see in the loose, limber set of her body and the alert cock of her head. "Whatcha waiting for, big man? An engraved invitation? You like hitting women, right? Well, I’m a woman. So hit me!"

With a roar of rage, he came at her, fists swinging furiously. They grappled for a few moments before Richard got in a lucky shot to Rio’s head. His smirk was short-lived, however, as a thunderous right to the gut blasted the air from his lungs and doubled him over, the remains of his breakfast littering the ground between his feet.

"Had enough yet, pussy?" Rio taunted. "Or would ya like to go another round?"

After several long moments, he finally straightened, blood still pouring from his nose like water from a spigot. "Last chance, Nia!" he shouted, to the disbelief of us all. "Get in the damn car, woman!"

No one was more surprised than I was when Nia actually pulled away from her rescuer’s embrace and slowly walked toward her ailing husband. She stopped less than two feet away, and reached out an arm as if to touch him. At the last minute, she lowered it and looked at him instead. "I’m sorry, Richard. I really am."

"Not half as sorry as you’re gonna be, I can tell you that. Now get your ass in the car. Move!"

She slowly shook her head. "No. Never again. You’re not gonna hurt me ever again."

His smile was evil and dark. "That’s what you think."

Whatever he might have thought to do next was interrupted abruptly as a knee came up between his legs and robbed all the fight from his body. Gibbering high in his throat, his hands cupped his injured groin as his legs gave out and dumped him onto the hard desert ground.

"That was for calling me a bitch, you bastard."

Her knee came up again, this time landing against the side of his face and landing him on his back. "And that was for every time you made fun of me and yelled at me and made me feel worthless."

The leg lashed out, again and again, and again, raining blows against his unprotected body as she screamed out every sin he’d committed against her person.

I felt myself move, but Rio beat me to the punch, and in two quick strides, managed to wrap the enraged woman tight against her massive body, pulling her quickly away from the writhing body of her husband as Nia continued to scream her hatred out into the desert.

Two other Amazons came forward and half-dragged, half-carried Richard over to the lead truck, opening the passenger door and shoving his mostly unconscious body inside.

Not more than a split-second passed before the trucks started up and pulled away in a shower of dust and sand.

A huge cheer went up through the clearing, the women shaking their rifles and shouting their triumph for a job well done.

"It’s not over yet, you know," Pony said from her place next to me. "He’ll be back. Not tomorrow, maybe, but soon. We might have won this battle, but the war isn’t even close to being over."

"I know," I agreed. "But at least Nia knows what it’s like to stand up for herself. That’s a pretty important battle to win."

Grinning, she clapped me on the shoulder. "That it is, my friend. That it is."

PART 5

WERE I A novelist, I would entitle this chapter "The Blooming of Nia". Since I’m not, however, I’ll settle for saying that after her confrontation with her husband, a new Nia stood upon the ashes of the old, rather like a phoenix rising up from the flames.

Of course, not all the changes were good ones, but that was to be expected, I suppose. Having married quite young, Nia had lost the best of her teenage years as she suffered beneath the oppressive and dangerous weight that was her husband.

And when that weight was finally lifted, that’s exactly what she became.

A teenager.

The woman who would meekly carry out any task asked of her had suddenly developed an unbendable will, especially when it came to being asked to do things she didn’t particularly care for. And that was a very long list, indeed.

Her favorite expression was fast becoming "you don’t own me, so stop telling me what to do."

Which was, in a way, understandable, given all she’d been through in her young life. It didn’t make putting up with her sudden attitude any easier though, except, perhaps, for Montana, who treated Nia the same way she treated everyone else: with patient compassion and total honesty.

Nia also developed somewhat of a crush on Rio, much to Rio’s acute embarrassment (though truth to tell, the rest of us were quite amused). She followed her around like an overgrown puppy, asking—and at times begging—Rio to teach her how to fight, offering to do chores she otherwise would avoid like the plague, and generally ensuring that Rio walked around looking like she’d just suffered a severe sunburn to the face.

"Please tell me I wasn’t ever like that," I observed one morning as Rio tried unsuccessfully to shoo her unneeded helper away for the third time in as many minutes.

"Never," Critter said from her place next to me on the couch.

"Thank god," Pony chimed in. "I don’t think we ever would have survived it."

"Well, they do make a cute couple," Corinne added, her smirk quite pronounced.

Hearing the remark, Rio turned to us with an expression that was half murderous intent, half heartfelt plea.

Taking pity on this mercurial, moody and sometimes violent woman who I was, nonetheless, coming to see as a friend, I levered myself up from my space on the couch and walked over to Nia, touching her arm briefly. "C’mon. Remember I promised to help teach you how to ride today?"

She turned to look at me as if realizing for the first time that I was even in the room. "Oh. Yeah." was her less than enthusiastic reply. "Can we do that another time? Rio’s gonna..."

"The only thing Rio’s gonna be doing is helping me with the security schedules," Pony interjected, coming to stand beside me. When Nia’s face lit up at the prospect, Pony scowled. "Boring stuff. Really... really um..."

"Boring," Critter finished, nodding. "A yawn a minute. Puts me right out every time."

"I don’t know about that," came a sweet voice from the couch. "I always found them to be particularly..."

Four identical glares convinced Corinne to temporarily shelve that line of thought, and with a slightly wicked grin, she absented herself from the rest of the conversation altogether, to our great relief.

"So, what do you say, Nia? It’s a beautiful day outside. How about if we go on a nice trail ride, and by the time you get back, Rio should be finished with her job."

She looked over at Rio, who nodded vigorously.

"Alright. I guess that’s ok, then."

Grinning in triumph, I looped my arm inside Nia’s and drew her away from her newest obsession, leaving three profoundly relieved Amazons behind.

*  *  *

The next several days passed in like fashion, with Rio becoming very proficient at the game of hide and seek. If her body hadn’t been so large, I would have half-expected to see her stuffed into one of the cabinets under the sink in the bathroom, that being the only place she could have even a modicum of privacy. At least until Nia thought of asking to attend to her there as well.

Christmas was fast approaching, and the prospect of spending it without Ice by my side turned a fairly stable mood into a downright depressed and surly one. Rather than biting the hands that fed and sheltered me, I decided that solitude was the best course of action, at least until I could come up with something better to assuage my depression.

Cleo and I became fast friends. I rode her daily, sometimes from dawn till dusk, taking in all of the treasures that the Arizona desert had to offer. Being out there in the wild without another human being around for miles gave me a strange, but welcomed sense of peace. It was there that I felt free to drop my mask of geniality and scream and rant and rave at the injustices which kept me apart from the other half of my soul.

Oh, I yelled at Ice as well, damning her for that selfless nobility which called her to put my life and my happiness before her own and wound up causing both of us to suffer for it. Even jail seemed a better place than where I found myself, and after three years of freedom, I actually began to look at my time in the Bog with a sense of happiness rather than the dread I was used to feeling.

That scared me, I’ll be the first to admit, but I was truly at a loss as to what to do about it. Speaking to my friends, even to Corinne, about it was out of the question. They each had burdens of their own, and I wasn’t about to add to them by forcing them to accompany me on this journey of self pity I found myself on.

One day, as I was walking back from the stables after an early morning ride, I chanced to see Nia slipping into one of the community cars parked in front of the main house. She must have seen me through the rearview mirror, because as I passed, she reached out the open window and snagged the sleeve of my shirt, turning me to face her. "Hey, Angel! I’m blowin’ this one donkey town for a little while. You wanna come with me?"

"Where?" I asked as I disengaged myself from her rather manic clasp.

Her grin lit up her whole face. "Mexico. I’m in the mood to party!"

I looked at her. "Mexico? As in..."

"You know," she replied, rolling her eyes, "that place south of the border where everyone speaks Spanish and they serve a mean tequila? Whadda ya say, huh? I was gonna go alone, but you look like you could use a little good cheer yourself."

"I... ah... don’t think getting drunk is a really good idea for me right now."

After looking at me for a moment longer, she shrugged and started the engine. "Suit yourself. I’m outta here."

"No! Wait!" I knew I couldn’t just let her go. Not into a land of strangers whose language she didn’t even speak. At least I assumed she didn’t speak it. Not that it mattered, really. Newly borne independence was one thing. Foolhardiness was another thing entirely.

Her eyes narrowed. "What now."

"Why Mexico? Isn’t there someplace around here that..."

"Are you kidding? Look around, Angel. This place is dead. There’s nothing around here for miles. I’m bored and I want some action. So, if you’ll excuse me, I’m outta here."

"Wait! Please! I. . .um..." I scratched the back of my neck, trying to think quickly. "Why not? Sounds like fun. It might do me some good to get out of here for awhile. You know, see new sights, stuff like that. Just wait here till I... get my wallet."

Her suspicion was evident as she stared at me for a long beat before finally blinking and nodding, not without some reluctance, I thought. "Alright. Just hurry up. You’re not back in five minutes and I’m leaving without you."

"Great! Thanks!" Grinning, I jumped away from the car and took off for the house at a dead run. "Be right back!!"

Running full speed into the house, I managed a full-bore collision with Rio, who was getting ready to come outside. Normally, running into Rio would have been akin to running into a brick wall, but with momentum behind me, I managed to accidentally tackle her, sending us both back into the sunken living room where we flipped over the back of the couch and landed, in a tangled heap, on the floor.

"My, my, my," came a dry as dust voice above us. "You really must tell me your secret, Rio. Flash a little brawn and you have women literally falling into your arms."

The woman beneath me flushed a brilliant crimson before scrabbling away from me as if I were the fire and she’d just gotten burned. She jumped to her feet, her eyes darting around the room. "I’m sorry. I . .uh . . I... "

Laughing a little at her expression, I hauled myself up with a little help from Corinne. "It’s alright, Rio. I’m sorry I smashed into you like that."

"Where’s the fire?" Pony demanded, rushing into the living room with Critter close at her heels. Sliding to a stop, she put her hands on her hips and stared balefully at us, obviously trying to piece together what had happened to leave the three of us looking so... rumpled.

"No fire," I hastened to respond. "Just a little accident. I... um... lost my footing."

My glare cut off Corinne’s snicker before it even left her lips.

A horn blaring ended our impasse and reminded me why I blew into the house like a fanged, flying mammal out of the kingdom of Hades in the first place. "Pony, I’m glad you’re here. I need your help."

"What’s up?"

I signed. "It’s Nia. She’s bound and determined to go down to Mexico and she’s not taking no for an answer."

"Mexico?! Why?"

"She’s bored. She wants to ‘party’." My fingers formed sarcastic quotes around that word.

"Damn. She won’t last two seconds down there."

"I know. That’s why I said I’d join her and came in here to find you."

"Shit," Pony replied. "Alright, Rio, you go out there and stall her. Tell her you’ll go with her. Just don’t let her leave till I get there."

"No way! You’re nuts, Pony! I’m tryin to get away from her, remember??"

"Rio... just do it, ok?"

"God damn it," she muttered. "You owe me big time, woman."

"Yeah, yeah. Put it on my tab. Just go stall her, alright?"

With a melodramatic sigh, Rio turned away, grumbling phrases perhaps best left to the imagination.

After the door slammed, Pony turned to look at Critter, who shrugged. "Well, we were planning on going down there anyway to pick up medications."

At my questioning look, Critter—bless her heart—stepped in to explain. "In Mexico, you don’t need a prescription to get prescription drugs. You can just go down to the local drug store and pick up what you need."

"And they don’t stop you at the border?" I asked, amazed.

Critter grinned. "Nope. They tell you you can’t bring back more than a month’s supply, but those guys don’t know what a month’s supply is, so it’s not that difficult."

"Interesting."

"Yup. So, I figure since we were planning on going down there anyway, we might as well kill two birds with one stone, so to speak."

"Great! Just let me get my wallet and I’ll meet you at the car."

"Hold up there, Angel," Pony stated as I turned away. "You don’t need to come down with us. We’ll keep an eye on Nia while you stay up here."

I turned back slowly. "Are you saying I can’t go?"

She sighed. "Look, Angel, I don’t want to fight with you about it. But face facts here. With your coloring, you just scream ‘American tourist’. They’d be after you like flies on horseshit."

"Wonderful image, Pony," Critter said, disgusted. "Thanks."

"Hey! I’m serious here! It’s the truth and you know it."

"What about her?" I asked, cocking my thumb at Critter.

Pony scowled. "That’s different."

"Yeah? How? Because her hair’s blonde and curly and mine’s blonde and straight?"

She sighed again. "Critter, you tell her."

"I would, if I knew what the answer was."

"Fat lot of good you are," Pony muttered.

"I try." Critter’s smile was sweet as sunshine.

After a moment, Pony threw up her hands in defeat. "Blondes," was all she said. Funny how she could make a color sound so much like a curse.

To her, though, it probably was.

*  *  *

Since my only knowledge of Mexico came from honeymoon pictures and episodes of "The Love Boat", I was expecting a country rife with pristine beaches and crystal blue Caribbean waters. In fact, on the way down, I cursed myself roundly for having neglected to bring along a bathing suit.

As is true with life, however, what I was expecting and what I received were two different things entirely.

My first surprise of the day came about when we walked across the border. Where I had expected a few somber looking guards with weapons and a snarling dog or two, I got instead a... turnstile. Unmanned. Apparently, in this part of Mexico at least, they didn’t care what you brought in with you; they only cared about what you brought out.

The second surprise came shortly thereafter, and almost made me turn and run back for the border.

Instead of white sand beaches and beautiful, tanned and oiled bodies, I saw something which could only be Timothy Leary’s version of a carnival midway. A riot of color and a cacophony of sound, streets too narrow for cars to pass through were lined on both sides with booths and hucksters as far as the eye could see in any direction.

Dark men in worn clothing beckoned from the front of each booth, using heavily accented and broken English to lure unsuspecting American consumers to part with their money on a wide variety of less than tasteful merchandise.

Pony was, of course, right, damn the woman. With my blonde hair and fair skin, I seemed to be a magnet for male attention no matter where or how quickly I walked. I was pinched, pulled, patted and prodded as I attempted to pass by inconspicuously.

I might as well have been naked and wearing a neon sign with the word "sucker" plastered across my chest. Things came to a head when two vendors, ostensibly selling woven horse blankets most likely made in Taiwan, each grabbed one of my arms and turned me into a rope in the game of tug-of-war they were holding at my expense.

Rio put an end to it all in her own special fashion, intimidating the hell out of both men (not to mention every single vendor on either side of the street we were on) by yelling something in rapid Spanish, relieving me of my human tethers, and cracking their heads together before dumping them, stunned, into the noisome street.

Then she used her bulk as a human battering ram and got us through the market maze with no further trouble at all.

It was almost as if we’d jumped from the frying pan into the fire, though, when we finally made our way safely out of the incredibly loud and confusing maze of stalls and into the more wide open areas of the town. I’m afraid I then became the epitome of every relatively well-to-do American tourist as I stared around me, slack jawed with shock.

Squalor and absolute, unmitigated poverty was all around me as I stared at the crumbling buildings which made up this small town. People shuffled to and fro, may with the kind of blank stares which only come from hunger and total despair. Many were half-clothed, and most were barefoot.

I suddenly felt very much ashamed of myself, spending long days in self pity while the people around me could only wish to have a life as good as the one I’ve led, rough spots and all. Tears sprang unbidden to my eyes, and I lowered my head so as to keep from drawing even more attention to myself with my unwanted emotional display.

"C’mon," Pony said from beside me, quickly grabbing my arm and hurrying me down a narrow, pitted side street. "There’s a pharmacy right around the corner. We’ll stop there."

Beggars filled the streets, many of them missing limbs, and others with a multitude of open sores running down arms and legs and faces. Several congregated outside the very pharmacy we were headed toward, just feet away from medication which could help them, yet without a penny to their name with which to purchase it.

The bitter irony of the situation caused even more tears to fall until I found myself blinded by them and stumbled along only by the grace of Pony’s firm support.

Turning my head slightly, I could just see Nia through the haze of my tears. She looked both frightened and repulsed by the scene surrounding her, and as I watched, she grabbed onto Rio in a white-knuckled grip that the larger woman didn’t even bother trying to draw away from.

"We need to help them," I whispered to Critter, who came along beside me and wrapped a compassionate arm around my waist. "We can’t just leave them like this. Someone needs to do something."

"We would if we could, Angel. But there isn’t enough money in the world to help these people, I’m afraid. We do what we can, but it’s never enough."

"God," I replied, shuddering.

The pharmacy itself was cool, bright, and surprisingly modern. The woman behind the counter smiled pleasantly as we entered, and greeted Rio with enthusiasm, obviously remembering her from a previous trip. With her clean, pressed clothing and carefully applied make-up, she stood as out of place among the town’s other denizens as a clock would if placed high in the crotch of a tree.

Part of me wanted to rant at the woman for having the audacity to be so well dressed and so well fed while right outside her door, people were suffering and dying in the most horrid of ways. But a bigger part of me kept silent and I damned myself, feeling more ashamed than at any other time in my life.

The transaction was quickly completed, and before I knew it, a box full of medical supplies was pressed into my hands. Pony, Critter and Rio each held their own boxes. Rio led the way out of the store, then did something I will never forget even if I live to be one hundred and ten.

She stopped.

Gently placing her box on the ground, she called to the people huddled in shop doorways. They flocked to her, faces wreathed in joyful smiles, seeming truly human to me for the first time since I’d set foot in the town.

They came to her as if to a Savior, reaching out with grimy, trembling hands to touch some part of her, be it skin or cloth or hair, tears brimming in their dark, shining eyes.

She greeted each by name and touched them back, enfolding some in delicate hugs, pressing kisses to weathered cheeks, and shaking hands with others.

Though I didn’t understand a word of what was being said, I knew in my heart I was witnessing a true miracle.

When she had greeted every last person, she knelt down and opened her box, then began distributing the medical supplies she’d just purchased to the people gathered around us. She seemed to know exactly who needed what and handed each item over with a kind word and a bright smile. There was no jostling, no fighting as each person waited patiently to receive Rio’s offering.

When one box was emptied, she beckoned, and another was placed on the ground until all the boxes, save one, were unloaded, the contents given to the people who needed them the most.

The rest of us helped pass out the supplies as Rio directed us, and were treated to our own smiles and softly spoken words of gratitude. I felt completely unworthy of such thanks, having played no part in this wonder happening around me, but I accepted the gratitude nonetheless, though on Rio’s behalf, rather than my own.

When we were almost finished, I felt a slight tug on my jeans, and when I looked down, a young girl was smiling up at me. Squatting down to her level, I tried my best to ask what it was she needed. Stick-thin arms flung themselves around my neck and a small body nestled into my own as a gentle kiss brushed the skin of my cheek. "Thank you," she whispered in heavily accented English before shyly pulling away and running off to stand behind her mother.

I almost lost it then, and probably would have if Rio hadn’t chosen that moment to stand and dust off her hands.

The small crowd cheered, and amidst many shouts of "muchas gracias!", they dispersed back into the crumbling bowels of the town to leave us standing alone on the street.

I looked over at Rio, a new-found respect shining in my eyes. She blushed a deep red and gave me the smallest of grins before hefting the lone remaining box and beckoning us to follow her yet again.

This time, I went willingly, a much humbled and wiser woman for the incredible gift I’d been given.

*  *  *

After leading us on a seemingly aimless trek through narrow, twisting streets, Rio brought us to an older, and paradoxically better kept, section of the town. The streets, while old, were for the most part clean and in good repair. The businesses lining those streets were brightly lit and pleasant to look at, with wonderful smells emanating from within some of them.

It was to one such building that Rio led us, and I grinned as I stepped beneath the brightly colored awning, its stiff cloth flapping in the mild, fragrant breeze. The entrance revealed a bar that was cool, dim, inviting, and crowded, mostly with men who’s attentions were drawn to a soccer game currently being broadcast on several televisions dotting the bar’s interior. Many of them turned to look at us as we entered and more than a few of the gazes lingered before Rio’s fierce scowl convinced them soccer was a much more important thing to watch than women.

For the first time in their lives, no doubt.

The bartender, a short, rather rotund man with a thick shock of black hair and a bristling moustache which hid half his genial face, came quickly from behind the bar and led us all over to a large, empty table, while speaking all the while to Rio in rapid-fire Spanish.

After we were all seated, he returned with several menus, then with two bottles of Tequila, six shot glasses, salt and a bowl of limes, which he set down on the table in front of us.

"Alright! This is more like it!" Nia crowed as she reached for one of the bottles, scowling as Rio intercepted it and deftly removed the top. Going around the table, she filled each glass almost to the brim before going back to her chair and resuming her seat.

After watching the others prepare the salt and limes, and copying their actions, I was ready as Rio lifted her glass in a toast. "Here’s to swimmin’ with bowlegged women."

Laughing, we touched glasses and, as they say, knocked the shots back after taking a healthy lick of salt. Breathing fire, my eyes watering, I slammed the glass down. Then I picked up the lime, shoved it into my mouth, and bit down, thanking god when the sourness of it cut through the taste of rocket fuel which managed to make its way up to my sinuses.

Bad as my reaction was, however, it didn’t come close to matching Nia’s. The young woman was receiving a thorough back-pounding by Rio as she lay half slumped over the table, choking and sputtering as the others looked on, laughing.

As soon as her breath returned to her, however, she reached out and swiped the bottle, pouring herself a healthy shot and downing it before anyone could think to stop her. Managing to keep her reaction to the shot somewhat under control this time, she sank back into the chair and smirked at the rest of us while wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "Niiiiiice."

While Critter and Pony simply shook their heads and reached for the bottle, Rio looked as if she desperately wanted to throttle someone—preferably the someone sitting to her immediate left. Thankfully for Nia, however, she chose to drink instead.

*  *  *

Never one to feel comfortable in a crowd of men, especially boisterous men, I was surprised to find myself gradually relaxing as late afternoon turned into early evening. Whether it was from the effects of the wonderful dinner we’d been served, or the additional two shots of Tequila I’d managed to down, I wasn’t sure, but never being one to look a gift equine in the cuspids, I simply went with the feeling and didn’t ponder it overmuch.

My five companions were certainly feeling no pain, particularly Nia, who now viewed her little corner of the world through reddened, half-lidded eyes while a goofy, drunken grin seemed to have taken up permanent residence on her face.

Increasingly outlandish tales were being traded back and forth across the table, but rather than participate, I was quite content to sit back and relax, determined to enjoy my brief respite of good cheer while it lasted.

Which, as is almost always the case with me of late, didn’t last nearly long enough.

Seven men, the largest larger even than Rio, entered into the bar, their expressions belligerent. I found myself stiffening in my seat and was pleased to see my companions do the same, except for Nia, who was too far gone to be able to resemble anything other than a limp rag doll at that stage.

"Trouble," Critter muttered to my left, stating the obvious.

"Maybe now’d be a good time to leave," I replied, sotto voce.

"You got that right." Turning, she tapped a bleary Pony on the shoulder, then jerked her head toward the door.

Pony nodded and reached out to shake Nia’s arm. "Wake up, little Miss Sunshine. It’s time to head back home."

Lifting her head slowly off the table, Nia peered owlishly at all of us. "Wha--?"

"We’re leaving."

That woke her up fully. "What? No way! The party’s just getting started!" As if to prove her point, she grabbed the second (or was it third?) bottle of Tequila, brought it to her lips, and upended it, guzzling down a quarter of the contents in a single gulp. "C’mon ya bunch of old ladies! Drink up!! What are you waitin for? Christmas???"

Laughing uproariously at her feeble joke, she slammed the bottle back on the table, which, unfortunately, attracted the attentions of the goon squad steamrolling their way toward the bar.

"This doesn’t look like it’s gonna be fun," Critter whispered to me as they made an abrupt detour toward our table.

"Anyone ever tell you you have an innate gift for understatement?"

Her grin flashed. "A time or three."

"Good. Wouldn’t have wanted to be the first."

A second later, a hand the size of which would have put a Daisy Canned Ham to shame reached for Nia’s bottle and snatched it up, returning it a brief instant later, totally empty. A loud belch blasted over our heads and I swore I saw several carefully tended plants wither and die away under the assault.

"Hey!" Nia shouted as the bottle collided with the table. "Get your own bottle, you..." Turning, she craned her neck back as her chin lifted high, then higher. "Wow. Look guys! A walking mountain of shit!"

Her drunken giggles were cut off when the man reached down and grabbed her by the back of her shirt. Hauling her up out of her chair, he belched once again, in her face this time, before tossing her to his buddies who stood behind him. Then he turned his attention to the rest of us.

A leer barely had its chance to curve his lips before Rio flattened them for him with a sweet right cross to the jaw. His stumble backward into the bodies of his cronies allowed Nia to slip nimbly away. When she was in range, Rio grabbed her roughly by the shirt and shoved her behind her large body. The rest of us closed ranks in a tight formation around her.

Wiping the trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, the walking mountain smiled at us; a smile very much like something I’d seen Ice use on occasion, white and dangerous, like the smile of a shark as it spots a floundering seal. Or, in our case, a group of seals.

"Ohhh shit," Critter breathed.

The group came at us en masse, each more than double our size (except, of course, for Rio, who towered over everyone save the largest of the group). As was usual in these type of fights, the littlest one came for me. While that fact should, perhaps, have threatened my ego slightly, I found myself once again thanking God for small favors (pun intended) and chopping the cocky little banty rooster down a peg or two as he tried to grab for parts of my anatomy which were reserved for someone a lot taller, a lot stronger, and a hell of a lot meaner than he could ever hope to be.

The look on his face as he toppled over from a foot to his chest should have pleased me less than it did, but I went with it, happy to be feeling anything positive at all at that point.

A chair flew past my head, and when I looked up, I saw that the entire bar had erupted into a massive brawl complete with flying bodies and flying furniture.

As my friends seemed to be holding their own quite well, I concentrated on keeping Nia in my sights and defending us both against the onslaught of testosterone-fueled flesh which came after us, fists clenched and teeth gritted. It was easier that I’d had a right to hope, and I felt my muscles respond eagerly to their call to action, slipping into time honored rhythms of advance, block, and retreat as if I’d been born to do that very thing.

The fight hadn’t been going on very long when a young man blew in from the outside and shouted loudly into the din. The only words I heard were "prisa!", "amigos" and "policia!". And those words I understood only too well. The brawl stopped almost immediately as the men broke away from each other and dove for the windows and doors of the bar, leaving only a few of us still standing.

Unfortunately, one of the ones still standing chose to take advantage of the brief lapse of concentration the announcement had brought and landed a solid uppercut to Rio’s chin. I looked up in time to see the whites of her eyes flash before she tumbled bonelessly to the ground in an unconscious heap.

Time seemed to slow down then. As I jumped to cover Rio’s helpless body with my own, from the corner of my eye, I saw Nia pick up a miraculously unbroken bottle from our table and grasp it by the neck.

"You son of a bitch!!!!" she shouted, rushing past me before I could stop her and smashing the bottle against the man’s head.

Everything went dark for me then, as my body hit Rio’s, and his body fell on top of mine, making me the unfortunate meat in a rather unappetizing sandwich and chasing the breath from my lungs in an undignified whoosh.

It might have been a second, it might have been a century, but when the man’s body was finally rolled off of mine, I thought I would weep for the simple joy of being able to breathe freely once again. I was hauled up to my feet by the scruff of my neck and stood watching as Pony’s wild, frightened eyes bore down into mine. "Are you alright, Angel?" Her voice sounded like it was coming from the end of a very long tunnel, but as oxygen began to clear the cobwebs from my brain, I nodded.

"Are you sure? How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Um... seven?"

My feeble joke only caused her eyes to widen further and, taking pity on my distraught friend, I laid a hand on her arm and gave it a brief squeeze. "I’m alright. Really. Just a little winded."

Just then, the bartender, who’d spent the duration of the brawl tucked safely behind his bar, rushed up to us, jabbering so quickly, my head started to spin again. "What’s he saying?"

"There’s a back door that leads to an alley. He’s begging us to leave now before the police come," Critter replied, holding on to a struggling Nia. "Goddamn it, Nia, stop struggling."

"Let me go then!" Nia hissed, redoubling her efforts to break free.

"Not a chance. We’re getting out of here."

"Not without Rio!"

"She’s coming with us," Pony stated, looking back at me. "Can you help me with her? She’s too heavy for me to carry by myself."

"Just tell me what to do."

"Grab her feet. I’ll grab her arms. We’ll drag her until we get outside. Then we’ll figure out something else."

"Too late," I heard Critter shout a split second before the doors blew open and what seemed to be an entire army of Mexican police entered, their guns drawn and pointing in our direction.

"Motherfucker," Pony grunted, dropping Rio’s hands and raising her own.

In a word, that pretty much summed it up.

*  *  *

"I don’t feel so good."

"There’s the toilet. Go puke in it."

"I don’t know why you’ve got such a pissy attitude. If it wasn’t for me, tall, dark and gruesome would have finished your ass for sure!"

"If it wasn’t for you, we wouldn’t be in this fucking mess in the first place."

"Says who?"

"Says me."

"Yeah, well who died and made you God, huh?"

Closing my eyes, I rested my head back against the crumbling cement wall that made up my new, and hopefully temporary, home—a prison cell. Rio and Nia had been at it since Rio’d regained consciousness in the back of what passed for a police van in these parts and I was trying my level best to get their voices out of my head before I really did something to earn my stay here.

As if reading my mind, Critter leaned over to whisper in my ear. "Wonder how long a term murder gets around here?"

"I heard that," Rio growled at Critter, and received an abbreviated peace sign for her troubles. Her scowl deepened.

I felt something tickle my hand, and opened my eyes just in time to see a cockroach the size of a sparrow skitter across it in search of more hospitable surroundings. "I hate bugs," I said through gritted teeth.

"Welcome to Chez Roach Motel. Ya check in, but ya don’t check out."

"That’s not even close to being funny, Nia," Critter remarked.

"Sor-ry!"

I looked over at Critter. "You know the saying ‘be careful what you wish for’?"

"Yeah."

"Remind me to have it tattooed across my forehead when we get out of here, ok?"

"Easy for you to say," Pony interjected from her place by the cell’s barred door. "You’re not on parole. If we don’t find a way of getting out of here before something worse happens, me and Critter will wind up back in the Bog faster than shit through a goose."

"We’ll get out of here," I replied with a confidence I didn’t really feel.

She spun around to look at me. "Yeah? How? Gonna get Scotty to beam us out or something?"

"Pony, calm down, please," Critter said. "It’s not Angel’s fault we’re here."

Pony sagged against the bars, sighing. "I know. It’s just...  damn. I just got outta prison. I really don’t want to be back in here so damn soon." Straightening, she returned to wearing a hole in the ground with her incessant pacing.

As a brief silence descended, I looked around the room once again. Three walls of crumbling cement stared blindly back at me, painted in a color that might once have been just about anything, but which time and harsh conditions had reduced to that dirty beige no-color which characterized many a prison cell and cheap motel. Bars made up the fourth wall and brought with them memories which I was trying desperately to fight against receiving.

A splintered wooden bench ran the length of the back wall, and in the far corner, a hole in the ground which doubled as a toilet rounded out the décor. The wet, cement floor was a moving tide of roaches, beetles and insects I didn’t even want to try and identify, even to take my mind off of less pleasant thoughts.

Like what was going to happen to us. Like how we were going to get out of here. Like if I was going to ever see Ice again.

The sound of Nia losing the contents of her stomach brought the distraction I needed.

"Montana knows where we are, right?" I asked Critter, who was staring at Nia with an expression of deep distaste.

"Wha--? Oh. Yeah. Pony told her we’d be picking up some meds down here and we’d be back by midnight at the latest." Sighing, she looked at her watch. "Which is an hour from now."

"So, once she realizes we’re overdue, she’ll put together a search, right?"

"We’d just damn well better be way the fuck gone from here by then," Pony replied, still looking out into the dim, empty hallway.

"Why’s that?"

She turned to face us, her expression serious as a heart attack. "There are plenty of places to bury the bodies on that ranch of hers, Angel."

I gave a nervous sort of laugh. "C’mon, Pony. She’s not that bad."

"No," she agreed, nodding. "She’s worse."

"Worse than spending the rest of our lives in this hell hole?"

Her expression never changed as she turned back around to stare into the hallway once again.

*  *  *

I must have fallen asleep shortly after Pony’s pronouncement of doom, because when I next opened my eyes, it was to find myself crushed between the wall and Critter, who was snoring lightly and drooling on my shirt.

Yawning—and cursing myself for the indrawn breath given the stench sharing the cell with us—I gently removed Critter’s lolling head from my shoulder and eased my tired and stiff body off the bench.

Pony was still awake and still pressed, face first, against the bars, her head turned to face down the long hallway.

"Morning," I whispered, padding over to her and laying a gentle hand on her tense back.

Turning, she favored me with a slight smile before looking back down the hallway again. "Mornin. Sleep well?"

"Not... exactly. What time is it, anyway?"

"A little after four," she replied, not even bothering to check her watch.

I sighed. "Means Montana’s on the hunt by now."

"That’s what I’m worried about."

Yawning again, I rubbed her back and tried to see past the bars. Only a dim, blank nothingness greeted me. "I wonder what time this place gets cracking in the mornings?"

As if in response to my query, a bank of bright lights snapped on, temporarily blinding my dilated pupils with their brilliance. As I rubbed my smarting eyes, I heard the sound of keys rattling, followed by a barred door opening and several sets of booted feet beginning their trek down the tiled corridor.

As the steps came closer, Pony’s already tense back stiffened even more and I heard her gasp slightly for air.

"What is it?" I asked, feeling a tendril of fear curl into my belly.

She turned her head to face me, her eyes huge, her face as white as a freshly laundered sheet. "You know when we were talking about Montana versus spending the rest of our lives in here?"

"Yes..."

"Those..." Her throat bobbed as she took a hard swallow. "...were the good choices."

PART 6

"WHAT’S GOING ON?" I demanded, pushing myself against the bars and craning my neck to look as far as I could down the now brightly lit hall. All I could see were shadows moving steadily closer.

"Never mind that now. Help me get everyone up and ready to move."

"But... ." Whatever I might have said was cut off abruptly as Pony grabbed my arm and yanked me away from the bars. Bowing to the inevitable, I set to waking up Critter and Nia while Pony worked on Rio.

Critter was easy. One shake, and she was wide awake and ready for action. Nia, however, was a different story altogether. Trying to wake her up was like trying to rouse a corpse. Not effective in the slightest, in other words.

Fully awake, Rio took matters into her own hands by simply hauling Nia up off the bench and plopping her, so to speak, on her own two feet, then bracing the younger woman until she could more or less stand on her own.

For awhile there, it was a toss up as to who was the more green: Pony, who looked like she’d spent the night with her head in a bottle, or Nia, who actually had.

With my back to the bars, I listened as the bootsteps came closer and closer until they stopped just outside. A jangle of keys, and then I heard the cell door being opened, its rusting hinges squealing loudly in protest.

Pivoting on my heel, I turned in time to see several large guards file through, handcuffs and belly-chains in their hands. As they entered the cell, they fanned out, surrounding the five of us, their faces expressionless.

"Jesus."

The epithet whispered by Critter took my attention from one of the guards, a brutally ugly man with a thick, red and twisted scar running from temple to jaw, and I followed her line of sight back to the cell’s entrance.

If looking caused Lot’s wife to be turned to salt, it caused me to be turned into rock. Everything in me froze; my heart, my lungs, my muscles, the blood in my veins. An atom bomb could have exploded from an inch away and I would never have known it.

My life stood before me; a vision in monochrome.

From the low, slanted visor of her stiff peaked cap to the tips of her highly polished boots, to the wide gunbelt which coiled around her lean hips like Eden’s tempting snake, to the deep, burnished tan of her skin, she looked like every bad girl’s fantasy come to life, drawn by an incredibly talented hand all in shades of charcoal brown.

Though I couldn’t see her eyes, I knew they were flashing as silver as the mirrored sunglasses which covered them.

The set of her jaw and the tense, coiled power of her body fairly radiated her emotions to those with eyes to see beyond simple (if indeed anything about her could be considered as mundane as ‘simple’) outward appearances.

Anger. And something else. Something more.

Fear.

No, not for herself. Never for herself.

When one considers themselves as living on borrowed time, things like pain and death and captivity hold very little sway over them.

Fear for those they hold dear, however, is a major force which steers the course of their lives.

This maxim holds doubly true for the woman shares my soul. I see it in her eyes every morning when she thinks me asleep and so lowers her guard for those few precious moments. I see it each and every time we make love and her arms come up to enfold me, holding me close as if I were the most cherished object on earth. I see it, too, each night when we slide between the cool, fragrant sheets of our bed and she tenderly kisses me, then spoons against my body to keep me safe from the demons of the night.

I knew that same look was in her eyes then, hidden behind the blank lenses of the glasses she was wearing. Knew it as well as I knew my own name and the sound of my own heart as it beat in my ears. Where others looked and saw rage, I looked and saw fear and so, though perhaps I should have been, I wasn’t afraid.

"Formación y asimiento fuera de sus muñecas. No intente cualquier cosa estúpido o usted morirá."

I marveled at the way the foreign words rolled from her lips like warm honey. Though I didn’t understand a word of what she said, I was enraptured. Not so intent as I at the sound of her voice, but rather the words she was speaking and the meaning behind them, the others hastened to form a line and yanked me into the middle of it. My wrists were thrust upwards, and then cuffed, pretty as you please.

As we stood like soldiers at attention before the Queen, the prison guards wrapped the chains around our bellies and shackled our bound wrists to them. Then we were chained together, and almost before I knew what was happening, we were wordlessly paraded, single file, out of our cell and down the long, featureless hallway.

In short order, we were led through the building and out into early morning darkness. Though the air outside was quite chilly, the fear-induced body heat of my companions fore and aft kept me quite toasty. It wouldn’t have mattered if my skin froze up and shattered, though. What power did the elements when the woman who held my heart stood scant feet away?

A dusty, beaten van bearing the logo of some Mexican government agency stood idling in the cool morning air. Two of the guards opened the rear doors, and with a quick jerk of her chin, Ice started us moving forward again. I stumbled a bit going in, but her strong hand on my back eased my steps, and I wore the touch of her like a brand upon my skin.

When we were finally all in and settled on the narrow bench which ran along the van’s interior, the doors were slammed and locked, throwing us into total blackness.

Five sets of held breaths were simultaneously expelled.

"We’re dead," Pony grumbled morosely to my left.

"Dead as dogshit," Rio agreed to my right.

"Wonderful image, Rio. Thanks," Critter chimed in.

"Can I throw up now?" was Nia’s contribution.

"No!" came the reply. In stereo.

As for me, well, let’s just say I was trying hard to smother my grin, as well as the fire my lover’s simple, innocent touch had managed to spark in me.

And as the truck slipped into gear and pulled away with the feeling somewhat akin to being in a coffee can being shot into outer space, I slumped back against the interior wall and just enjoyed the ride.

*  *  *

An hour or so later (at least, that’s what my kidneys and the fillings in my teeth were telling me), the van pulled to a merciful stop...somewhere. We could have driven to Timbuktu or Outer Mongolia for all I knew, trapped as I was in the back of a windowless van with four women who were trying desperately not to throw up, either from fear or from an overabundance of alcohol. Or both. The stench of it was almost overwhelming, and I found myself wishing for nothing so much as a simple breath of fresh air.

A short wait, and then the doors were flung unceremoniously open, temporarily blinding me with the brightness of the sun as it shone in on the black interior. I tried to cover my eyes, but with my hands bound to my waist, the task was a fruitless one indeed, so I settled instead for squinting.

Ice’s long form cast an ominous shadow over us, backlit as it was from the brilliant sun shining over her left shoulder. I rose with the rest, relieved to finally be standing once again, and more or less followed them—not having much choice in the matter at any rate—into the outside world once again.

Stepping outside, I chanced a look around, taking in only empty desert as far as my eyes could see. Bringing my attention back to the situation at hand, I saw Ice standing in front of Rio with an expression any sane person would characterize as murderous.

For her part, Rio was standing so stiff and so straight it was as if someone had poured molten lava down her spinal canal and allowed it to harden into cement. Her normally bronzed face was ashen with fear and I found my heart, yet again, going out to her.

After a long, lingering look, Ice next moved to Pony, who looked like fainting was a distinct possibility in her very near future. Pony had known Ice longer than the rest of us, and had always held an extremely deep and abiding respect for the woman who was my lover. To disappoint Ice was a fate far worse than death could ever be for her.

Ice knew that and if only to spare her feelings, stepped past after giving her a brief, but significant, look. Nia came next, and though she was trying hard not to show it, I could feel her fear in the trembling of her body.

And then, it was my turn.

Though hidden behind the mirrored lenses of her sunglasses, I could feel her eyes rake over me. My skin tingled, feeling exposed and totally vulnerable to her gaze. Her serious expression didn’t change one iota, and I felt a curious combination of fear and longing flutter through me on butterflies’ delicate wings.

After a long, tense moment, her expression softened just slightly as her hand came up to brush gentle fingers against my cheek.

I felt weak with relief, my legs nearly buckling beneath me. My head tilted upward as hers lowered and our lips brushed together in a kiss of tender welcome.

Thoroughly overwhelmed, it took me a moment to realize that the sounds I thought to be bells were actually chains rattling as Nia struggled to step between us.

"You son of a bitch! What do you think you’re doing? Leave her alone, damnit!!"

Three woman around me gasped as Nia managed to land a glancing blow to Ice’s turned back, and Pony and Rio moved as far away from the young woman as the meager length of their chains would allow, as if she were a plague-bearer and marked for certain death.

Casually reaching behind her, Ice grabbed a handful of Nia’s shirt and easily held her off without breaking the sensual tangle of our lips.

Only when she was good and ready did she pull away from me and turn to deal with the struggling Nia, peering at her over the tops of glasses which she’d lowered slightly. "Did anyone ever tell you that it’s rude to interrupt?" she asked mildly.

Nia’s mouth opened, then closed, then opened again.

"Something you want to say to me?"

"Your eyes... ."

A finely arched eyebrow disappeared into Ice’s hairline. "Yes?"

"They’re so... .so...um...blue!"

Ice just looked at her.

"And you’re...I mean...um...your voice...it sounds...um... ."

Unable to help myself, I burst out in laughter, thoroughly enjoying the young troublemaker’s first taste of the indomitable Morgan Steele. The others looked at me as if I’d grown a third head, which, of course, only made me laugh harder.

After a moment, I decided to relieve Nia of her misery. "Nia, I’d like to introduce you to Ice."

She turned wide eyes to me. "Ice? Ice as in your... . That Ice?"

Grinning, I nodded. "That Ice, yes. Ice, this is Nia, a...friend of ours."

"So I’ve heard," Ice replied, smirking slightly.

In response, Nia flushed a brilliant scarlet and looked as if she wished a giant sinkhole would conveniently appear just beneath her feet and swallow her whole.

Turning her attention back to me, Ice produced a key from her gunbelt and unlocked my shackles. Then she pulled me into a tight embrace, her muscles trembling faintly. The rapid beat of her heart against my ear told me all I needed to know about her emotional state at that moment.

I knew the one thing we both needed at the moment was a bit of privacy, so when she pulled away and placed an arm around my waist, I went with her willingly, and with a lightness in my step which hadn’t been there for months.

Before we reached the vehicle’s long shadow, Ice tossed the key carelessly over her shoulder. "We have some unfinished business," she said, not bothering to look behind her. "Don’t even think of running."

I couldn’t help but grin slightly as I imagined the expressions on the faces of the women behind me.

I had thought, perhaps, that we would step inside the van, but Ice instead turned me so that my back rested comfortably against one of the side panels. Reaching down, she clasped my waist and smiled slightly. "Hey," she whispered.

I tried for casual, at first. "Hey, yourself." Grinning a little, I bumped her knee with mine. "Come here often?"

Gifting me with a dazzling grin, she just shook her head, snorting softly through her nose as she removed her sunglasses and tucked them neatly into her right breast pocket.

Unable to help myself, I threw my body against hers, melding myself to her as I felt those strong arms wrap themselves around me, enfolding me in a living cage filled with warmth, tenderness and love. It was a place I never wanted to leave, so I wrapped my own arms around her lean muscled frame and held on for dear life. Tears came, and I let them fall, heedless of anything save for the beat of her heart in my ear, the feel of her body against my own, and the cherished scent of her skin.

"Shhhh," she whispered, pressing a kiss to my hair. "Don’t cry, Angel."

"But I missed you." It was all I could get out before my sobs made words impossible to form.

"I know, sweetheart. I missed you too. So much."

"Please don’t send me away," I whispered in desperation against her chest. "I couldn’t bear it if you did. Being without you is killing me inside."

Looking back on these words as I write them, I suppose I should feel the flush of embarrassment heating my face. I’ll be the first to admit that I sounded like a small, lost child rather than the strong adult I thought myself to be at the time.

I should, perhaps. But I don’t. All I can feel, clear and sharp as if it were happening now, is and was the anguish lancing through me at the thought spending even one more moment away from her.

She didn’t answer me, which was fine, because I wasn’t expecting one.

After a long, quiet moment, we pulled away at the same time. Reaching out, she tenderly wiped the tears from my cheeks, the look of adoration in her eyes making me feel as tall as a Titan.

"I’m sorry," I murmured. "I shouldn’t be putting any more pressure on you."

She favored me with that wonderful half-smile of hers, that crooked grin that I see every time I close my eyes. "’s ok."

"No it isn’t. But I’m too happy to argue about it now." I felt my nose crinkle as I grinned right back at her, so happy and so much in love that I thought I would burst with the intensity of feeling running through me. I fingered the sharp crease of her uniform shirt. "Do I want to know?"

Her grin broadened. "Let’s just say that Officer Martinez is probably waking up from a nice, long nap right about now."

"Naked."

"Hey! I left his underwear on."

I laughed. "Well, that’s something, I suppose."

She shrugged. "Better than busting you out with my gun. I don’t think they would have taken too kindly to that.""

"Probably not." I looked up at her again after a short pause. "Montana?"

"Through Donita. Who’s rather pissed that you’re out of the country, by the way."

Suddenly embarrassed, I looked down at my dusty boots. "I know. It was stupid. But I had to do something. The waiting and wondering was...well, it was...hard." I could feel tears threatening again, but held them back through sheer force of will. I looked back up at her. "Don’t blame the others, Ice. Pony and Critter both tried to talk me out of coming with them. I just wouldn’t listen."

Shaking her head slowly, she put her glasses back on, denying me the intimacy of her eyes. "I don’t blame them for that, Angel. You made your own decision and I know you’ll deal with the consequences, whatever they might be."

I found myself nodding, though inside, I felt a faint tendril of nervousness seep its way into my belly at the sudden, almost ominous turn of the conversation.

"What I can’t forgive, nor will I forget, is the idiocy of going out to get drunk down here. Medical supplies, I can understand. They’re needed. But unless someone has a damn good reason for walking in to that bar... ."

Her voice trailed off, but I didn’t need to be some sort of psychic Boy-Scout to follow the trail her thoughts laid out. I felt my heart pick up its pace as I watched her stare out somewhere over my left shoulder, her fists slowly clenching and unclenching in time to the muscles in her jaw.

"We didn’t think," I finally mumbled, acutely embarrassed.

She peered at me over the rims of her glasses, her eyes flashing silver. "That’s right."

Without another word being said, she stepped past me and back into the sun as she rounded the van.

Like a scolded puppy, I tagged at her heels and stopped behind her as she halted in front of the rest of our friends. To a woman, their faces were pale as cream, even in the light of the blinding desert sun. Ice’s body was tense and I prepared myself for the explosion I knew would follow.

One we all deserved, myself no less than the rest.

We all were left wanting, however, when she abruptly jerked open the van’s doors and gestured with a sharp tilt of her chin. "Inside. Now."

If those women had been a team competing in the twenty foot dash, they would have won hands down.

"Not you," she said, grasping me by the arm as I attempted to follow my colleagues. "You ride up front with me. The rest of you keep your mouths shut and your ears open. Be ready to put those chains back on if we get stopped for any reason. Got me?"

She slammed the doors closed on their group nod.

Still grasping my arm, though gently, she led me around to the van’s passenger side, opened the door, and helped me in. After I was securely in the rather threadbare seat, she closed the door and walked around to her side, then hopped in behind the wheel.

Still silent, she started the engine, put the truck in gear, and pulled away in a great fan of desert grit.

As we drove down the rutted, half-paved roads, I kept my silence, but couldn’t help stealing glances at her chiseled profile, watching the interplay of muscles as her jaw clenched tight, and at her hands, whose knuckles stood white against the burnished tan of her skin as she gripped the wheel with frightful intensity.

My lips ached to form words that my mouth refused to utter. Words of apology and recrimination. Promises to do better next time. Pleas not to be sent back.

My mind knew, however, what my heart wouldn’t admit. That Ice wasn’t ready to hear my words. That beneath her anger lay a vast wellspring of fear for my well-being and, even, the well-being of the others with us. That anything I might say now would only run up against the stone wall of her anger and fear, and fall shattered to the ground, ignored.

So instead I settled myself more comfortably into the seat and stared out at the blank scenery coming toward me through the windows, trying hard not to cry.

She must have sensed that, though, because after a moment, one hand came off the wheel, reached out, and clasped mine in a tender tangle of fingers. "I love you, Angel," she said, her voice raspy. "Never forget that. No matter what."

"I won’t," I whispered, tearing up.

"Good." Withdrawing her hand from mine, she placed it back on the wheel as silence descended once again, more comfortable because of her gift of love.

*  *  *

We drove on for quite awhile in that silence, with nothing but the silent desert for company. I felt myself getting sleepy, but fought hard against it, wanting to savor every second with Ice by my side. With the thought that perhaps some music would keep me awake, I looked toward the dash, only to see an empty hole where the radio should have been. So much for that....

Swallowing hard, I then cleared my throat. "Where...are we going?"

She spared me a brief glance before returning her attention to the road. "The legal crossing’s too dangerous. There’s an out-of-the-way place I know that should be safe for you to cross back over. We’re almost there." Her voice was quiet, but determined. Whatever emotions she was feeling were carefully concealed beneath the stone exterior she was displaying.

My jaw opened to say something, but another glance from my lover closed it with a clack of teeth on teeth. I sighed, then slumped in my seat, my mind, like a spider, already beginning to spin out this plan or that, all with the express purpose of making myself invaluable to her here. I just had to find the right one.

"Shit."

Though the word was softly uttered, it was more than enough to pull me from my thoughts and plans. "What? What is it?"

"Roadblock."

Leaning forward in my seat, I strained my eyes, but the best I could come up with was a wink of sunlight on metal. I looked over at Ice, then back at the road. "How do you know?" I asked finally.

"I can see it. Straight ahead. About five miles. Maybe less."

Since staring out into the sun was only giving me a headache, I gave up on it rather quickly and simply took Ice at her word—an effortless task, to be sure.

"Is it for us?"

"I can’t be sure. But I doubt it. I left the guard pretty far from civilization. More likely, they’re set up to catch people trying to cross over illegally."

"How do we handle it?"

Her hand came off the steering wheel and to the gun at her hip. Her fingers gently eased the strap away from the holster. "If I tell you, be ready to run."

Her softly spoken words caused a burst of adrenaline to rush through my body, quickening my heartrate and breathing, suffusing my muscles with life-giving energy. I sat up straighter in the seat, only now able to catch the beginnings of what looked to be a good sized line of cars snaking out from a central point on the road in front of us. Off to one side, a patrol car sat, it’s lights flashing and illuminating the desert in a red wash of color.

Something occurred to me, and I looked over at my lover. "Ice?"

"Mmm?"

"If these guys really are just looking for illegals, what are they gonna think of an Anglo like myself sitting in the front of a police van? Unbound?"

"You’ve got a point," she replied, gradually slowing the van until it came to a stop behind the last car. Turning to me, her right hand lashed out in a move too quick to follow, and before I knew it, my shirt was ripped nearly in half, though by some miracle, my breasts were still covered.

Mostly.

"Happy to see me?" Though the situation was dire, I just couldn’t help myself. That little evil spot inside me chose the most perverse situations in which to come out to play.

She gave me a little smirk before returning her gaze to the line of cars in front of her, doubtless trying to figure out the puzzle of the roadblock and leaving me to figure out the puzzle of my suddenly torn top on my own.

Light soon dawned. "Ohhh! You’re gonna play at being the person Nia thought you were, aren’t you. A disgusting pig with a taste for blondes?"

The next glance she shot me was over the rim of her glasses. "Actually, I kept you from being beaten to a bloody pulp by the animals in the back of the van, but if you want to go the sexual prey route, be my guest." Her smile was a predator’s grin, flashing white and full of teeth.

The contradictory sensations which surged through my body amazed even me. I didn’t have time to dwell on them though, as the van started to inch forward, bringing us closer to our unwanted destination.

"Which way do you think I should play it?" Though that might have sounded flirty, I was, in point of fact, utterly serious.

"You’ll figure it out when the time comes," she replied offhandedly.

I stared back at her, a little stunned. "I don’t even understand the language, Ice. You have that much faith in me?"

The look I received swallowed me whole.

"Always."

Into each person’s life, I believe, come moments that you wish time would freeze long enough for you to savor them in all their perfection.

This was one of those moments for me.

*  *  *

After an interminable wait which saw me nearly pulling my hair out in frustration and nerves, it was finally our turn. A tall, broad man who strained the seams of his uniform walked up to the driver’s side and lowered his head, peering in. His eyes were covered by mirrored sunglasses and his mouth was mostly hidden by a huge, bristly moustache which was just showing the first flecks of gray. All of this made him very hard to read, which was, I suspect, his intention.

All of which made it difficult, of course, to choose a course of action. I finally decided on a combination of defiance and innocence. Not a likely pairing, I know, but one that I’d used to great success all my years in the Bog. My situation being what it was, it wasn’t very hard to slip back into that role, and the ease with which I adopted it again would have no-doubt frightened me, had I the time or the wherewithal to ponder it closely.

In any event, whatever he saw in me must have appeased him, because after sparing me the briefest of glances, he muttered something to Ice, and she produced a sheaf of papers she’d stowed next to her seat. Our transfer papers, I guessed.

He leafed through them, grunting, then made some hand gesture which caused Ice to open the door and step out. After the door was closed, he stuck his head back in and barked something at me that I hadn’t a prayer of understanding.

Which, I suppose, was just as well since I probably wouldn’t have liked it anyway.

I almost fell out of the van in a most undignified manner when, scarce moments later, the door I was leaning against opened without warning and I was lowered gently from my seat out onto the ground. The hands which steadied me were familiar, and so I relaxed as I was led around the van to the rear, where the others were standing, apparently waiting for something. Or someone.

How they’d managed to cuff themselves back together in so short a time, I’ll never know, but I was grateful for the foresight. I hoped Ice was grateful for it, too. I imagine she was, though, being Ice, she’s never said a thing about it one way or another.

To me, at least.

Pony and the rest—even Nia, to my immense surprise—stared back at me with hard, flat eyes, seeming every inch the hardened criminals they had once been. The smirk Rio tossed at me could only have been taught by my lover.

The officer shouted something to Pony, who in turn, looked at me. "He wants you to point out the person who did that to you."

Alright, Angel. Showtime. Don’t screw this up or we’re all in a whole heap of trouble.

"Tell him that it happened during the fight at the bar."

Pony translated, and the officer looked over at me, eyes narrow with suspicion. I gave him my best ‘innocent’ expression and prayed that it would be enough.

Apparently, it wasn’t good enough.

"He wants to know why you’d lie to protect animals like us."

"I have no reason to lie to you, sir."

Hearing the translation, he scowled, crossed in front of the group, and reached out to grab me. And was promptly stopped by Ice, who smoothly intercepted him while nudging me partially behind her broad back. Whatever she said to him made his scowl deepen, but it halted his grab for me, and for that, I was grateful.

He spit out his comments in a scathing tone, and the smirk on Ice’s face when she turned to translate was quite pronounced. "He wants to know how someone who would stand up to a bunch of men in a bar could suddenly become too frightened to fend off a group of women."

Laughing a bit inside, I allowed my own smirk to form. "Tell him that you weren’t protecting me from them. You were protecting them from me."

One corner of his moustache twitching as he heard the translation, the officer did a slow head turn until the other women in our group were in his sights.

They all nodded, quickly, Pony even taking the further step of wincing and rubbing her belly where, I gathered, I’d managed to land a good one during my "fight" in the van.

He looked over at me, and I glared back at him, my fists clenched. Then he looked over at Ice, who nodded. His moustache bristled again, and this time, his smile was plain as the flashing of his teeth in the sun. A laugh sounding almost like a rifle shot erupted from his belly, followed by another, and than another, until he was laughing uproariously and wiping tears of mirth from streaming eyes.

After several long moments, he finally regained control and clapped me on the shoulder, saying something to Ice. Then, transfer papers in hand, he walked back to his patrol car and slipped inside, no doubt to confirm our story with the powers that be.

"What did he say to you?" I murmured out of the side of my mouth, while at the same time keeping a close eye on one of the other officers, who leered at me while holding his high-powered rifle casually in one hand.

"Told me to watch out for myself, that I had a wildcat on my hands," she replied in like fashion, her glare wiping the leer from the young man’s face in record time as he found something else more interesting—not to mention much safer—to occupy his attentions.

I could feel the grin pull at my lips as my back unconsciously straightened. "Hm. Wildcat, huh? Not too shabby for spur of the moment."

"Watch it, or I’ll have you declawed."

I gave her a soft hiss, then settled myself down to wait. It was the most dangerous part of this whole charade, and I knew it. If the guard Ice had ‘persuaded’ to give up his truck somehow woke up and found his way to civilization more quickly than she thought he would, we were going to find ourselves in a whole mess of trouble, and that right quick.

Ice’s body next to my own, however, was completely relaxed, so, as always, I took my cue from her and tried my best not to betray my nervousness and, in so doing, shoot our plan in the foot, as it were.

Still, I could feel my heart speed up in my chest when the officer finally exited his patrol car and walked back toward us, papers in hand and face unreadable.

After several excruciatingly long moments, during which I saw my life flash before my eyes, each time with an ending more gruesome than the last, he finally handed the papers back to Ice, and waved us through the roadblock. Before he left, he looked down at me one more time and chuckled, shaking his head.

I tried not to let my sigh of relief show as he walked away and Ice opened up the back of the van, gesturing the others inside. Nia was grinning like a mad-woman at the thought that we’d pulled it off.

The others just looked plain sick.

*  *  *

"So, where are we headed now?" I asked with feigned casualness as my kidneys did their level best to make an abrupt exit through my ears. My breasts were complaining loudly as well, since the only protection they’d heretofore had, that being my top, was no longer very much help at all.

To call what we were driving on a "road" would do a great disservice to roads everywhere. And if the van we were riding in ever had any shocks, they had run screaming quite some time ago. Like when Roosevelt was President.

Teddy Roosevelt.

She glanced at me briefly before returning her attention to the rutted road-wannabe. "The mountains. The boarder’s too dangerous to be crossed safely now. I’ll keep you all with me until I can think up something better to do."

Though I wanted to shout for joy, I knew such an outburst wouldn’t be appreciated by her in the least. So I settled for a smile, well knowing she could see it, even if it looked like she was staring straight ahead. "I can’t say that I’m disappointed to hear that," I said softly, needing her to hear the truth, though I’m sure she knew it already.

"I can," she replied, just as softly.

Though I knew they were coming, I didn’t anticipate the sting those quietly uttered words would bring with them.

"Ice... ."

Her name slipped from my lips quite without my permission, but once it was said, I didn’t regret it.

"No, Angel." She held up a hand, requesting silence, before returning it to the wheel. She sighed, her shoulders slumping a little before straightening proudly. "This mission I’m on...it’s more dangerous than anything I’ve ever done before. Not just to me, but to all of us. I work alone. I always have. Even now. Especially now."

"But those police officers... ?"

She laughed; a mirthless sound if ever there was one. "Dead."

I gasped in horror. "Both of them?"

"Both."

"How?"

Her jaw tensed in anger, muscles pulsing just beneath the skin. "They listened to someone I warned them against. They left without me knowing, and by the time I got there... ." She sighed again. "There wasn’t anything I could do."

"But they were police officers!"

She turned her face toward mine. "Police officers die just as easily as the rest of us, Angel."

"I know that. What I mean is...the government will have to do something now, won’t they?"

That mirthless, terrible laugh sounded again. "Not hardly. They were as expendable as I am. Little tin soldiers in their war against Organized Crime and government corruption. A dime a dozen."

I didn’t begrudge her her bitterness. How could I? Every word she spoke was the truth.

Still... .

"You’re not expendable, Ice."

She snorted. "Me? Sure I am."

I felt my own jaw tense as my hands curled into fists tight enough to send my short nails scraping against the flesh of my palms. "Not to me you aren’t."

As she opened her mouth to speak, I cut her off at the pass. "And not to those women in the back of this van. We may not be as important in the general scheme of things as the government, but damnit, we should count for something."

Her expression didn’t change, but I fancied I saw her throat move as she swallowed.

"Angel," she said finally, her voice suspiciously hoarse, "you count for everything."

If I’d thought to add strength to my argument, her words disarmed me just as easily as if I’d been up against her with a gun in my hand.

The words dried to dust in my throat; dust that the salt of my tears helped wash away.

*  *  *

The van finally pulled to a shuddering stop in front of what appeared to be a small, cinderblock house. Flat-topped and with narrow loopholes for windows, it looked more bomb shelter than palace, but since panhandlers can’t be discriminators, I simply called it ‘home’ and left it at that.

With a feeling of profound relief, I opened the door and slid to the ground, squatting to loosen the cramps in my stiffened muscles. Twin pistol shots signaled my knees’ gratitude for the maneuver. I regained my feet as the other women walked past looking hot, sweaty and generally miserable. Attaching myself to the end of the line, I waited patiently with the others as Ice produced the keys to the little house and opened the door.

We filed in like obedient schoolchildren trying to stay on the good side of a headmaster who had no good side.

The interior was cool, dim, spare, and stamped with Ice’s particular brand of almost regimental neatness.

"Sit."

Four bodies broke all land speed records and packed in like overripe sardines on the single couch in the small living room. Only Ice and I were left standing in this game of ‘musical chairs’, sans music, of course.

Pony opened her mouth to speak, but closed it quickly when Ice held up a hand.

"Quiet."

Walking over to the small table beside the couch (and causing a bit of a group flinch as she did so), Ice picked up the cellular phone resting there, opened it up, and punched a single key. Bringing the phone up to her ear, she closed her eyes and listened for a long moment.

"They’re safe.... Yeah.... Alright."

She snapped the phone shut, replaced it on the table, and walked across to the other side of the room, eyes still closed. Her anger burned in the tightness of her jaw and the set of her shoulders, but I could see the invisible struggle going on. The struggle not to lash out, not to do something she’d later regret, no matter how much her body was begging her to do just that.

When she finally opened her eyes, they were glowing with a preternatural calm which was at distinct odds with the messages her body was sending. And which only served to make the rest of us that much more nervous, myself included.

"You’ll be staying with me until I can find a safe way to get you all back across the border. I’ll leave Montana to deal with you then. Until that time," and here she smiled; one of those grins that makes your guts tie themselves into a tiny little ball and your blood freeze in your veins, "you belong to me. That means that you do what I tell you, when I tell you, and how I tell you to do it. Am I making myself clear?"

Everyone, save Nia, nodded.

Ice’s eyes narrowed. "Is there a problem?"

"Yeah," Nia shot right back. I didn’t know whether to applaud her bravery, or mourn her foolhardiness. "Why are you acting like some kind of psycho drill instructor anyway? I mean, yeah, we made a mistake. So what? It’s not like you haven’t made any yourself."

That smile flashed again; dark and dangerous. "Yeah. I make plenty of ‘em."

"Like rescuing shit for brains there from the big house," Pony muttered half under her breath. She received an elbow in the ribs for her effort, and set to scowling at Critter.

"So what’s the big deal, then?"

Picturing my lover exploding into a million pieces with the effort of containing her anger, I took a chance, and stepped in. "The big deal, Nia, is that this ‘mistake’ could have cost us all our lives, or at the very least, our freedom. Ice risked a great deal to get us out of there. Even more than you know. And now, because we couldn’t make it safely back over the border, we’ve managed to throw a very large monkey wrench into some very important things she has to do, putting us all into even more danger. Is that a big enough deal for you?"

Sitting back, she crossed her arms over her chest. "I was just asking."

I sighed. "I know, Nia. And I’m sorry for yelling like that. It’s just...you need to understand that this isn’t a game we’re playing here. The person Ice needs to deal with is very, very dangerous. He’s killed a lot of people, and he’s almost killed her. Twice."

Nia’s eyes widened as she lost her sullen expression, and I could tell I was getting through to her. Biting my lip, I decided to take one more chance, something that would either convince her totally, or land me into even more hot water than I was already treading in. Or both.

Turning, I walked back to my lover and smiled slightly at her, begging her with my eyes to trust me just this once. When her body relaxed some of its coiled tension, I reached out and gently untucked the uniform shirt from her pants, baring her abdomen and the scars which had taken up permanent residence there.

"This isn’t a game, Nia. This is real. As real as it gets."

Nia’s face went white with shock as she stared unblinking at the tapestry of wounds stitched over taut skin and muscle. A tapestry which told its own tale of the woman who bore it.

"Do you understand now?"

She nodded swiftly. "Yes."

"And will you do as Ice asks, without any questions or attitude?"

She nodded again.

"Good."

Smiling at my lover, I gently tucked her shirt back in, taking care to straighten the seams exactly as they had been before I’d disturbed them. "Thanks," I mouthed, catching a glint of amused pride in her eyes before turning back to the group, all of whom were staring back at me, open-mouthed.

They were looking at me as if I’d totally lost my mind; as if I’d baited a caged bear with a stick, and had gotten away with it.

Perhaps, in a way, I had.

After a long moment of silence, it was Critter who finally broke the ice—no pun intended—by clearing her throat. "So...what now?"

A quiet jingle sounded as Ice tossed Critter the keys. "My car’s out back. You and Rio go into town for some provisions; clothes, food and the like. Rio knows the way. Get in, get what you need, and get back here. Don’t stop for anything else, understand?"

"Gotcha." Standing, she collected Rio with a nod, and together they left the house.

Ice turned her gaze to Pony. "I want you to go out there and strip that van into something unrecognizable. There are tools in the shed out back. Take Nia with you. It’s about time she learned to run something other than her mouth."

"Will do."

Nia, for her part, evidently learned her lesson and simply followed wordlessly behind Pony.

"Should...I go with them?"

"No. You’re staying with me. I’ve got something I’ve gotta do. C’mon."

I followed her into a room which could only be her bedroom, and grinned when she began to unbutton her shirt. "Alright! This kind of job I could really get into!"

A second later, I found myself with a faceful of shirt.

"Later, wildcat. We’ve got some business to take care of first."

"Business before pleasure, huh?" I mock-sighed, pulling the shirt off of my head, but taking the opportunity presented to pull in a deep breath of her scent which clung to the fabric. "Alright. I suppose I’ll have to deal with that. As long as it’s worth it later."

I hardly had time to blink before I was wrapped up in six feet worth of half-naked woman. My lips were captured in a kiss which sent my senses, and my thoughts, reeling out of control like some monstrous roller-coaster whose breaks had been stripped away.

Pulling away finally, she looked at me, a smug twinkle in her eyes.

"What’s my name again?" I asked, only half in jest.

Chuckling softly, she released me and turned away to finish undressing as I watched her with a pleasure I can’t fully articulate.

Oh yeah. It’d be worth it.

*  *  *

I shifted in my seat, then shifted again, all the while trying to keep my feet away from the empty styrofoam cup which rolled back and forth along the floorboards in time with the car’s bumpy movements. There were teeth marks in the styrofoam, teeth marks made by a man who was now dead.

It was an eerie feeling, staring at something as innocuous as a simple cup with its residue of coffee indelibly marked on the outside where some of it had spilled over.

He was alive when he drank that.

My thoughts were crazy from lack of sleep and too much building tension.

But he’s not alive anymore.

My overworked, overtired mind pictured in vivid clarity the man sitting in this very car and draining the last dregs of his coffee before tossing the cup mindlessly onto the floor, never dreaming that it would be the last cup he would ever drink.

I shivered all over, my flesh going tight against the bone. How morbid.

"Are you alright?"

A hand on my thigh almost caused me to jump out of said flesh, and I spared a few seconds swallowing my heart back down into my chest. "Oh! I’m sorry. You startled me."

"I can see that. What’s wrong? That cup down there tryin’ to bite you or something?"

I tried to laugh, but it didn’t come out sounding much like one. Truth be told, I felt a bit foolish, and savagely crushed the cup under my foot, banishing with it the strange thoughts I’d been having. "I’m just a little overtired, I think. Didn’t get much sleep last night."

"Understandable," she replied, taking her eyes off the road just long enough to glance at the crushed cup, then at me, before returning to the view from the windshield. "I’ll be as quick as I can, then we’ll go back to the house and you can relax, alright?"

I found myself grinning. "Relaxing wasn’t quite what I had in mind, unless that’s what they’re calling it these days. I’m so out of touch, being an ex con and all."

"Oh yeah, you’re a regular Lizzie Borden, alright."

"Hey!"

Laughing softly, she squeezed my leg and continued driving as a comfortable silence fell between us. I placed my hand over hers as it lay comfortably on my thigh and concentrated on the smooth heat of her flesh in mine and not on the fact that we were driving in a dead man’s car with a dead man’s things littering the interior.

Ice hadn’t told me very much about the ‘business’ she had to take care of, just that she was going to meet with someone who had some information for her. The reasons didn’t really matter to me at that point. I was just too happy to be sitting next to her to worry about anything else.

The town, when we finally arrived, looked pretty much like any small city I’d encountered in my travels, save for the fact that all the signs were, of course, in Spanish. When we entered, Ice dropped any pretense of ease, straightening almost imperceptibly in her seat, muscles tense, nerve endings on high alert. Her nostrils flared, reminding me of a wolf scenting danger—or prey—on the wind.

She made a circuitous sweep of the area, driving around a several block area, her narrowed eyes missing nothing. On our second loop, my eyes caught a glimpse of an unmistakable curly blonde head exiting one of the small shops lining the street. "Hey! Isn’t that... ?"

"Yeah. Hang on." An abrupt U-turn in the middle of the near-empty street bought us up behind the car where Critter was storing her newly gotten gain. "Stay here. I’ll be right back."

I watched through interested eyes as Ice approached Critter and spoke intently to her. Critter nodded a few times, then, with a jaunty wave to me, disappeared back inside the shop. Ice returned to the car and slid inside, then silently pulled away from the curb, her expression set and determined. It was a side of her I hadn’t seen in quite awhile. The weight of the world was once again heavy on her shoulders, but as always, she seemed to flourish under the burden. There was a peculiar glint in her eye, the kind I’d seen often in the Bog when she was getting ready to knock one inmate or other down a few pegs.

I won’t say that that glint didn’t concern me, because that would be a lie. But I will say that over the years, I’ve become much more comfortable with it.

A final sweep around the block, and we parked against the curb directly across the street from a rather ostentatious looking establishment which had, of all things, a green awning of the type you see outside trendy restaurants, and intricate scrollwork etched over the door. Only the heavy bars across the windows and door dimmed the ambience of the place.

Stepping out of the car as soon as the motor was off, I crossed around the car and joined Ice as she started across the street, heading straight for the shop I’d been admiring.

When we entered, my first thoughts were that we were in an incredibly eclectic jewelry store. But when I saw handguns, transistor radios, and a plethora of other goods of better and lesser quality, I realized quickly that we were in quite a different type of store altogether.

A short, rather handsome man, nattily dressed, beamed when he saw us enter, and came out from behind the counter, his hand already extended. "Morgan! So good to see you again." Though of obvious Mexican descent, his English was unaccented and spoke of an American education.

"Pedro," Ice replied, squeezing his hand briefly, then releasing it and turning to me. "Angel, this is Pedro Nunez, loan shark... ."

"Ah—I prefer ‘lending counselor’, actually."

". . . And Pawn Shop owner."

"Purveyor of slightly used fine goods and sundries, if you don’t mind."

"Whatever. Pedro, this is my partner, Angel."

"A perfect name for such an angelic vision of beauty indeed," he replied, taking my hand and bringing it up to his lips.

I wanted to laugh at his overdone theatrics, but not wanting to alienate him, I settled for as demure a smile as I could manage, though I drew the line at a feminine titter. "It’s... very nice to meet you, Mr. Nunez," I replied as soon as I regained possession of my hand.

"Oh, please, dear lady. Call me Pedro. I insist on it."

"Alright," I replied, nodding. "Pedro it is."

"Good! Excellent." He rubbed his hands together. "May I get you anything? Tea perhaps? Wine? I have an excellent... ."

"Information," Ice replied in her usual ‘let’s just stop stomping around shrubbery and get to the point’ manner.

His smile faltered a little, then returned, bright as day. "Ah yes, of course. If you’ll both follow me into my office... ?"

As he put his hand on my lower back to escort me to his office, the door opened. A young couple, freshly engaged I guessed, based on that ‘new glow’ of love coloring both of their faces, stepped in and headed for the jewelry display.

"Ah—customers. If you’ll excuse me for just a moment, I must attend to them. Please, make yourselves at home and feel free to look around. A special discount for you, my friends." And with a final, glib smile, he left.

"Interesting," was the only word I could come up with.

"That’s one way of putting it," Ice replied, smirking.

"Old...friend?"

Her smirk became a snort. "Hardly. We’ve spoken a few times, on the recommendation of a friend of mine. Seems most of Pedro’s debt collectors have gotten better offers to be on Cavallo’s goon squad. He’s a bit pissed."

"Ahh. So now they’re breaking kneecaps for the competition, huh?"

"From what I’ve heard, yes. Got a few tips that he’s starting to become the laughing stock of the loan sharking business."

"So...he feeds you information in the hopes that you’ll take care of his little problem for him."

"Somethin’ like that, yeah." She didn’t sound entirely convinced, however.

"Something wrong?"

"I don’t know yet. Just keep alert."

"Will do."

Several moments later, he returned to us, all slick smiles and oozing charm. "I apologize for the interruption, but, as they say, business is business, and I am a businessman. Shall we?"

We started for the back again, when Ice froze.

I stopped as well. "What is it?"

"Get down."

Her words were aided by a firm push to my shoulder, and I dropped to my belly immediately.

The rear door blew open and two men stepped through, already firing their automatic weapons into the shop. It was obvious that Ice had already removed her own gun (which I hadn’t known she was even carrying until that very second), because she returned fire immediately, hitting one of the men in the chest and blowing him back out the door.

The sounds of gunfire and shattered glass filled the air, and I covered my head with my arms in blind reflex.

There were several more rapid bursts of gunfire and breaking glass, before all went mercifully silent save for the ringing in my ears. I vaulted to my feet immediately, almost bumping into my thankfully very much alive partner, who steadied me with her free hand.

"Ice, thank god you’re alright. Are you... you’re bleeding!"

She spared her shoulder a cursory glance. "I’m alright. Just got hit by some flying glass." She returned her gaze to the second gunman, who was sprawled on the floor, a massive quantity of blood splattered across his belly. Stepping over, she shoved him with her foot. His body lolled like a rag doll’s. He appeared quite dead.

Swallowing back the bile in my throat, I turned away just in time to see Pedro rise to his feet, swaying slightly as he brushed glass from his hair. It was obvious he’d gotten his bell rung, but he didn’t appear to be hurt too badly otherwise.

"Get in the back room now, before any reinforcements come."

"But Ice, I... ."

"I said now!"

Without waiting to hear my response, she launched herself at Pedro, pinning him against the wall, one hand around his throat and the other holding her gun which was pressed up against his temple. "You set me up, you bastard!"

"I...please... ." His voice came out in a pathetic wheeze, and after arguing with myself for all of a second, I walked over to them, intent on getting Ice to back down enough to let the man breathe.

"You lost any right to beg when you doublecrossed me, pig. It’s time to say goodbye."

"My family!" was all he was able to get out before Ice’s hand squeezed his throat closed and slammed him back against the wall hard enough to cause already fractured glass in one of the cases to shatter and fall to the ground in a rain of trumpery diamonds.

"Ice, please!" I yelled, my voice almost lost to the sound of glass shattering.

"I told you to get back!" Ice returned, her face set in a snarl of rage.

"I won’t stand here and let you kill a man in cold blood, Ice."

"Oh, no, my blood isn’t cold, Angel. Not at all. In fact, it’s red hot." Though she was speaking directly to me, her eyes were flame, and far, far away.

"Ice, please... ." Pedro’s face was the color of brick, his lips, a deep plum. His eyes were bulging from their sockets and sweat formed in fat beads along his hairline. "Please…don’t do this," I whispered. "He might be beyond begging, but I’m not. Please...don’t kill him ."

As I watched, her fingers tightened infinitesimally around his neck, her knuckles white, the tendons in her wrist standing out in bas relief against the bronze tan of her skin. Then slowly, like a fan winding down after it has been turned off, her grip began to ease until she’d released him entirely and he fell to the floor, breath coming in great, whooping gasps.

"Thank God," I whispered, closing my eyes as relief swept through me in a great tide of emotion.

After a moment, she holstered her gun and, reaching down, pulled Pedro back up to his feet using the lapels of his suit jacket instead of his neck. "Tell me what I wanna know, Pedro," she snarled, her face an inch from his.

"M...My family! He was going to kill my family!"

"I don’t give a shit about your family, you bastard! Tell me where Cavallo is!"

"I...I don’t... ."

"Tell me!!!" The shake she gave him probably scrambled what was left of his brains and I was about to step in once again.

"The...he’s in the desert! They call it Scorpion’s Nest! That’s all I know! I swear!!"

"Thank you." Releasing him, she pulled out her gun again, causing both of us to gasp. Reaching into his suit pocket, she removed his handkerchief and proceeded to wipe her prints off the gun. Then, grabbing his hand, she pressed the gun into it, closing his fingers around the grip and looking him straight in the eye. "Now, when the police come, those bastards over there broke in and tried to rob you. You killed them in self defense. Got it?"

"Yes! Yes, I got it! Anything!"

Her grin was menacing. "Good. Because if I hear that you told any other story, to anyone," she placed his finger on the trigger, with hers over top, and forced the gun upward until the nose was touching the skin beneath his chin, "I’ll kill ya."

"I won’t. I swear!" He was a talking statue at that point, his eyes spinning crazily in his head as the rest of his body was stiff as marble.

With her free hand, she patted his cheek. "Good boy."

Releasing her grip on both the gun and his suit, she stepped back, and, after a tottering second, the whites of his eyes showed and he slid down the wall to the floor in a dead faint.

"C’mon," she said, turning for the door and grabbing my wrist just as the first sounds of sirens became audible in the shop. "Let’s go."

She led me over to the first body before releasing my hand. "Go on ahead, and don’t step in the blood. We don’t want to leave tracks behind."

Oh, like that was going to be a problem.

Or maybe it would be, since in order to avoid the generous pools of blood, I had to keep my eyes open as I stepped over the man’s corpse.

The back door opened into a narrow, trash strewn alley. The second gunman, equally dead, lay sprawled across the noisome pavement, his head resting against the brick wall of the next shop down.

The putrid stench of rotting garbage filled the air, and I resisted the urge to vomit right then and there. Instead, I looked down to the left, to where our car was parked.

It looked as if a bomb had fallen on top of it. The tires were shredded, the body full of bullet holes, and the windows shattered. "Ice?"

She spared the car a quick glance. "Yeah, I know. C’mon, this way. Hurry."

The sirens were getting steadily louder as I followed her down the alley, my feet slipping in who knows what as I tried to keep up with her long-limbed strides.

As the narrow alley gave way to a wider street, I hear the unmistakable squeal of tires. I was just about to turn and run when Ice grabbed me, lifted me bodily off the ground, and practically threw me into a car which suddenly appeared out of nowhere, the back door levering open as it came even with us. Landing squarely atop Critter, I scrambled to make room for Ice, who dove headlong in behind me.

Grabbing the door and slamming it shut, she shouted "Move!" to Rio, who promptly accelerated, throwing us all back hard against the seat as she took off down the thankfully empty back street.

"Take a roundabout route," Ice ordered. "Make sure we’re not followed."

"Right," Rio replied, driving expertly through the twisting maze of city streets with one eye always on the rearview mirrors.

I turned to Critter. "How did you... ?"

She grinned at me, then shifted her gaze, significantly, to Ice.

I looked over at my lover. "You knew?"

"Let’s just say I believe in covering my bases." Her expression became serious and I knew there was something lurking behind the silvered blue of her eyes, something she wouldn’t, or couldn’t, say. Not here. Not now.

I gave her a slight smile, and nodded, letting her know I saw her thoughts, and letting her know further that I would be willing to wait for her to express them, if that time should ever come.

Sighing, I slumped back in the seat, my body tired and achy and plummeting quickly down from its adrenaline-induced rush. My eyes were gritty and they longed to close, but every time I allowed myself that luxury, the images of the men Ice had killed would come floating out of the darkness to superimpose themselves over the image of Ice slowly strangling Pedro.

Needless to say, it wasn’t a very pleasant ride home.

PART 7

"WHY DON’T YOU sit here and take off your shirt," I said, leading my lover into the bathroom and closing the door behind us, "and I’ll see what I can do about cleaning out that cut of yours."

Without a word, she sat on the closed lid of the toilet as asked, sure fingers making short work of the buttons on her shirt and easing it off of her broad, bronzed shoulders. She hadn’t spoken a word since ordering Rio to take the long route home, an order Rio followed to the letter, turning a twenty minute jaunt into a two hour trek.

She seemed deep in thought, buried beneath the weight of whatever emotions were going on behind the razor-sharp glare of her eyes.

I stole glances at her as I cleansed the dried blood from the long, narrow slice in her upper arm. She appeared absorbed in her hands, staring at them intently, turning them over, and back, and over again as I worked.

When I was finished, I replaced the supplies and moved to the front of her, squatting down between her spread thighs. "Hey," I said softly, looking up into her closed face. "You ok?"

The barest ghost of a smile graced her lips as her eyes cleared and focused on mine. "Yeah. I’m alright."

Things fell silent once again as I searched my mind for an opening gambit. "They say I’m a good listener."

Her smile became a tad more pronounced after a moment. "They do, huh?"

"Yep. Best listener in three countries."

She laughed softly, then dropped her gaze and looked back down at her hands, rubbing them together. After a moment, she spoke, so softly that I had to strain to hear her, even though we were inches apart.

"I used to think that if I tried hard enough, I could get it off."

"What?" I asked, in the same quiet tone.

"Blood. On my hands. So much blood," she whispered, clenching her hands into tight fists. "No matter how much I try, though, it’s always there. Always." She met my eyes then, her own glittering with such agony that my heart wrenched powerfully and tears sprang unbidden to my eyes. "Sometimes in the night, I ache to touch you, to hold you. But how can I taint you with all this blood?"

Taking her hands, I gentled them open, stroking each palm, each finger, before lifting them and placing them on my face, cupping them to my cheeks and nuzzling each in turn. "You don’t taint me, Ice. You complete me. In ways I never dreamed possible."

Her eyes darkened and she attempted to pull her hands back. I held fast, pitting my own strength and my own will against hers. An uneven match, yes, by far, but one I was determined to win.

"No," she said.

"Yes, Ice. Yes. You always tell me who I am to you. I think it’s time I tell you who you are to me." I locked gazes with her, not allowing her to look away or to shrink back inside her self imposed prison of guilt. "You are my hope. My strength. The joy in my life. You’re my teacher. My guide. And my light."

She shook her head slowly, trying to negate my statement.

"Yes, you are. No matter how much you want to believe it’s not so, it is. Whenever I find myself in a very dark place, all I have to do is look at you, or think of you, and it’s like seeing the sun after a month of rain. Because you’re inside me, so very deep, that I can never be alone, even if we’re miles apart." I smiled up at her, the joy of that truth shining from my face. "Don’t you see, Ice? You don’t taint me. You never could. And you know why?"

Lifting her right hand from my face, I placed a kiss in the palm, then placed it over my heart. "Because you’re here. In my heart. And with every beat, more of you comes in, until I’m totally full with the joy of loving you. All of you, Ice. The part that’s happy, and the part that’s angry. The part that loves, and the part that hates. The part that forgives, and the part that seeks vengeance."

Releasing her hand, I placed my own on her face, tenderly holding it in my palms. "All of you."

There was a look of wonder on her face, but it was the wonder of a man alone in the desert who views an oasis from afar and yet is, perhaps, afraid to walk to it, afraid to reach out to find only an illusion where the promise of life once stood shining bright with hope.

Knowing further words would never convince her, I let my heart speak instead. Rising from my crouch between her legs, I moved our faces together and covered her lips with my own in a kiss as full of tender promise as I could possibly make it.

After what seemed a small eternity, she responded, moaning softly as the hand which had been cupping my cheek threaded its way through my hair, melding us more closely together and deepening the kiss we shared. Deepening, too, the bond between us.

An eternal bond.

After a long moment, she pulled away and looked down at me, her face still filled with wonder. But this time, the wonder was of a man who has found out that the oasis is, indeed, real after all. "I...think I needed that," she commented softly, her voice husky.

"Dear god, so did I," I responded with the fervor of one newly converted.

"Would you...could I hold you? For just a little while?"

Her simple request filled me with a joy I couldn’t even begin to describe, and I know my face showed it in the beaming smile I could feel growing there. "You don’t know how much I’d love that."

Her answering smile was almost shy as she reached out to take my hand.

The bedroom was cool and dim, and carried a slight hint of my lover’s scent on the still air. I breathed of it deeply, then followed as Ice sat down on the narrow bed, then stretched out on her back, her feet hanging slightly over the edge, even with her head resting cocked against the wall.

"Like being back in the Bog, huh?" I joked, grabbing one foot playfully.

"It’s not so bad," she responded softly, crossing her ankles and resting her clasped hands on the flat plane of her belly.

Taking her word for it, I crossed to the side of the bed and, at the last second, stripped off my shirt, needing more than anything to feel her skin soft and smooth against my own. Her eyes glittered as she watched me, and her arms opened wide and welcoming as I lowered myself onto the narrow bed. I melded myself to her side, throwing a leg over her thighs and wrapping an arm around her belly as I laid my head once again on her chest.

It was a sense of homecoming as brilliant and as perfect as sunlight upon new-fallen snow and I felt tears sting at my eyes from the sheer beauty filling my soul to overflowing.

Her hand came up to stroke my hair, her touch warm and tender and loving. My body flowed through with warmth and as sweet an ache as I can ever remember having. I willed my tears not to fall, well knowing that she’d stop the minute she felt their heat on her skin.

"I love you, Angel," she whispered.

It was the last thing I remembered as the day finally called in its marker and I fell asleep to the music of her heart beating in my ear.

I love you too, Ice. More than you’ll ever know.

*  *  *

A knock to the door roused me from my unintended slumber, and when I opened my eyes, I saw the door crack open and a shaft of light lance its way into the pitch-dark bedroom. Pony’s head materialized almost out of nowhere, a small grin gracing her lips. "Dinner’s almost ready, if you’re hungry."

"We’ll be out in a bit," Ice replied, stretching her long body slightly and settling herself back on the bed.

Nodding, Pony closed the door, casting the room back into darkness once again.

"Hey, sleepyhead. Get a good rest?" Her voice burred out of the darkness above me and sent a warm, welcoming tingle down the length of my body.

I was glad the darkness hid my blush. "Sorry. I didn’t mean... ."

"Don’t be sorry, Angel. You needed the rest."

"But... ."

"Shhh. It wasn’t any hardship to hold you as you slept. Believe me."

Bowing to her superior logic, I laid my head back down on her chest, breathing in the scent of her with undeniable pleasure. Not surprisingly, my hand had crept upward as I slept and now lay covering one of her breasts. I trailed my fingers lightly over the warm, soft flesh, smiling as I felt her unmistakable response.

Since she didn’t seem inclined to halt the proceedings, I felt myself growing bolder, and repeated my actions as I lowered my head just slightly to lay a line of gentle kisses down her exposed chest.

She tasted of salt and sunlight and mysteries to be explored. I felt my hunger growing, but it wasn’t for food. Her fingers tightening in my hair, she guided me gently, and when I closed my lips around her, suckling, the soft sigh of pleasure she allowed was a homecoming all its own.

I would have continued growing still bolder in my attentions had my stomach not chosen that very moment to announce its own demands; demands having very little to do with the hunger that was consuming the rest of my body.

Releasing her fingers from my hair, Ice gentled herself out from under me.

"Hey! I was enjoying that!"

"I think your belly would enjoy something a little more nutritious first."

"Then my belly can just walk itself out to the kitchen, ‘cause the rest of me’s staying right here." I reached for her again, only to be halted by tender hands.

"Food first. Fun later."

"Awww... !"

She chuckled softly. "I’m not going anywhere, Angel. We have all night."

As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I could see the faint shadow of her face above me. "Promise?"

Her smile was full of love. "Promise."

"Alright then. What are we waiting for?" I asked, as I scrambled off the bed and grabbed my shirt while tossing Ice’s at her.

Catching her shirt, she exited the bed much more gracefully than I. Yanking the garment over her head, and smoothing it on, she paused to run her fingers through her hair, settling it back into order. An action which caused my hormones to dash off a rather pointed note to my stomach for spoiling their fun.

My stomach growled in response to the missive, which sent the hormones back into hiding, cowards that they were.

"Ready?"

"Oh, yeah."

We both knew I was talking about far more than food.

*  *  *

Dinner, as it turned out, was fantastic. Rio proved herself an excellent chef, and all but ruined me for any other Mexican food anywhere. The brief respite we’d had seemed to have relaxed Ice, which, in turn, allowed the others to relax as well. The conversation was pleasant, if forgettable, and even Pony lightened up enough to crack a joke here and there. All were invariably horrid, but at least it was better than sitting there looking as if her best friend had died and she was next on the list.

After the meal was consumed and the dishes were washed and put away, though the night was still quite young, everyone claimed exhaustion and were ready for sleep. There was a second bedroom in the house, with two single beds, where the policemen guarding Ice had slept. To Rio’s immense relief, Ice doled out sleeping assignments, which had Critter and Nia sharing the bedroom and Rio and Pony sleeping in the living room.

As Ice went off to make some phone calls, Pony and Rio took a last walk around the outside of the house, checking for any signs of trouble. I chatted with Critter for a bit while Nia washed up, and once the bathroom was free, I decided to treat myself to a long, hot shower to wash the last of the day’s pressures away.

Not that anything as simple as a shower could wash away the images of blood and death the day had wrought, but perhaps a physical cleansing could affect a spiritual one as well.

At least, that was my hope.

Stepping into the shower, I closed the curtain behind me and grabbed the soap as the hot, steaming water cascaded down over me. Hot water, a luxury I would never again take for granted, no matter how long I lived.

As I drew the sweet-smelling soap over my body, the images of the day began to be replaced by other, more personal visions. Scenes of bodies wrapped tight in loving, of sweating skin gliding effortlessly together, of lush moisture and quiet moans.

So wrapped up was I in this waking dream that I didn’t, at first, notice that fantasy had become reality as if my thoughts had willed it so. I stiffened at first, at the belated awareness of a body pressed close behind me, but the feel of that body and the tender strength in the hands which captured the soap from my own turned my muscles from cement into jelly within a beat of my heart.

Strong, tanned hands worked the bar into a full, foaming lather, then replaced it on the ledge. Those same hands then traced a silken path over my body, teasing my breasts in maddening circles until I thought I would go insane with need.

Unable to take the sensual teasing any longer, I grasped her hands and drew them up my body until they cupped my breasts. Long fingers glided effortlessly over my nipples, lightly pinching, lightly pulling. My breathing kept time with soft sighs and whispered moans.

Soft lips and sharp teeth nipped at the skin of my neck and shoulder, her tongue darting and teasing and tasting as I squirmed beneath her hands.

Then she turned me to face her. Cupping my face in her large, gentle hands, she lowered her head and melded our mouths together as the water cascaded down over both of us. I tasted the sharp tang of minerals and the sweet hunger of her lips as she opened them and drew in my tongue for a tender duel.

Her breasts, full and firm, brushed against my sensitized skin, sending prickles of sensation through my body and pooling the moisture building between my legs. Her hands left my face and trailed over my spine, reaching lower to curve over my hips and pull our bodies tight together along their lengths. Soap and water provided a delightful slickness, and we slid together as if dancing to a sound only our hearts could hear.

God, I ached for her. An ache as strong and as needing as anything I’d ever felt before. It consumed me. It robbed my breath from me. It made my heart thunder in my chest, my body throbbing with every forceful contraction.

Our mouths still entangled in a passionate kiss, she lifted me slightly off my feet, and as my legs spread of their own accord, she placed her long, strong thigh between them, and rested me back down on top of it. I groaned in pleasure as she steadied me, then moved against me, my back pressed flat against the warm, slick tiles of the stall.

Sure, tender hands glided me along the length of her thigh and I gasped at the sensations which raced through my body, turning it to a searing flame which knew no bounds. Slowly at first, then gaining delightful speed, she pressed into me, her warm, supple flesh and iron hard muscles relentless in pursuit of my pleasure, and hers as well.

Moaning softly, she broke the lock of our lips and rested her forehead against the tile next to mine, turning her head and tracing her tongue along the shell of my ear. "Come for me, sweet Angel," she growled low in my ear, searing my nerve endings as she suckled on my lobe. "Let me feel you."

Gasping for badly needed breath, I tipped my head back, well past any semblance of rational thought, baring my neck to the assault of her lips and tongue and teeth, my hips gliding in a timeless, primal rhythm of hunger and aching desire.

Her tongue lapped at the hollow of my throat, and then at the pulsepoint bounding strongly, rapidly in my neck. And when her teeth gently bit down on the flesh she’d so lovingly captured, it was the trigger which released me as the darkness behind my eyelids burst into a brilliant pattern of light and shadow.

My soul was free, floating on a sea of bliss and sensation. Ice was my anchor, her warm hands and softly murmured words of love keeping me tethered to the real world as my spirit soared to the heavens and beyond.

Slowly, so slowly, I came back to earth to find myself tight in Ice’s fiercely tender embrace. The water had since turned cold and the icy spray sent uncontrollable shivers through me. A quick hand cut off the water, and before I knew what was happening, I was borne up in strong arms and carried out of the stall.

I was placed gently on the floor, and steadied as she reached for a large, fluffy towel. She dried me carefully, tenderly, making me feel like the most cherished person on earth, then wrapped me in the towel and lifted me into her arms again, the look of absolute adoration on her face almost painful in its intensity.

We walked down the short, dark hallway, Ice uncaring in her nakedness. She shut the bedroom door behind us with her foot, and placed me gently on the bed, her expression sweet and loving. "How ya doing?" she asked, brushing the bangs from my eyes.

"Oh, I’m...I’m...wonderful."

Her smile was slow and sweet. "I’m glad."

"So am I," I replied with fervor.

Tousling my hair, she straightened and stepped away slightly, stretching her shoulders back and rolling her neck. to loosen the bunched muscles there. I looked on silently, drawn, as always, by the sheer magnificence of her naked body. The cold water and her undeniable arousal had done wonderful things to it, as I’m sure you can imagine, and as I watched, spellbound, a single bead of water, fat with moisture, rolled slowly between her breasts, down the muscled ridges of her abdomen, and nestled in the well of her navel.

I watched that journey through blazing eyes, licking lips suddenly desperate for moisture. Catching me in my fantasies, a secret smile spread over her face, and she crossed to the nightstand. My eyes were glued to her; glued to every sensual shift of muscle over silken skin, glued to the light sway of her hips and to the inky trail of wet hair as it spilled down her tapered back. My hands closed in fists, fighting desperately against the need to just reach out and pull her to me and ravish her senseless.

Opening a small drawer set in the nightstand, she reached in and pulled out an object which made my whole body implode with renewed, raging desire. Holding it in the dim light of the small bedside lamp, she shook the straps free, then looked at me, eyebrow raised and a tiny smile playing over her lips.

"Yes," I gulped, suddenly wondering where all the air had gone in the room, "please."

I spared a brief second to wonder just how she’d come by such a prize, but that thought was quickly lost in the blaze of her eyes as she closed the drawer and crossed back over to my side of the bed. She handed the phallus to me, and I took it with faintly trembling hands. It was of medium size, medium length, and double-ended, with the slightly shorter end to be inserted into the wearer.

I ran my fingers lightly over the warm, pliant skin, then looked up at her, smiling with anticipation. Eyes dark and glittering, nostrils flaring just slightly, she slowly lifted one long leg and planted her foot on the bed, opening herself to me.

She was glistening with moisture, so open and ready for my touch. I spread her fully to my heated gaze, drawing a finger through the lush wetness and watching as a shudder ran through her body. Unable to help myself, I leaned forward and drank deeply of her, moaning with the taste of her readiness on my lips and tongue. Strong fingers threaded themselves through my hair, holding me to her as her hips rocked against my feasting mouth.

I couldn’t get enough of her, this woman who was hot, and wet, and oh so very sweet. The more she offered, the more I took, like a greedy beggar at the feast of a king.

And as I felt her reach that place of no return, I reached up and eased the phallus into her, filling her full as I tasted the musky beginnings of her climax on my tongue. Her body shuddered, her inner walls clenching down hard on the toy in my hand and her hips thrusting uncontrollably against me. Her growl of release was sweet music to my ears.

When her shudders slowed, then halted completely, I pulled away after pressing a tender kiss into her flesh. Then I looked up at her, grinning cheekily. She stared down at me, her gaze half-lidded and searing as her fingers worked the harness over her hips and buckled it into place.

I found myself on my back, not quite sure how I’d gotten there, with Ice looming over me on all fours, like some great hungry predator with prey in her grasp. Her lips covered mine in a kiss of boundless passion as her fingers worked to unwrap me from my towel.

That task finally completed to her satisfaction, she lowered herself, lapping up each and every bead of moisture which had escaped the towel’s absorption, attending to her duties with great relish. Her tongue and lips seemed to be everywhere at once, and I shivered, my body taut and aching with desire. She blazed a heated trail down my body, pausing at each breast to suckle and nip, before moving lower, ever lower. When her tongue delved, thrusting, into the recess of my navel, I thought I would release then and there from the sheer erotic power of it.

Lower she moved, her tongue grazing the insides of my thighs, over my knees and calves and down to my toes. As she took the first one into the heat of her mouth, the release denied before came blazing full force and I cried out as the contractions flared through me like a windswept fire on a grassy plain.

She was relentless, though, this woman who was my lover, moving back up my body with the same slow, sure deliberation, until she reached the place where I was all fire and pulsing need. She took me into her mouth, growling as she tasted me, her tongue darting and teasing and stroking and dancing, pushing me higher than I’d ever thought I’d go, and then, still higher, responding to my cries with deep moans of her own.

My body finally reached its straining limit and stiffened forcefully as another climax seared its way through me on tendrils of hungry fire. She held me tenderly in her mouth as my climax ended, then moved back up my body quickly, nestling against me and looking down into my eyes, her own ablaze with love. My spent muscles trembling, I relaxed beneath the secure, warm weight of her body, my eyes closing as I felt her tenderly stroke my hair and face, gentling me and bringing me back home.

"God, I love you."

I don’t know if those whispered words were meant to reach my ears or not, but reach them they did and caused a smile to break over my face. I opened my eyes to see hers, brilliant with unshed tears. Reaching up, I cupped her face and ran a tender thumb across her cheek, catching a single tear as it escaped beyond her lashes. "And I love you. More than the air I breathe."

Smiling through her tears, she lowered her head and kissed me. It was a kiss of promise and of unbounded love, delivered from her heart to mine in the sweetest of ways.

Though there was nothing passionate in this sharing of breath, incredibly, my body began to respond again just from her nearness and warmth. "Please," I whispered with the last of my breath. "I need to feel you inside me." It was a need which had become all-encompassing, a last act of completion to put my heart and soul fully at rest.

Still kissing me tenderly, almost reverently, she shifted most of her weight off of me and ran her hands slowly down my body, the tips of her fingers caressing peaks and valleys and everywhere in between with a grace that was, to me, beauty incarnate.

Her hand finally nestled between my legs, preparing me for her entrance into me. I was well past ready, and she smiled when she felt the evidence presented her. Gentle hands spread my legs as she continued to press kisses deep into my mouth, our tongues dancing a slow, sensual ballet.

Then she was covering me with her body once more, resting her weight on her arms as she looked down at me, an unasked question clear in the smoky depths of her eyes.

"Yes," I whispered, wanting nothing more than what she so silently, so lovingly offered. "Please, yes."

One hand disappeared from my sight, and I soon felt the smooth, rounded tip of the phallus being drawn through my heated wetness. A brief moment later, it was poised at the entrance to my body. Leaning down, her hair forming a curtain around our faces, she kissed me deeply and slid smoothly within, filling me more completely, more wonderfully, than I’d ever before felt.

Fully sheathed, she hovered there, waiting for my body to adjust, her deep and passionate kisses taking my mind from muscles strained to their limit and onto something infinitely more pleasurable.

She fit into me perfectly, like a puzzle piece, and my body adjusted quickly to this new sensation, quickly demanding more. I trailed my fingers down her muscled back until I had her hips in my hands. Grasping those hips, I pulled her to me. "Now," I growled into her ear.

Groaning, she did as I asked, pulling smoothly out before thrusting in once again. The pleasure was indescribable, and I nearly cried with the joy of feeling it.

Together, we set up a perfect rhythm. We kissed passionately until neither of us had the breath for it and were forced to pull away. Ice’s head rested next to mine as she thrust into my willing body, her sweat-soaked hair gliding wetly over my cheeks and lips, its fragrance as intoxicating as the scent of our loving which hovered in the air surrounding us.

I pulled her to me, quick and forcefully, needing everything she could give to me, and more besides. She responded as if born to do this very thing, surging into me with unbridled desire, unleashing the darkness and lightness inside of her, the passion and the tenderness, the power and the strength. All of this she delivered to me as her soft grunts and low moans filled my hearing like a symphony.

She crested first, her back arching, her neck thrown back to expose her throat to me, her hips thrusting blindly, forcefully, without thought or intent. Sweat poured down from her and dripped onto me, a baptism of fire and passion.

A bare second later, I too was drawn into the whirling vortex where life as I’d come to know it ceased to exist, and only pleasure resided.

I think I must have passed out for a moment, because when I came back into my body again, it was to find her full weight atop me, her chest heaving in time to her exhausted gasps for air. When she felt me move, she attempted to roll from me, but I was having none of it, and wrapped my arms around her, my body still throbbing around the phallus as it rested, still, deep within me.

"No. Stay. Please," I gasped, badly out of breath myself. "Need this. Need you."

She settled back over me, a living blanket of love, warmth and safety, and from that moment on, I knew no more until the sun rose once again.

*  *  *

The next morning, I woke up to something unexpected and very, very much welcomed. As my fuzzy thoughts came to sharper awareness, I realized that the gentle thumping beneath my ear was the sound of Ice’s heart beating. The tickle on my back was the feel of her hand as she gently rubbed aimless circles across my flesh. Though we’d been together for nearly eight years by that time, I could count on one hand the number of times I’d woken up in her arms, and probably still have a finger or two left over.

Her fingers hesitated briefly as she became aware of my awakened state, then resumed their gentle caress of my skin. "Morning, sweet Angel." The deep tenor of her voice rumbled up from her chest, filling me with a most comfortable warmth.

"Mmm. Morning yourself, my love."

"Sleep well?"

"Like a baby. You?"

"Very well, thanks."

Her touch tickled slightly, and I shivered, then stretched, wincing slightly at the twinge of soreness I felt.

She stiffened beneath me, as always, zoning in on my emotions with uncanny accuracy. "Are you alright?"

Cocking my head, I smiled up at her reassuringly. "I’m great. Just a little sore."

Her face immediately froze as her eyes darted away from mine. "I’m... ."

"Don’t," I warned, laying two fingers across her full lips. "Don’t say it. Don’t even think it." Shifting a bit so I could see her more easily, I slid my fingers beneath her chin to direct her gaze back to me. "Ice, last night was one of the most wonderful in my life. Please don’t say you’re sorry for making it that way."

She finally met my gaze, but the look of shadowed guilt still haunted the pristine blue depths of her eyes.

Smiling, I gently squeezed her jaw between my fingers. "C’mon, Ice. Wasn’t it you who said that there are two kinds of sore? The good kind and the bad kind?"

The guilt in her eyes faded a little. I stretched again, my grin broadening at the telltale signs of a body well loved. "This is most definitely," I added, yawning, "the good kind."

That got the smile I was looking for, and I reached up to capture it with my lips, savoring the warm contact for a long, wonderful moment, before pulling away and resting my head on her chest once again. "So," I began, trying hard to sound nonchalant, "what are our plans for today?"

She laughed softly. "Your plans, Angel, are to get some more sleep. We’ve got a long drive ahead of us."

I lifted my head to stare at her, sure that my fear could be easily read, and not caring. "Not back to the border... ."

Her eyes were gentle, her hand tender as it stroked my hair. "No. Not back to the border."

"Thank God," I replied on a sigh of relief as I rested my head back down on her warm skin.

I held up a hand. "And before you say anything, I know that it’s dangerous. And I know I’d probably be safer with Montana on the other side of the border. But that doesn’t matter. None of it matters. Not as long as I don’t become a distraction or a danger to you by remaining here." I looked up at her again, meeting her eyes dead on. "Will I?"

She returned my look measure for measure, her eyes showing no deceit or guile. "I’ll always worry, Angel. As I have from the first day you set foot outside of the Bog and decided to make your life with me. I’ll always bear the guilt of having you live through the mistakes of my past."

"You never forced me into this, Ice," I replied with some heat. "It was my own decision from the word ‘go’."

"I know." Her words were barely above a whisper. "And part of me will always damn myself for not taking that decision out of your hands when I could have. But now... ." Her hand lifted, then dropped back to rest on my shoulder. "...now...I wouldn’t trade one second with you, in danger or out, for anything in the world."

I knew I was beaming, but I couldn’t stop myself. For a woman of so few words, she had the ability to make my heart overflow with love and joy with the simplest of phrases. "So, we’re in this together, then?"

After a moment, she nodded. "Together."

Lifting my head, I sealed the vow with a kiss, which led quickly into another kiss, and then another, and still another, until my twinges of soreness were replaced with twinges of a far more pleasurable kind. We made long, slow love by the increasing light of the rising sun, and afterwards, Ice’s plans for me were realized.

I slept.

*  *  *

"I’ll get you, my pretty! And your little dog too!! Ahahahahaha!"

I shot a scathing look to my left, then glanced back into the mirror held before me, realizing that Critter was correct in her assessment. In fact, it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that the Wicked Witch of the West was the goddess Aphrodite compared to how I looked with that particular wig on my head.

"At least I don’t look like a family of rats set up condos in my hair," I replied, just to lob my own truth back at her.

She didn’t even try to volley, knowing I was right. Instead, she grinned sheepishly, and shrugged. "They looked better on the mannequins we stole them from."

I turned to her, eyes wide. "You stole these?" I wasn’t sure which shocked me more. That she stole, or what she stole.

"Well...not in the traditional sense, no."

"I think you’re gonna have to explain that one to me... ."

Before she could answer, the door to the bathroom burst open and Pony strode in. "What the hell are you two...oh Jesus, give me that!" Snatching the wig from Critter’s head with one hand, she grabbed a brush with the other and began combing out the tangled mess that might once have borne a faint resemblance to actual hair.

In mere moments, she transformed it from rat’s nest to work of art.

Critter and I stared on, dumbfounded.

"You’re scaring me, Pon," Critter said, looking very scared indeed. As if her lover had vanished into thin air and a rather butch Martha Stewart had appeared in her place.

She shot us a look that was the epitome of the word ‘withering’, and put some final touches on her masterpiece. "My father was a barber and my mother owned a beauty shop. I can’t help it if some of the shit they tried to teach me actually sunk in."

Finishing her masterful transformation of the first wig, she held out her hand for the second. "Gimme."

"With pleasure," I replied, pulling the wig off of my head and handing it to her, watching as she applied her talents to that one as well.

The wigs were Ice’s idea. And it was a good one, to be sure.

From what I was told, the area called the Scorpion’s Nest was a rather large, and mostly empty, part of the desert, dotted here and there with tiny towns. Trying to find one man in such a place was akin, I was told, to searching for crystal of sugar on a white sand beach.

To find him, we’d need the help of the townspeople. We’d also need to remain as anonymous as possible so as not to arouse undue suspicion. Suspicion which could get back to Cavallo and cause him to either go deeper to ground, or come out, full force, against us.

Suspicion which would be raised if a couple of blonde-haired, light-eyed women just suddenly showed up in the middle of nowhere and started asking questions.

Of course, the wigs wouldn’t cure all of the difficulties inherent in such a task. Such as the fact that neither Critter nor I could speak more than a couple words of Spanish.

Still, Rio, Pony and Nia were all brunettes, like Ice, though unlike my lover, their eyes were brown or a dark hazel. All of them also spoke fluent Spanish. Since Critter and I would be with them like bees on honey, it was my hope that we’d go unnoticed in that particular crowd. Unless, of course, we came off looking like a couple of cast extras in a grade B horror flick.

Beckoning me to her, Pony replaced the wig on my head just as the door opened and Nia stepped through, her arms full of clothing. "Cool!" she remarked, grinning at me. "Cher-ette on an acid trip!"

Pony and I scowled at her, which, of course, did absolutely no good whatsoever. In fact, the twin scowls only caused her to launch into a particularly horrid rendition of "Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves" that nearly cracked the mirror in my hands.

All of my life, I was sure that there was no one more tone deaf than my own dearly departed father. Pretty crappy time to find out just exactly how wrong I was on that particular subject.

Mournful pleas for silence only spurred her on until finally Pony had had enough and shoved her bodily out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind her, and locking it tight against further intrusion. Nia’s laughter echoed in the hallway, but that soon faded away, leaving only blessed silence in its wake.

"That woman is in serious need of a shrink," Pony groused as she turned Critter away from her and replaced her wig over her lover’s blonde hair. After fussing with it, she stepped back and appraised her lover, a wide grin curving her lips. "The gypsy fortune-teller look. I like. I like!"

"Down, Fido," she joked, turning to me. "Well? What do you think?"

I grinned as she faced me. In actuality, Pony wasn’t all that far off in her assessment. "Would you read my palm, Madame Fifi?"

Slapping my hand away, she grabbed for my mirror instead. "Hopeless, the lot of you. Just hopeless." Looking in the mirror, she scowled as she straightened her bangs. "I look like an idiot."

"No, that would be me," I assured her, remembering my own image in the mirror.

"You don’t look like an idiot, Angel. You look...um... ."

"Freakish? Demented? Insane?"

"Groovy!" she shouted, grinning. "Nia was right, now that I think about it."

My hands went to my hips. "Sing one word of one Cher song and I’ll tie your lips in a knot."

Pony snickered, which earned her a growl from Critter. No fool, Pony, she shut up mid-smirk. Clearing her throat, she offered up the pile of clothes Nia had left behind after her unceremonious eviction. "Try these on and come outside after you’re done," she stated, obviously trying to regain some sort of control over the situation. "We’ll be leaving as soon as Ice and Rio get back."

"Where’d they go, anyway?" Critter asked as she picked out a garish purple wannabe silk top and held it up against her chest, eyeing me with eyebrows raised.

I shook my head in a very definite and vigorous negative. Sighing, she threw the shirt back into the pile, and rooted for another one.

"To pick up another car, since the other one got trashed to shit yesterday."

Shaking her head in mock disgust, Critter grabbed another shirt, this one a teal number that was slightly better than the purple one. Slightly. As in the width of a hair. "Sometimes, Pon, I wish I was your mother. I’d have you over my knee for that mouth of yours."

"You can have me over your knee any time you like, babe," Pony replied, waggling her eyebrows and leering. "You bring the paddle, I’ll bring the edible soap."

Snorting, I turned and rooted through the pile of clothes for something to wear while Critter pushed her leering lover out of the cramped bathroom, closing and locking the door behind her and ignoring the indignant pounding that issued forth soon thereafter.

"Why I put up with that woman, I’ll never know."

"Cause you love her."

She grinned. "Yeah. I do."

*  *  *

"I’ve been through the desert on a horse with no name. It felt good to get out of the rain. In the desert... ."

"Nia... ."

"...you can remember your name, cause... ."

"Nia!"

"...la la la la la la la, la la la, la, la..."

"Nia!!"

The discordant voice trailed off and I was shot a sullen look through the rearview mirror. Under other circumstances, being the cause of a friend’s upset would have concerned me.

These weren’t those circumstances.

Four hours into our trip through a featureless, monotonous desert, and the little men with jackhammers were just about to break out of my skull through my temples.

It wasn’t so much the absolute and utter boredom of the trip thus far. It wasn’t the "hair-trigger" shock absorbers that did everything but absorb the shock of the rutted and broken road. It wasn’t even the blinding sun which insisted on glaring at me through the window, forcing me to squint so hard that my cheek and eye muscles threatened to freeze that way permanently.

No, it was something worse than all of those things put together.

It was the grating sound of Nia’s voice as she ran through her rather extensive mental and vocal catalogue of what she called "traveling songs". I rather thought that "songs to commit suicide by" was a more apt title, since that is certainly what I was contemplating doing after the third encore of "Send in the Clowns" assaulted my eardrums.

When that was swiftly followed up by "Don’t Cry Out Loud", thoughts of merciful suicide gave way to thoughts of vengeful homicide, complete with vivid (and curiously satisfying) mental pictures.

Ice seemed totally unaffected, but I really expected nothing less. Her focus on the task at hand was the stuff of which legends are made, and this task was no different than the rest.

As blessed silence descended, I leaned my throbbing head back against the cracked vinyl of the bench seat and closed my eyes against the harsh desert sun, willing my headache away.

With only the sounds of the humming motor for company, I felt myself begin to drift into a light sleep, the pain behind my eyes dimming as my breathing evened out.

Just before sleep could fully claim me, however, I felt a not so gentle prod to my kidney area. Thinking that Nia was just shifting her legs, I ignored it.

Until the prod came again, and then again, becoming less gentle with each repetition. Then the humming started, softly at first, though discordant and grating in my ears. As my eyes opened, I could feel my fists curl tightly of their own volition to match the clenching of my jaw. Anger welled within me, deep and strong, banishing the last of my sleepiness with its searing heat.

I could tell my eyes were flashing, even without benefit of a mirror, and I could feel my body, stiff from so many hours in the car, start to turn toward the back, where the source of my frustrations sat, in her own little world.

Whatever I might have done (and truthfully, I don’t think it would have been all that much) was stopped almost unborn by a firm, warm hand on my thigh. My anger drained away like water through a sieve as I gazed into liquid crystal eyes peering into my own over the rims of mirrored sunglasses.

The look in those eyes convinced me to think up a different plan. So I did. Quickly.

"Nia?" I said, calm as I could.

"What."

"I was thinking." Oh boy, was I.

"About what."

Was it possible for her to sound more petulant?

"Well...since we’re in Mexico and I need to fit in here... ."

A derisive snort.

"Yeah, right."

It was possible alright.

Calm, Angel. Be calm. Think happy thoughts. Happy. Happy. Happy.

"Do you think you can teach me some Spanish? You know, just enough to get by?"

Mercifully, the kicking stopped, followed shortly thereafter by the humming.

"Really?"

"Yes, really. I know hello, goodbye, thank you, a few swear words, and I can count to ten... I think. None of which is going to get me very far."

She laughed softly.

"So...could you help me? Please?"

"Sure! That would be cool!"

Thank you, God.

"Hey! There’s this great song my Spanish teacher in Elementary School taught us. Let me see if I can remember how it starts."

I sagged back against the seat, defeated.

In a deliberate ploy for sympathy, I rolled my head in Ice’s direction, just in time to see her turn attention back to the road, the corner of her mouth lifting just slightly.

I scowled at her, knowing she could feel it.

Just you wait, love of my life. You’ll pay for that smirk. Later.

*  *  *

Two hours and one crash course in "Spanish for the tone-deaf" later, my grateful eyes spied a town coming up quickly on the left. If two houses sandwiching an ancient gas station could be considered a town, that is.

"Ice, do you think we could... ."

She had already started to pull into the gas station before I could even finish my question, a small smile playing over her lips.

"If I didn’t know you any better, I’d think you were enjoying this," I muttered out of the corner of my mouth.

Silence was my only reply.

Sighing, I turned my head and peered back out the window, only to have almost half my face taken off by Nia’s swiftly thrust hand pointing forward.

"Where are they going?"

Blinking and shielding my eyes from the glare of the merciless sun, I could see Rio’s car shoot past in a long cloud of desert dust.

"Yeah. Where are they going?"

"There’s another town about fifty miles down the road. They’ll scout it out and we’ll all meet up beyond that and compare notes."

"So I guess this isn’t just your average ‘potty break and stretch your legs’ type stop, is it."

She laughed softly, turning to face me as she pulled the car smoothly in front of some antique gas pumps. "It’s that, too."

I returned her chuckle with one of my own. "Good, because my kidneys were getting ready to file a grievance with their union, and I don’t think either one of us would like it if they went on strike."

As soon as the car stopped, I eased myself out, groaning in combined pain and relief, my over-stressed tendons singing out their anger like a guitar string turned one notch too tight. Stretching toward the sky, I chanced to look around, and saw the opportunity to put my newfound (not to mention hard-won) bi-lingualism to its first test.

"Hmm. Let’s see. Pedro’s Gas and Market. Hot Food. Cold Drinks. P... ." I blinked, rubbed my eyes, and looked again, trying to convince myself that what I thought I was seeing was not, in fact, what I was seeing.

The words refused to change, though.

I turned, looking for Nia, only to see her disappear quickly into the market, searching, no doubt, for a bathroom. Ice was busy inserting the gasoline nozzle into the tank.

I turned back to the sign. "Hot Food. Cold Drinks. Petting...Zoo." My eyes roved lower. "Rattlesnakes. Tarantulas. Scorpions."

A shudder of revulsion skittered down my spine on spider’s legs. I turned quickly away from the sign, only to come nose to chest with my lover, who embraced me quickly to keep me from bowling us both over. "Where’s the fire?"

"Oh! Sorry," I mumbled into her shirt, hiding my blush from her keen eyes. "It’s...um...nothing."

"Mm. Hm." Gently grasping my arms, she stepped back apace. "Thought you were gonna go... ." She cocked her head in the direction of the restrooms.

"I...um...changed my mind."

Her eyebrow hiked itself up over the rim of her glasses. As I watched, she turned her head just slightly, and I knew she was reading the same sign I’d just turned away from. I blushed again at my own foolishness.

After a second, she looked back at me. "I don’t think they’ll have them crawling around on the floor, Angel."

"Maybe not," I replied, my voice full of doubt, "but I’m not real sure if I want to frequent the establishment of someone who thinks that petting scorpions is a money-making venture."

Her laugh was low, and gentle, and soothing. "I don’t think you have anything to worry about." She looped an arm casually over my shoulders, holding me close to her side. "Besides, I haven’t heard Nia scream."

"She died silently," I replied darkly. "They’re probably burying her in the back right now."

She laughed again, more loudly this time, and bumped me with her hip. "C’mon, Angel-mine. I’ve got some gas to pay for, and you’ve got some kidneys to relieve."

"Sure, fine," I grumbled. "Just remember I don’t want an open casket at the funeral."

Goodbye, cruel world.

*  *  *

It was coming down evening as I spread my blanket atop a long, flat rock that sat on a small hill overlooking the Mexican desert. The rest of the afternoon had been relatively uneventful.

After Ice had finished her business with the gas station owner, she’d driven us back out into the desert to meet up with Rio and company, who’d parked by the side of the road five miles past the town they’d stopped in, ostensibly to fix a flat tire.

From there, we’d continued on for another few hours until we pulled off the road and found ourselves in a small, secluded valley surrounded by small hillocks on every side. It soon became obvious we were going to camp out for the night. Nia surprised me. Rather uncharitably, I’d figured her for a city girl, objecting to any hint of living rough.

Such wasn’t the case. She took to the idea much like a fish takes to water, and pitched in quickly, helping us unload the gear and set up camp, as if she’d been doing it her whole life.

The ground was cleared in short order, the tents—three in all—were quickly pitched, and a fire was started, surrounded by a ring of desert stones. Pony and Nia set to cooking up something for dinner as Ice, Critter and Rio stood off to one side, deep in conversation.

With no more chores to keep me occupied, I decided to take a blanket to the top of the westernmost hill and watch the sun set. It had become a habit since my introduction to the desert, and one which I was loathe to break.

So I sat on my rock which was still warm from the strong sun of the day, and watch the sky turn a myriad of colors as the sun moved inexorably closer to the horizon. Closing my eyes, I tilted my head back and felt the last heat of the sun stroke my face as the cooling desert wind gently ruffled the hair (I’d removed the godawful wig the moment we made camp with a sense of blessed relief) back from my brow.

Suddenly, I felt a warm, soft sweatshirt drape itself around my shoulders, bringing with it the sent of the woman I loved. I opened my eyes slowly, a smile curving my lips unbidden as I saw Ice standing above and behind me, her eyes brilliant with the last of the sun’s dying rays reflecting in them.

"Hey," I said, surprising myself with the huskiness of my voice.

"Hey yourself," she replied, smiling in that cockeyed way I so adored. "Mind some company?"

"Not at all."

Lowering herself behind me, I watched as her long legs appeared to either side of my own, and sighed blissfully as her arms wrapped themselves around my waist and pulled me slightly back until I was resting against her chest, wrapped in the warm nest of her arms, legs and body.

"Mmmm, I like this."

"Ya do, huh?" Her head lowered until her chin was resting on my shoulder. Her hair tickled against my cheeks, and the warmth of her body sent tingling heat through my own.

"Yup. A warm rock, a sunset, and you. There are worse things a body could wish for."

"Mm. Guess so." She squeezed me once, and then we both fell silent as the sun shone its last and sunk beyond the rim of the world for another day.

We celebrated the event with a kiss. More kisses followed, until they merged into one, single, passionate melding of lips and quickening breath.

Who knows how far we might have gone if a shout of "dinner’s ready!" hadn’t come from the valley floor below us?

"It’s a conspiracy," I muttered darkly, rearranging my T-shirt and buttoning my jeans as I made a concentrated effort to dampen down the fire raging though me.

Laughing softly in response, Ice rose gracefully to her feet, then pulled me up with deceptive ease. Pressing one more gentle kiss to lips still flushed with passion, she slipped an arm around my waist, and together we made our way down the hill to where our friends waited.

*  *  *

"Oh...dear...God!" I managed to gasp out as the last of the tremors washed though my body, leaving me weak and breathless and not quite all there.

The tremors—more like the spastic twitches of someone touching an electrified fence than anything else-- started anew as Ice made her way up my sweat-slicked body, pausing here and there to kiss and nip several of the more sensitive spots as she did so.

Her dark head popped out from beneath the sleeping bag, her eyes twinkling and still dark from the love we’d made. Stretching out full length next to me, she tenderly stroked my stomach and breasts, getting me used to my own skin again as she gentled me and brought me back home.

The expression on her face was love mixed with just a tinge of smugness.

Not that I blamed her in the slightest. With an alchemist’s precision and consummate skill, she’d managed, in just a few short moments, to turn me from a human being into a boneless octopus.

"You alright?" she asked after a moment, the husky timbre of her voice and the warm glow of her eyes filling me with a different sort of heat, no less welcomed than the fire we’d just shared.

"Mmm. Perfect, as always," I managed to mumble, my lips and tongue only grudgingly giving up their afterglow lassitude. "This camping out stuff has some merit to it, lemme clue ya."

Her subtle smirk became a full-out grin as she reached up and gently ruffled my hair.

"We’ll have to do it more often then."

Returning her grin, I rolled to my side and buried my face in the warm valley of her breasts. "I like that idea."

The flannel material of the sleeping bag tickled my face as Ice pulled it up to cover my rapidly cooling body. Her arm then wrapped around my waist, strong fingers stroking random, nonsense patterns against the damp skin of my back.

I had almost fallen asleep to the music of her heart when a thought intruded my fog-drenched thoughts and I stirred, untucking my head and looking up at my lover, who was staring ahead, seemingly lost in thought. "Ice?"

She blinked, coming back into herself and looking down at me, her gaze sharp and attentive. "Yes?"

"What’s the plan? For tomorrow, I mean. Did Rio get any good information?"

"Actually, she did." Pulling back slightly, she stretch, arching her back. I winced at the sound of several vertebrae slipping back into place. "Seems that our friend Cavallo has been hiring some local thugs as henchmen. Looks like some of his own men weren’t too keen on spending god knows how long stuck in the middle of nowhere without any place to spend their ill-gotten gain."

"Is that good for us?"

She shrugged. "Depends. They’ll be harder to spot, but I’ll take them over a trained professional any day. They’re generally easier to outsmart." The gleam in her eyes told me everything I needed to know about how much she was going to enjoy testing them.

"So...what happens now?"

"There’s an open air market that opens every Saturday. Rio’s contact says it’s a pretty big deal, especially since it’s close to Christmas. People from the surrounding towns and farms come to sell their produce and other wares. Rumor has it that Cavallo will send some of his men down to pick up some supplies that he can’t get from the smaller markets where he’s hiding."

"Where is he hiding."

Her eyes went far away again. "I don’t know. Yet. But if those idiots do manage to make an appearance, I’ll track him down to his lair." A cold smile curved her lips, chilling me to the bone.

Unable to stop myself, I reached up and stroked her face with the tips of my fingers, trying to bring her back from whatever darkness she’d gone into.

After a long moment, she was back and looking down at me with a bit of chagrin in her eyes. "Sorry."

"No need," I replied, smiling and keeping my hand cupped to her cheek. I felt my smile turn into a cheeky grin. "So, what will the rest of us mere mortals be doing while you’re making the world safe for humanity yet again?"

She laughed softly, reaching up to squeeze my hand, then bring it to her lips to lay a kiss to my palm. "Helping me."

My jaw dropped. "Excuse me? Would you mind repeating that?"

She laughed again. "You heard me."

"Well, yeah, I heard you, but... ."

Her face turned serious. "Angel, it’s one thing to go into a guarded compound with the express purpose of assassinating someone. It’s a different thing entirely to go into that same compound and try to bring that person out alive. I’m gonna need help, and I trust you guys to provide that for me."

"You know we will, Ice. No matter what."

She smiled. "I know."

The vow was sealed with a kiss.

*  *  *

I awoke the next morning to the sight of the morning sun filtering its way through the nylon fabric of the tent. I could tell straightaway that the air was brisk and cool, but I was warm, tucked in a soft nest of sleeping bags and blankets. I was alone, of course, but that realization didn’t really bother me, as I knew without doubt that Ice was somewhere very close. The thought of her, and the love we had shared well into the night brought a smile to my lips as I stretched and yawned. The scent of bacon cooking over a Mexican wood fire assailed my senses and caused my mouth immediately to water.

Yup, this camping stuff is pretty much alright in my book.

Just as I was considering rolling over and catching a few more winks, the tent flap eased open and Ice ducked in, her hands occupied with carrying a plate of food and a tin mug of what smelled like coffee. Straightening almost to her full height (it was a pretty tall tent), she looked down at me, a smile gracing her lips.

She looked magnificent in her soft, warn jeans, ribbed black T, and roomy flannel worn open over her rangy, muscled frame. Her black hair was loose and flowing over her broad shoulders, and her face sported a sun-kissed glow, giving her the appearance of rugged immortality that I just couldn’t seem to tear my eyes away from.

Not that I wanted to, of course.

Her beauty always took my breath away, and I would gladly live with that particular affliction for the rest of my days and beyond.

Quirking an eyebrow at my blatant appraisal, she lowered herself gracefully down to the floor of the tent to sit crosslegged next to me, balancing plate and cup on her knees.

"Sorry," I managed to finally get out, blushing under the weight of her return, if patient, stare. "Um...is that for me?"

"Sure is," she replied, nodding. "If you’re hungry."

"I could eat," I allowed, untangling myself from my comfy nest and sitting up. The cool air from the outside hit my naked body with a slap, causing an all-over shiver. "Brr."

Putting the plate and cup on the ground, she pulled her shirt from her body and drew it over mine, helping my arms through the sleeves and deftly buttoning it over my chest and belly. I couldn’t help but laugh as I held out my arms, a full four inches of spare fabric dangling uselessly over the tips of my fingers.

Rolling her eyes and shaking her head, she helped me roll the cuffs up so that my hands were finally exposed, then handed me the breakfast she’d brought with her.

"Oh, this is good," I managed, around mouthfuls of eggs and bacon washed down by strong, bracing coffee. "Remind me to thank the cook."

"If you don’t kill her first," she replied, eyes twinkling mischief.

"Nia made this?" I asked, disbelieving. In all the time I’d known her, I’d never seen her anywhere near a kitchen, let alone actually in one.

"Yup. She’s pretty handy with a cookfire."

"Wow," was all I could think to say in return.

*  *  *

Ice left after I was finished, taking my dirty dishes with her to clean. Left to my own devices, I got up and dressed quickly, more due to the cold rather than any particular hurry. After pulling on the damnable wig over my hair and straightening it to the best of my ability, I opened the tent flap and walked out into the morning air, squinting at the bright sunlight shining down on the campsite.

My friends were working like a group of industrious bees clearing out a hive. As I walked over to where Ice was stowing some gear in the trunk, I couldn’t help but notice Pony and Critter dismantling one of the tents, grinning and giggling like a couple of schoolgirls. Their faces and eyes had a glow about them. Almost as if... .

"Did they share a tent last night?" I asked my partner, handing her our sleeping bags and blankets.

Looking back over her shoulder, Ice smirked. "And a good deal more than that, if this morning’s any indication."

"But...how . . ?"

Ice shrugged. "Rio got tired of Pony’s whining, so she switched."

"But what about Nia?" Looking back at the campsite, I saw Rio and Nia working together to scatter the ashes of the cookfire, chatting amiably.

"Rio said that Nia was a perfect gentle...person."

"Amazing." Reaching up, I scratched the back of my neck. "Guess the crush is gone then." Just to be sure, I looked over my shoulder once again, only to see something I didn’t expect.

Nia was staring past me and to my right, the expression on her face giving a whole new meaning to the word "dreamy". When our eyes met, she looked quickly away, guilt stamped clear on her youthful features. "Uh oh."

"What?" Ice asked, turning around, then looking back at me, her eyebrows drawing twin question marks across her forehead.

"Another one’s fallen for you," I replied in my best "long suffering" tone.

She snorted. Rolling her eyes, she turned back to her work. "You’re dreaming, Angel."

"Oh, I don’t think so, my beautiful love. I’m wide awake, thank you very much."

"You’re seeing things, then."

"I have perfect vision, as you well know."

She looked over at Nia, then back at me.

"You’ll see." I warned, adding a smirk that told her more than any words could say.

PART 8

"WOW! THIS PLACE reminds me of the flea markets my mother used to drag me to when I was a kid!"

I found myself agreeing with Nia’s assessment as Ice circled around the perimeter of the market and headed for the area designated for parking.

Multi-hued banners flapped cheerily in the brisk November wind, providing an almost musical counterpoint to the sounds of booths being set up, children’s laughter, and the frenzied barking of the dogs who ran pell mell around the grounds chasing whatever caught their fancy.

The tantalizing scents of grilling meat and vegetables immediately brought to mind the days of my less than wanton youth, when Sundays (after church, of course) were reserved for the almost holy rite of flea market and garage sale hopping. One of the all-time great bargain hunters, my grandmother. She never met a hand-lettered sign nailed to a telephone pole that she didn’t like, much to my chagrin. Weekly trips to the plethora of open-air flea markets which dotted the flat Indiana landscape like boils were treated with much the same reverence the Crusaders must have felt when they quested after the Holy Grail. And many’s the day I would spend trying on someone else’s cast off dresses--always three sizes too big so I could grow into them—and wishing, with a sense of desperation common to children and trapped animals, that I was anywhere else. Like a dentist’s office getting all of my teeth drilled without benefit of novocaine, for example.

Ice startled me out of my musings when she touched my leg briefly before opening her door and slipping silently out of the car. Reaching for the doorhandle, I joined my partner, shivering slightly in the surprisingly chilled air and pulling my corduroy overshirt tighter across my body, thankful for its warmth.

Ice looked down at me, her eyes once again hidden behind mirrored sunglasses. "Ready?"

"As soon as you tell me what it is I’m supposed to be ready for, then yeah," I replied, grinning.

Smirking at me, she pulled out a large wad of Mexican currency and handed it over to me. "Don’t spend it all in one place."

I looked down at the cash in my hand, then up at my lover. "Say again?"

"Shop," she replied, folding my fingers over the money before it had a chance to scatter over the marketplace. "You know...look at things, haggle, spend money."

"And this is helping you...how, again?"

She smiled. "Angel, I trust your instincts. You might not know this place or these people, but you do know when something doesn’t feel right to you. And for this thing to have at least a minute chance of working, I need to be able to rely on those instincts to help me out. So..." her grin broadened, "...have fun. Go shopping. Have some lunch. Just keep your eyes and ears open, and if you spot anything even the least bit ‘off’ to you, lemme know. And take Nia with you, if you would. She can help translate anything you might have a hard time understanding, and you’re the only one I trust to make sure she stays out of trouble."

Though my intent expression didn’t change, the smile inside me grew. Her words of trust weren’t often voiced, but when they were, I felt like a kid on Christmas morning, filled with joy and happiness at the receiving of them.

"I think I can do that," I replied, casually as I could.

She gave my shoulder a squeeze. "Good. Let’s go then."

Stealing a quick kiss from her cheek for luck, I grabbed Nia’s hand and walked into the fray.

The scents, sights and sounds of the open-air market drew me in like a moth to the flame. Everywhere my gaze landed, there was something else to snare my attention. I could tell right away that rather than the flea markets of my long ago youth—Venus Old Lady Traps, my father used to call them in one of his rare moments of good humor—this market seemed to run along the lines of craft fairs my mother was sometimes known to drive miles out of her way to attend.

Wood crafters and painters vied for space with rug weavers and furniture makers. Booths with every inch of available space crowded with fresh produce were bookended by leatherworkers and garment weavers displaying their wares on tables and crates.

As several hours had passed since I had eaten breakfast, my nose, as it often did, took charge of the situation. It led me to a booth, behind which stood a man who made Methuselah look like a toddler fresh out of diapers. His smile was wide and bereft of teeth, but his dark eyes sparkled with intelligence and kindliness. In each hand, he held a thin wooden skewer pushed through thick chunks of sizzling pork, hot peppers, onions and cherry tomatoes. The food looked wonderful and smelled even better. With a grin and a flourish, he presented us each with a skewer.

"Gracias," I replied in my rudimentary Spanish as I took hold of the treat, my mouth watering.

His grin broadened as he waved his hands at us in the universal sign to sample his wares.

Switching the skewer to my other hand, I fumbled for the pocket where I’d stored the money Ice had given me while at the same time wracking my brain for the phrase "how much?" in Spanish.

Seeing the money appear in my hand, the man put his hand up and shook his head in the negative, saying something too rapidly for me to understand and frowning slightly. I looked to Nia for help.

Walking over to me, she brought her lips close to my ear. "You’ll offend him if you give him money. He gave us this food as a gift."

"Are you sure?" I whispered back.

"Positive."

After a moment, I nodded reluctantly, and Nia stepped away, thanking the man for both of us. His sunny grin returned and he waved at us before two more customers drew his attention away.

Stuffing the money back in my pocket, I savored my prize, and bit into the succulent meat, feeling my eyes rolling back in my head as I did so. The combination of flavors was heaven to my tongue and I groaned in delight. "God, this is wonderful!"

"Yeah, it is pretty good, isn’t it," Nia replied, taking her own healthy bite. "Maybe I’ll ask if he’ll share his recipe later."

"Great idea!"

Turning, we both strolled down the wide path between booths, adroitly sidestepping various passersby as we walked along, filling our bellies. I kept my eyes and ears open, as Ice had taught me to do, hoping that if there was any trouble, I would find it before it found me.

And find it I did, not more than fifteen minutes later, as Nia stopped to examine an incredibly beautiful woven rug. Looking around, I spied three very large men heading in my direction, though two aisles to the left of where I was currently standing. The expressions on the men’s faces left no doubt that Christmas cheer had passed them by. In fact, it had probably run off screaming into the night once it had set proverbial eyes on them.

I watched through narrowed eyes as they pushed a succession of people out of their way, including a young boy who fell and hit his head hard on one of the tables. His mother quickly scooped him up and darted into the dubious safety of the crowd, the tears streaming down her face matching her son’s.

Laughing cruelly, the trio continued on its way, wreaking havoc on the stalls and patrons they passed, grabbing up merchandise and either tucking it away or smashing it beyond repair on the rocky ground beneath their boots.

Taking my eyes off them for a moment, confident that I could pick up their trail by following the evidence of their destruction alone, I grabbed Nia’s arm and spun her around to face me. "Get Ice."

"What?" she asked, trying ineffectually to pluck my hand from her arm. "Why?"

"I don’t have time to explain. Just do it. Please."

"But... ."

"Please."

She looked at me doubtfully for a long moment, but something in my eyes must have convinced her, because she then relaxed. "Ok. I’ll find her." She hesitated, smirking. "I assume you’re talking about tall, dark and gorgeous, and not the cold stuff that comes in cubes, right?"

I tightened my grip. "Nia... ."

"Alright! Alright! I will! Just leggo my arm, will ya?"

Releasing her, I gave her a gentle shove back the way we’d come before turning away.

The thugs’ trail was, as I’d predicted, rather easy to find and follow again. Like a modern day Sherlock Holmes, I followed the simple clues of the men’s passing and caught up to them at a booth that seemed to specialize in produce and dried meats, fish and the like.

Ducking quickly across the way so as not to be caught looking, I found myself amidst a large display of wind-chimes of every size, shape and description. The very air of my passing set them to jingling, but the men I’d followed didn’t spare a glance my way, for which I was thankful.

As I pretended to carefully examine the merchandise before me, I watched as the biggest of the men grabbed the poor merchant by the front of his shirt, shaking him much as a dog would a dirty sock, while his cohorts grabbed wooden packing crates and began stuffing them with all the food they could get their meaty hands on.

A very large part of me wanted to rush out from my hiding place and put a stop to the blatant theft. Deep down inside, though, I knew that if I did that, and these were the men we were looking for, my chivalry—for wont of a better term—would only cause more problems than it was likely to solve and we’d likely lose the only shot we had of tracking Cavallo to his hideout.

So I stayed where I was, albeit with some reluctance, and watched with gritted teeth and fisted hands, as the thugs cleared the poor man out of nearly everything he had.

Throwing the merchant back into his now denuded stall, the trio laughed and picked up their crates, shouting insults easily understood in any language in which they were uttered.

Damnit, Nia. Where the hell are you?

The men were quickly gone from my sight, though the sounds of their malicious laughter was easily heard over the subdued noise of the crowd.

After a final look around convinced me the cavalry wasn’t coming over the hill anytime soon, I took in a deep breath and ducked out from my cover, intent on following those men to the highway, if necessary. I caught up to them quickly, though staying a good distance back. Not that it mattered. They weren’t looking anywhere but straight ahead anyway, their mission, apparently, accomplished.

I followed them until they got to the gate, then paused a moment, considering. In the end, though, there really wasn’t any other choice in the matter. Though I didn’t have keys to the car, and couldn’t very well follow the men to wherever it was they were going next, I could at least get a description of the car they were driving, and give Ice the general direction in which they were headed.

Nodding once at my decision, I stepped past the last row of booths, only to have my wrist grasped firmly by a warm hand, stopping me dead in my tracks. Whirling, I saw Ice, a smile in her eyes, if not on her lips. She pulled me close, then turned and gave a short nod. Rio and Nia appeared out of the shadows of the booth behind us, and set off at a determined pace after the men I’d been following.

"Good job," Ice said softly when they’d cleared the gate and were gone from my view.

"Thanks," I replied, smiling at her praise and leaning into her strong, muscled body for just a moment. "So...are we going after them?"

"Nope."

Pulling away, I looked up at her. "No?"

"Rio and Nia will handle it."

"But... . I don’t understand. Aren’t they the right guys?"

"Most likely."

"Then why aren’t we going after them?"

Sometimes Ice’s peculiar brand of circular logic made my head spin.

Now was definitely one of those times.

"Well?"

"They’re bait."

"Excuse me?"

She looked down at me, a subtle smile playing over her lips. "Bait. Cavallo might have an ego larger than this entire country, but he’s not entirely stupid. He knows he’s being followed. He just doesn’t know by whom."

A light dawned somewhere within the recesses of my whirling brain. "I get it. He thinks he’s being followed, so he sends out a couple of overbearing goons who make a deliberate racket to snare in anyone who might be interested in his whereabouts. The trackers follow the bait, and he sends the real guys in later, when the coast is clear."

Her smile bloomed fully, reaching the pale glitter of her eyes. "Exactly right."

I could feel my brow furrow. "But that means that Rio and Nia could be heading into a trap. Why did you let them go after those guys?"

"Just in case Cavallo has gotten stupid in his old age."

"And if he hasn’t?"

She gave my hand a squeeze before releasing it. "Rio knows this desert better than any of us. If they’re leading her into a trap, she’ll know."

"I hope you’re right." Though Rio and I weren’t the best of friends by any yardstick one wished to use, I’d come to respect the large, quiet woman a great deal. I didn’t want to see her hurt. Nia either, despite my oft-voiced thoughts to the contrary.

"I am."

And because it was Ice saying these things, I gave up my reservations and simply believed.

"So...I guess it’s back to more shopping, huh?" I tried out my best nonchalant voice, but I’m afraid my grin gave me away.

Rolling her eyes, my lover quirked a grin right back at me. "Guess so."

I affected a sigh. "Well, alright. It’ll be a hardship, but I’ll manage to muddle through. Somehow."

Smirking, she gave me a gentle shove back in the direction I’d come. "Stay around this general area. If you see anything that doesn’t sit right with you, come find me. I won’t be too far away."

"Will do."

As I walked away, something bright and shiny caught the periphery of my vision. Like some sort of overgrown crow drawn to a bit of aluminum foil with which to feather its nest, I headed unerringly in the direction that had caught my interest.

The booth was small, and set a bit back from the rest. As I moved closer, it became quickly obvious that a master silversmith had chosen this place to display his exquisite handiwork. I looked around in utter awe as I came to a stop in front of the long display table. Most of the pieces were jewelry of some kind; bracelets, pendants, arm cuffs and rings being the most predominant. They were similar, though much better in quality, to pieces I’d seen in some of the more expensive jewelry stores at one time or another in my life, especially in the southwest. The price tags for such works of art started in the mid hundreds and only went up from there. I hesitated to see how much these were going for.

Rather then look for price-tags, I decided to examine the artist himself, who was sitting on what looked to be a wooden beer keg while working on his latest creation. He was young, that much I could tell at first glance. With a trimmed shock of thick black hair that shone blue in the intense light of the sun, he was short of stature, but wiry and well muscled in his tight white t-shirt, faded jeans, and dusty boots.

As if sensing my gaze, he looked up, and favored me with a boyish grin that touched the inky black depths of his deep set eyes. Charmed, I couldn’t help but smile back, noticing as I did the strong resemblance he bore to Rio. It was obvious that they shared the same ancestry, though I doubted they were in any way related.

Saying nothing, he looked back down and began his sculpting work anew, apparently content with my intrusion. I watched his hands as he worked, his fingers thick and square and blunt. Sure, strong and swift, yet so unlike Ice’s long fingers which moved with almost liquid grace while undertaking much the same task, though her medium of choice was wood and not silver.

As I watched, I made sure that I was also aware of my surroundings at all times. My eyes were in constant motion, scanning the market and the people therein, looking for something, anything, which would set my internal "danger" meter off.

So far, everything seemed quiet.

The market seemed to have recovered quickly from the upset the thugs had caused, as public gatherings sometimes will once the shouting is all over and there’s nothing more to see.

By the time I looked back at the object of my attention, he had finished the piece he was working on and was rubbing it briskly with a buffing cloth. Silver peeked from behind the soft cloth, winking cheerily in the sun. I could tell it was a bracelet by the vague outline which shone through as he worked. More like a wrist cuff, actually, almost two inches wide with a carved design along the face.

Giving me a boyish, almost shy, grin, he held out the object for my inspection, a quick motion of his head inviting me to take it into my own hands for an closer examination. Smiling back, I reached out, then stopped, my fingers scant inches from their goal. I could feel my jaw hang open as my gaze zeroed in on the design on the bracelet.

The rim of the rising sun was carved in bas relief along the face. And below that, an intricately carved and absolutely beautiful tree, spreading its limbs to the sun.

A bonsai tree.

Close enough to the one Ice had carved on our headboard to have been its twin.

I looked up from the bracelet to the artist who created it. His black eyes, just seconds before youthful and innocent, seemed almost ancient in their wisdom. It wasn’t as if he was looking at me. It was as if he was looking through me, beyond the flesh and blood and bone and into that space where my soul resided.

I felt a prickle of fear skitter up my spine.

"How did... ?" I trailed off, realizing in my shock that I was speaking English.

He smiled, pressing the bracelet into my hands and backing a half step away, diluting somewhat the tension between us. "Sometimes, things just are," he said, likewise in English, his voice soft and warm. "It belongs to you, now."

"Oh no," I demurred, holding the bracelet out to him. "I couldn’t possibly... ."

He held his hands up, refusing to take it back. "I saw this vision in my mind, and when you came, I knew it was meant for you to have." He cocked his head slightly. "There is someone close to you for whom that design has deep meaning, yes?"

Stunned, I could only nod.

"Good. Then I have chosen wisely. Please. Accept my gift to you both. It is a tradition of my people."

"But... I... ."

"I give this to you, knowing it will be cherished. What more can I ask?"

I laughed a little, as much to break the tension as anything else. "Well, money’s nice too... ."

He laughed then, looking much more like the young man he was—to my great relief—than the wizened ancient he’d appeared just seconds before. "Yes, money has its uses. And rest assured that the compensation I receive from well-to-do jewelers to the north guarantees that I’m rarely without it. But, if art is not sometimes done for art’s sake, it quickly loses much of its meaning." He grinned. "To me, at least. So take this, with my good wishes, and enjoy it. Or throw it away. It’s yours."

I knew the look in his eyes very well indeed. It was the same expression Ice used when a subject was closed beyond all possibility of ever being reopened again. In this century or any other, for that matter. It was an expression to which there was, really, only one answer.

Graceful concession.

"Thank you."

Another charming, boyish smile, and then he dismissed me, though not unkindly, by returning his full attention to his work.

At somewhat of a loss, I looked back down at the bracelet in my hand, viewing it from every possible angle under the brilliant light of the midday sun. I imagined, as I did so, how it would look on Ice’s wrist, the silver gleaming brightly against the deep, burnished tan of her skin.

Ice didn’t wear jewelry as a rule. In fact, in all the time I’d known her, I’d never seen her so much as eye a piece, much less don one.

Still, I had a feeling that this particular object just might change all that.

And if it didn’t, it wasn’t as if I’d lost any money in the deal.

"And speaking of money," I muttered to myself after giving my benefactor one last look. "I think I know someone who’ll appreciate some right about now."

After a quick glance around and noting that the coast was still clear, I set off in the direction of the booth the thugs had torn apart earlier. The proprietor was still there, sitting on an overturned crate, his shoulders slumped in disconsolation. Several people were gathered around him, speaking in low and sympathetic tones. My heart went out to him, this poor man who had likely lost enough potential income to keep his family through the winter.

Stepping through the small crowd, I pulled all the money Ice had given me out of my pocket and thrust it into his trembling hands. "For you," I said in my faltering, grade-school Spanish. "Merry Christmas."

He looked up at me with moist eyes the size and shape of saucers. His mouth hung open in a perfect oval as he stared.

Blushing to beat the band, tuba section and all, I bowed my head a little, smiled, and quickly turned on my heel before I started blubbering like some sort of idiot under the influence of a little too much Christmas cheer.

Half running down the wide, dirt-packed aisle, I looked quickly around me, then stopped dead in my tracks as I spied two figures entering through the main gate. Tall men, both, with regimental haircuts, broad shoulders, and clothes which, though they tried their best to look casual, were obviously quite expensive.

Thinking quickly, I ducked into a corner booth, breathing fast and trying desperately to fight against the memories their presence brought with them. Images of staring down the barrel of a gun as I tried to protect Corinne with my own body. Images of my unconscious lover being dragged away as I begged and pleaded with them to please leave her alone.

"Alright, Angel," I whispered, the sound of my own voice calming me somewhat. "Now’s not the time to be having flashbacks, here. Those are the guys we’ve been waiting for. You know it. So let’s just get on the ball and find Ice, alright?"

Thus fortified, I was about to turn when a warm pair of hands descended on my shoulders and almost sent the life screaming right out of me. "Good eyes," came a husky voice in my ear, as fragrant hair brushed softly against my cheek.

"Jesus, Ice," I breathed, relaxing back against her. "You almost gave me a heart attack."

With a gentle squeeze, Ice stepped back away from me and Critter and Pony gathered ‘round. "That them?" Critter asked, looking somewhere beyond my field of vision.

"Yup," Ice replied softly.

"So, what do we do now?" Pony chimed in.

"I’ll show you," she replied, reaching down to clasp my hand in hers, then starting out with that long-limbed, take-no-prisoners stride of hers, which left me half running every other step just to stay on my feet.

Before I knew it, we were out the gate and heading rapidly toward our car, parked toward the back.

"Um, Ice?" I queried when I was able to get my wind back.

"Mm?" she replied, unlocking the doors and opening them quickly.

"Aren’t...aren’t the guys we’re after thataway?"

"Yes." She drew the word out.

"Then...why are we going in the opposite direction? Aren’t we supposed to be keeping tabs on them?"

"That’s exactly what we’re doing."

I looked over my shoulder at Critter, who grinned and shrugged helplessly before ducking her head and getting into the back seat. Pony just smirked.

I looked back at my lover. "Wouldn’t it be better to keep tabs on them where we could actually see them?"

Her smile put the Mona Lisa’s to shame. "We will. Eventually."

Grumbling, I slipped into the car and slammed the door shut. Ice smirked when she slid inside, and when she lowered her glasses, her eyes were twinkling mischievously. I stuck my tongue out at her, and she chuckled, laying a warm hand on my thigh. "We’ll wait here until they come out. That way, they won’t see anyone following them out of the market. Then, when they pull out, we’ll follow them at a safe distance."

"That makes sense," I allowed, not totally willing to let her off the hook just yet.

She, of course, wasn’t buying my act. "Of course it does," she replied, giving me her own version of a cheeky grin before sliding her glasses back to their customary position and turning forward once again.

Still, her warm hand lay comfortable on my thigh, and when I reached down and covered it with my own (as if I could help myself) she squeezed our fingers gently together, and all was pretty much alright with my world.

*  *  *

We didn’t have all that long to wait before the two men cleared the gate and started heading for their car, followed by several merchants each toting boxes full of goods. The car in question was a long sedan which was likely black, but currently sported a reddish-yellow covering of desert dust. Parked among a bevy of bastardized trucks and cars whose showroom dates were no later than the nineteen seventies, it stuck out like a hammer-smashed grasping appendage.

Within minutes, the merchants had finished placing their boxes in the back seat and trunk of the car and were summarily waved off by the two men without so much as a "by your leave", as far as I could tell.

The men got into their car and were off in a spray of gravel and dust.

A moment later, Ice started up the car and pulled in behind several other shoppers who were heading toward home after a long day of bargaining. She’d taken the radios from both of the police cruisers before they shuffled off to auto heaven, and had reinstalled them in the two cars we now used. Unhooking the mike, she depressed the button as we drove at medium speed down a straight-as-an-arrow two lane highway, following a short convoy of cars and light trucks. "You there?"

"Yeah." came Rio’s voice over the radio.

"How’d it go?"

"They were the bait, alright. Led us on a good chase, but I backed off before it became too obvious. Heading back to you now."

"We’re on our way out now, headed west toward the mountains. We’re about two miles out."

"I’ll continue on and swing in behind you, then."

"Alright. We’re following a black sedan, two men inside."

"Will do. Out."

Racking the mike, Ice put both her hands on the wheel and raced the winter sun as it began its slow, meandering trek westward toward the mountain ranges in the near distance.

Conversation, what there was of it, was sparse, and I spent some time silently thanking Ice for sending Nia with Rio. Forty-five minutes into the trip, I saw Rio’s beaten beige sedan pass us in the opposite direction, then U-turn across the highway and slide in behind the line of cars heading to the west.

We continued on for maybe another half-hour when Ice’s radio crackled with an incoming call. Rio’s urgent voice came over the speaker. "Shit. I know where he’s going. Follow me."

As Ice slowed down, Rio crossed on a dotted yellow and slipped in front of our car. Up ahead and to the left, there was a turnoff, and when Rio signaled, Ice followed behind a line of two or three other cars and turned as well, leaving the rest of the unintentional caravan to continue on, still led by Cavallo’s men.

We were in the foothills, and as the cars in front of Rio’s continued forward, Rio herself pulled off , her front bumper almost touching the rocky hill which sprung up in front of us like a shark fin in an otherwise calm, if rather dirty, ocean.

The car hadn’t even stopped rolling before she jumped out and sprinted up the rocky side of the hill (more like a small mountain, really) at a speed far quicker that one would think a body that large could possibly go.

Nia exited more slowly, simply staring up the mountain and the quickly retreating form of Rio with open-mouthed shock.

After pulling up along side the parked car, Ice exited at a more leisurely pace, but once she was free and clear, she went up after Rio, catching up to her rather quickly despite the other woman’s rather large lead.

"Up?" Pony asked me, eyebrows raised.

"Up," I replied, already taking off.

"Figures," she muttered, climbing next to me with Critter and Nia joining in the chase.

The route to the top was steep, the footing very unsteady, and by the time I made it up, I was breathing heavily and bathed in a fine layer of sweat. I was inwardly pleased, however, to note that both Pony and Critter were both more winded than I, while Nia was still struggling to the top, her face florid and wet with sweat.

Covering the last few feet, I went to stand next to Ice, who was standing in a small stand of tough, gnarled pinion pines, and breathing as if she’d just taken a leisurely stroll down the lane. Where I might once have felt envy over her supreme display of physical fitness, I instead just grinned and shook my head.

"What?" she asked, eyebrow raised.

"Nothing," I replied, nudging her a little. "What’s going on?"

Following my lover’s pointing finger, I noticed a rather large dwelling surrounded on all sides by a high stone wall. The house itself looked to be made of pink adobe with a blue Spanish-tiled roof. It looked slightly run down, as if it hadn’t been properly cared for in quite some time. Some of the roof tiles were missing, the yard was an overgrown proliferation of cacti, olive trees, and pinion pines, and the large in-ground pool was thick and green with algae and god knows what else.

As I watched, the black sedan pulled into the compound and stopped in the circular driveway near the front entrance to the house. Several men emerged from the home, all armed, to help remove the boxes the men had brought back with them.

Try as I might, I couldn’t see Cavallo himself anywhere which, as I’m sure you might guess, didn’t cause me much of a problem at all.

"How did you know?" I whispered to Rio, who stood to the other side of Ice.

When she looked back at me, her expression was one of self-loathing. "I didn’t. But I should have." Her large hands were clenched into tight fists, which she beat uselessly against her tree-trunk thighs. "Buncha compounds like this all around here. Drug lords and dictators on the lam hide out here. Been doin’ it for over fifty years or more. Didn’t realize this was where he was holed up until we got close, though. Damnit."

"Rio, enough." Ice’s voice was soft, but the note of command it held was undeniable, and unalterable.

Rio’s shoulders sagged.

"Do you know anything about this particular compound?" my lover asked, raking her eyes over the land in question.

The other woman’s expression brightened slightly as she shoulders squared. "Matter of fact, I do. A friend of mine was caretaker here for about ten years before the drug lord who lived there went back home. As far as I know, it’s been empty for two years, maybe three."

"Is your friend still around?"

"Yeah. Twenty miles or so back the way we came."

"Alright then. Let’s head over there. I want an idea of what’s inside before I make my move."

Knowing a conversation ender when I heard one, I spun away from the mountain-top view of the compound, then stilled my motion as I tried to mentally adjust to the picture my eyes were presenting me.

What I thought I was seeing was a large fogbank moving in from the east. If fog was yellow, that is. Which it isn’t. Like fog, though, it had a mysterious quality to it, and might have even been beautiful, in its own fashion, if not for the ugly yellow color.

Entranced, and a little spooked, to be honest, I looked up. And saw something that, if possible, was even more strange.

It was as if someone had taken a ruler and drawn a perfectly straight line across the sky. To the west of the line, the sky was a clear, vibrant winter blue. To the east, a deep, black void. Black as night, but without any moon or stars to show the way.

It was something I’d never in my life seen before, and it was more than a little frightening.

As if to frighten me further, a freshening breeze blew up, and that breeze was cold. Icy cold.

I shivered inside the flannel Ice had given me, and pulled it tighter against my sweat-drenched skin.

Pony was the next to turn, and like me, she froze when presented with the view. "Dust storm," she muttered disgustedly. "Shit."

"More than that," came Rio’s voice from behind. "Monsoon. Bad one, by the looks of the sky."

"A monsoon?" Pony countered. "In December?!?"

"Mother Nature doesn’t always read the White Man’s calendar," Rio replied.

"She should damn well start, then."

Sensing that a storm of a different type was brewing, I stepped forward, drawing Rio’s attention away from Pony. "So, what do we do?"

"We head east, like we were planning."

"Into the storm?" I asked, doubt coloring my voice.

Her dark, somber eyes met mine. "The only way through these mountains is to take that highway, which leads down into a deep valley and crosses a major river. It’s fifty miles or more before the valley floor raises up. It’s a flood plain. We’ll never outrun the storm." She pointed ahead. "There’s higher ground back to the east. It’s a lot safer, even if it means going into the mouth of the storm."

I looked over at Ice, who nodded her acceptance of Rio’s succinct assessment.

"Out of the frying pan and into the fire, huh?"

My lover smiled slightly before stepping up and laying a feather light touch to my back. "Let’s go."

*  *  *

Driving through the dust storm was interesting, to say the least. It was like being in a fog bank, and a snowstorm all rolled into one. One choking breath of that swirling dust, however, convinced me that Ice meant what she said when she ordered all windows and vents closed tightly.

Nia rode with us this time, though thankfully she was too busy gawking at this interesting weather phenomenon to break out into song. If I could be grateful to a storm for one thing, it would be that.

The dust soon thinned and then disappeared altogether. My sense of relief lasted, however, for all of about two seconds before the deluge hit.

No simple winter rainstorm, this. Nor even remotely like anything I’d ever been through before in my almost thirty years of living on this planet of ours.

About the only thing I can think to liken it to is going through one of those drive-thru car-washes without using your windshield wipers. The rain came harder than it had any right to, completely swamping the car and making it utterly impossible to see anything but the rippling pool of water battering the windshield.

Lightening flashed in rapidfire bursts, like the finale of a fireworks display in fuzzy monochrome. Thunder boomed and cracked so loudly that I clapped my hands over my ears and feared for the strength of the glass in the windows.

"Ice?" I asked, my voice high and wavery. Though loathe to disturb my partner’s intense concentration, I was, quite frankly, scared to death. "Do you think we should maybe pull over until this lets up some?"

"Can’t," came her succinct reply as she willed her keen eyes to see beyond the curtain of water the storm laid over the windshield.

"There’s...um...c-canals on both sides." Nia’s voice floated up from the back seat, even more breathy and timorous than my own.

I could have slapped myself for forgetting that. Long, narrow canals took the place of the shoulders on both sides of the highway, bringing rain and reservoir water into the outlying regions. So, pulling over was most definitely not an option.

Rigid with fear, I tugged on my seatbelt, making sure the connection was secure. I was absolutely sure that, with each passing second—time measured by the rapid, if useless swish-thump of the wipers, beating in perfect synchrony with my panicked heart—we would either plow into Rio’s car, or someone else would hit us from behind.

We were flying blind, and we all knew it.

The radio crackled, and Pony’s voice filtered into the car. "We’re out."

Quickly, I retrieved the mike. "What do you mean? Out of the storm?" Hope flared, high and bright, in my heart.

"We’re stopped. A tree’s down, blocking the highway."

"How do you know?"

"We just hit it."

"Jesus. Are you alright?"

Static crackled as a bolt of lightening landed frightfully close. I almost screamed as the thunder nearly shattered my eardrums with its frightful intensity.

"Yeah. No damage. We were going too slow. You’d better stop, Ice. You’ll hit us."

Ice had already started slowing down, from the first moment Pony contacted us, and came to a gradual, safe stop in the middle of the highway.

"We’re stopped." The relief coursing through me made me feel limp and drained.

"Good. Anyone behind you?"

"Like I can see anything?!?"

"Alright, alright, Angel. Take it easy."

My attention was quickly diverted as I watched Ice’s hand go to the door lever and proceed to open it. "Ice, wait! You can’t... ."

My words were bitten off, literally, as my teeth came together sharply, pinning my tongue between them. The hot, metallic taste of blood flooded my mouth, then was quickly forgotten as my entire body was jerked forward, my head on a direct collision course with the dashboard as we were hit, hard, from behind.

The impact never happened, though, because we were hit again, this time from the side. Unrestrained, Ice’s body flew across the interior and landed in my lap, pinning me against the door. Stars sparked in my vision as the back of my head collided with the window, but somehow my lover managed to prevent me from sustaining more damage by wrapping her long arms around me and tucking me against her snugly.

My indrawn breath of pain and relief was cut off midway as we were struck again, this time with twice as much force as the previous two collisions combined. The squealing groan of metal rending mixed in frightful cacophony with the splinter of fractured glass and Nia’s high-pitched, terror-filled scream.

We were hit again, and then again as the storm set off a destructive chain reaction with us as the focus-point. I clutched at Ice the way a drowning man clutches his rescuer, knowing my fingernails were scourging her skin, but terrified beyond caring at that moment.

The final crash came and I felt the world around me tumble as the car began to raise up off its wheels. The next thing I knew, we were floating free.

After that, I knew nothing at all.

*  *  *

Something soft and fragrant tickled against my nose, then tickled again as my eyelashes fluttered against opening. When the nuisance wouldn’t go away, I finally opened my eyes and scowled at the feathery stalk of grass that waved at me, courtesy of a warm, summer breeze.

My scowl quickly turned to a grin, though, and I rolled over on my back to look up at a pristine blue sky and a slight scattering of tiny clouds which trailed lazily across a friendly summer sun.

I felt...perfect, I realized as the sounds of the breeze travelling through grass and leaves played a lazy, peaceful harmony. The long nap I’d apparently taken had left me feeling uncommonly refreshed. The minor aches and pains which collected as I got older seemed to have vanished, as if they never were.

I was clear-headed and light-hearted and filled with an absolute, incredible joy.

Rolling up to a sitting position, I gazed across the flat expanse of a pristine lake with waters so calm and so blue that the sight brought tears of happiness to my eyes. The lake was surrounded on all sides by a forest of stately, deep emerald evergreens whose laden boughs swayed and danced in the ever-present and deliciously scented breeze which blew warm and gentle upon my skin.

Paradise.

Coming to my feet, I turned in a slow circle, the smile on my face growing so broad that I was sure it would freeze there. Not that I would have minded, of course.

Giggling like a schoolgirl, I watched the whimsical path of a beautiful butterfly as it flitted over a meadow filled with a million flowers in every color of the rainbow.

I was grasped with a sudden need to be in that meadow, to run through it and feel the soft, pollen-dusted petals as they brushed against my bare legs, and to smell the sweet fragrances of the flowers as I passed each one by.

With a joyous shout, I flung my arms wide and took off through the field, laughing until tears ran from my eyes, blurring the scene before me as if I were looking through a prism filled with a magical radiance. Temporarily blinded, I stumbled and fell, but the ground was like a soft, warm blanket, cradling me and cushioning me as I rolled, still laughing and covered with pollen, through the field.

Springing back to my feet, I continued my sprint, filled with an energy I’d never before felt. It was...amazing was the only word I could think to use. I could have been running for hours, or even days, but it was like the energy within me kept growing and growing until my body fairly buzzed with it.

The meadow’s end lay only a short distance away, bordered by more of those tall, fragrant evergreens. As the warmth of the sun and the exercise had conspired to lay a faint sheen of sweat on my body, the promised coolness of the shaded emerald forest was perfection itself.

With a last, grateful look at the flowering field, I stepped into the cool, fragrant shadows of the giant trees. Soft fronds brushed my arms like welcoming friends. It was cool, quiet and dim, yet tranquil and comforting the way a warm summer’s night is comforting.

Up ahead, a short distance away, a faint rose glow came through the trees, drawing my attention and my footsteps in that direction.

The glow, which became subtly brighter as I made my zigzag way toward its unknown source, gilded the trees at the edge of the small wood a dusky bronze which was quite beautiful in its own way. I felt in some way drawn to it by an almost magnetic attraction, and before I knew it, my meandering pace had quickened to a ground-eating trot.

The trees fell away suddenly, giving way to a huge clearing.

And in the center of that clearing, glowing rose and gold and bronze, was the largest tree I’d ever seen in my life. Not so much tall, no, but broad, and strong, as if sprung up from the very bedrock of the earth itself. Its thick, sturdy limbs grew out from the trunk in wild proliferation.

It seemed wild, and untamed, and, to my awestruck eyes, so very, very beautiful.

I felt a tug from somewhere deep down within me, and I took up my trot once again, feeling the radiant glow gently, tenderly caress my face and form as I moved ever closer.

Drawn on by a need and a longing beyond my understanding, I increased my speed, hands outstretched to their fullest limit and aching for something I couldn’t name. A final step and I was there, my outstretched fingers brushing against the warm, smooth, living bark with a sense of profound relief

Laying my palms flat against the trunk, I felt an intense surge of energy flow through me, bringing with it a sense of rightness, of completeness that, until now, I hadn’t been aware I was lacking.

Startled, though unafraid, I took a brief step back, losing contact with the tree as I did so.

The immediate sense of loss was almost overwhelming, and tears sprung quick to my eyes, blurring my vision once again.

"What’s happening to me?" I whispered, overcome with a grief whose source was unknown.

Angel... .

My head jerked up, and I took another step back, looking around me. "Who...who said that?"

Angel... .

The voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. I did a slow circle, eyes darting around the clearing, but as far as I could tell, I was completely alone.

"Please. Who’s there? I won’t harm you. Just please... ."

Angel... .

Drawing a bead on the origin of the voice, I turned quickly back to the tree.

Only, it wasn’t a tree anymore.

In its place stood a woman of breathtaking beauty. She was tall, broad of shoulder and lean of hip. Her hair was black as night and flew freely from her brow in luxuriant waves. Her face was that of an artist’s model, and her eyes….her eyes were the pale, intense blue of the hottest part of a flame.

"I know you," I breathed with surety, though the full knowledge of the woman before me danced tauntingly out of reach, like a word stuck on the tip of your tongue and refusing to come forth.

Angel... .

The corner of her mouth turned up in a crooked smile, and she reached out one long arm, elegant fingers slightly curled, beckoning.

Without conscious thought, I felt my own arm raise in response as my feet moved me steps closer to the breathtaking woman in front of me.

Our fingers brushed together and memories of a forgotten lifetime crashed over me, literally bringing me, gasping, to my knees.

Angel... .

The voice came again, only this time, I knew who it was that was calling to me.

"Ice?"

A radiant smile broke over her face like the beauty of the rising sun. She reached out again, beckoning.

Grinning like a fool, I jumped back to my feet, ignored her outstretched hand, and leapt into her arms, only to find myself tumbling into blackness once again.

*  *  *

I came to with a gasp which sent pain wracking through to the deepest levels of my body. My lungs were on fire, and I began choking and gagging so hard that I felt as if my lungs and guts were about to make an unseemly exit through my nose and mouth.

The only thing to come up, thankfully, was brackish water, and that in great amounts.

"Oh god," I gasped as my body convulsed again, trying desperately to expel everything I’d evidently ingested. "Help me."

In answer to my prayer, I was enfolded in a tender embrace by arms I knew and cherished. I felt a kiss being pressed into the crown of my head as those arms gathered me close against a muscled body which was shaking as badly as I was.

"It’s alright," came the whispered words. "You’re gonna be alright."

Forcing my stinging eyes open, I tilted my head back and looked up into the cherished face of my lover. "Ice?"

She barked a half laugh, half sob which brought more tears from already swollen eyes. "Yeah, it’s me."

"What happened?"

The lines of her face tensed in unimaginable pain. Her eyes closed and she gathered me still closer with an almost desperate strength. Laying her cheek atop my head, she rocked my pain-wracked body as I listened to the panicked beat of her valiant heart.

It all rushed back to me then. The monsoon. The accident. The feeling of flying, of falling, and ultimately, the total darkness which spiraled around me until it finally caught up and captured me in its inevitable grasp.

Something horrible had happened. To me. That much I knew.

I just needed to figure out what it was.

"Ice?"

Sensing no answer from that quarter, I opened my eyes again, and gazed outward, past the comforting circle of my lover’s arms and body.

I latched on to the first face I saw. "Critter?"

Like Ice, her eyes were red and swollen from crying. Giving me a watery smile, she moved closer, settled on her haunches, and grasped my hand, her thumb trailing tenderly over my knuckles. "Welcome back, Angel."

I could feel my brow creasing, though the action sent a fresh wave of pain through my skull. "What happened?"

She took in a deep breath, then let it out, hesitating. "What...what’s the last thing you remember?" she asked at last.

"I remember the car flipping over. That’s it, I think."

"It...um...flipped into the canal," she commented softly, sniffing back fresh tears.

"On it’s fucking roof," came the voice of Pony as she moved in to kneel beside Critter. Her face was white with shock, and there was a suspicious wetness around her eyes. "Damndest fucking thing I ever saw," she continued, shaking her head as she dragged a slightly trembling hand through soaked hair.

"What was?"

The two women exchanged glances. Critter nodded slightly, and Pony sighed.

"You guys were trapped. There wasn’t enough room to get to the doors on either side," Pony explained. "Rio jumped in to see if she could get underneath, but the water was so damn fast she nearly got swept away."

"Rio? Is she... ." Though I looked around, I couldn’t see the woman in question anywhere.

"Yeah," Critter interjected, squeezing my hand. "She’s fine. Pony and I were able to drag her out before she got too far away."

"Where is she?"

"With Nia," Pony answered.

"Is Nia... ?"

"She’s fine too. Banged up pretty good, but not too bad, considering."

"Considering what?"

They exchanged glances again, and Pony, once again, took up the gauntlet.

"We were going all kinds of crazy, trying to figure out how to get you all out of there. Rio kept wanting to jump back in and me and Critter kept holding her back." Her fists clenched. "We needed help, but none of the other assholes who caused this whole fucking mess wanted to help out. They were too damn busy pissing and moaning about their pitiful pieces of shit cars to pay any attention to us." Her face screwed up into an expression of bitter disgust.

Critter wrapped her free arm around Pony’s waist and squeezed. She picked up the tale. "Rio found some rope in one of the other cars. We figured we’d try and tie it around one of the axles and maybe pull, somehow try to move the car and get you guys out."

"We were getting ready to do just that, too," Pony said, "when the damndest thing happened." She shook her head, disbelief plain on her features.

"What?" I’m afraid I sounded a bit annoyed at that point, but my head was pounding, my lungs were still on fire with every breath I took, my body felt as if Ice had used it in place of her heavy-bag, and I felt as if I was going to throw up sometime in the very near future.

Pony, however, seemed oblivious. Her eyes were dark and far away. "We heard this loud crack, and the next thing we knew, Nia was flying through the air, pretty as you please. Rio caught her just before she would have hit the ground. She was soaked, and bleeding some, but she was alive." My friend’s voice trailed off as she shook her head in patent disbelief.

"Then Ice came out through the back window she’d somehow kicked open," Critter said, softly. "You were in her arms. The water kept trying to sweep her away. I don’t know how she managed, but somehow she did." She, too, shook her head. "Pony, Rio and I went down to take you from her, but she wouldn’t give you up. She was in shock, I think." She took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. "We finally managed to get hold of you and bring you up here. You were... ."

"Dead," Pony supplied, flatly, wiping at her eyes with savage hands.

"Wha-at?" My entire body went numb at her pronouncement. Ice’s arms tightened convulsively around me, cutting off my breathing for a long, aching second before they finally loosened, though only infinitesimally, for which I was grateful.

"You weren’t breathing," Critter supplied gently. "You guys were completely under water for a long time, and you were unconscious. You hit your head a good one on something."

That explained the unmerciful throbbing which threatened to explode my skull into tiny little fragments.

"I tried...to get a pulse...and I couldn’t find one," Critter continued, tears streaming liberally down her cheeks and dripping onto the still-wet pavement. "I...we...didn’t know what to do. I mean...we all knew CPR, but... I’m afraid we panicked." Her face flushed a deep shade of red and self-disgust was very prominent in every tense line of her face and body.

"Critter... ." I whispered.

Scrubbing her eyes, she shook her head, refusing my attempt at comfort.

Her face similarly flushed, Pony embraced the weeping Critter, and looked at me over the top of her lover’s bowed head. "All the sudden, we heard this...this...roar. Like some kinda wild animal or something. Scared the shit outta me. Next thing I know, I’m flying backwards. Almost fell into the damn canal."

"What happened?" Those words seemed the extent of my vocabulary of late.

"Ice did," Pony replied. "Everything that we couldn’t do, she did." Her voice was soft, reverent almost. "Somehow, she got some of the water outta you, then she started doing CPR, pounding on your chest and breathing into your mouth. She was like a demon, almost. Totally possessed."

Critter pulled slightly away from Pony and turned her face toward mine, her eyes bright with awe. "We...we tried to help, but she wouldn’t let any of us near you. Just kept doing CPR and screaming at you not to leave her. It seemed like it went on like that for...god!...hours. She just kept screaming. Kept telling you you couldn’t leave her. That it wasn’t your time to go. That you were strong. That you could fight it." At that, she broke down into sobs which matched my own. "She begged you not to go."

Pony wrapped Critter in an embrace again, unmindful of her own tears. "It was taking too long," she whispered. "Too long. I...tried to pull her away. It seemed fruitless...too late. But she wouldn’t listen. She wouldn’t... ." Her hand went up, unconsciously, to brush against a swollen, bruising area just below her right eye.

"Did she... ?"

Pony hung her head. "I deserved it."

"Pony!"

Her chin raised and she met my eyes again, her own burning with a strange intensity. "I deserved it, Angel. I gave up. She never did."

"She believed in you," Critter added, her body still wracked with sobs. "Even when the rest of us had given up, she still believed."

Closing my eyes for a very long moment, I gingerly moved my head, ignoring its outraged screaming, and wormed an arm free of my lover’s desperate grip. Reaching up, I trailed my fingers across her icy cheek until I could cup her chin and turn her head toward my own. "Ice," I whispered, willing her eyes to open.

Her face was a tragedy’s mask, set in harsh lines of grief. Her eyes and jaw were tightly clenched. Her nostrils flared as her breath came in quick pants.

"Ice," I whispered again, stroking her jaw. "Look at me. Please."

I continued my gentle stroking, loving her as best I could and willing her to feel that through the bond we shared. "Please, sweetheart. Please open your eyes."

Whether it was the tone of my voice, or the realization that I was never going to give up until she did as I asked, her lashes finally fluttered open to reveal the deep, stormy blue of her eyes.

There was such a tumultuous wash of emotion in those beautiful eyes, but I could read each one as if it stood out as a beacon for my gaze alone.

Grief.

Pain.

Anguish.

Anger.

Self loathing.

Fear.

And, swirling through all the negative, dark emotions, trapped like a ship battered by a winter storm, was the one thing that I needed to see, more than anything else in this world.

Love.

"Thank you," I said, meaning it from the bottom of my soul and beyond. Though it hurt to smile, I did, so filled with love was I for this woman who’d given everything to save my life, and never gave up.

Ever.

With a mystic’s sight, I could see how trapped she felt; torn between holding me tightly and pulling away, thinking herself undeserving of my gratitude and love.

With a strength I didn’t know I possessed, I drew my fingers along the base of her skull, and pulled her head down even as I raised my own, trying not to wince as fresh pain flared through my head with the motion.

Our lips tangled, and at first, hers were as cold and unyielding as a marble statue. But, just as she never gave up on me, I wasn’t about to let her hide away in whatever dark hell she’d built for herself.

As I’m sure you’ve noticed by now, I’m nothing if not persistent. I kept to my task with a single-minded devotion until finally, after eons had truly passed, I felt her begin to respond. Slowly, tentatively at first, to be sure, but within moments, it was as if I’d released a lion from its cage, all ferocious passion and primal need.

She built an inferno effortlessly within me as my body surged to renewed life with a passion and an intensity that matched her own, need for need, want for want.

There was nothing gentle about this fierce reclaiming of our souls. Nothing tender. Nothing soft or soothing. It was as if we both knew, by some strange metaphysical, karmic fusion, that neither of us could handle that right now.

No, the kiss we shared mingled our anger and our fear, our pain and our loss, our anguish and our love, all melded into a ball of white-hot intensity which flared far brighter and far hotter than any sun in any galaxy you’d care to name.

And when it was over, we were both left bruised and panting, hearts pounding and heads spinning, and locked together more tightly than ever before.

We were home.

The sounds of sirens, still far off but getting closer, served to break the spell. Pony’s apologetic face slipped into my field of vision. "We...um...should start thinking about getting outta here."

It was an amazing thing, I mused, being held in Ice’s arms as she methodically erected her defensive walls one by one. It was almost like watching a rose bloom, but in reverse, the petals closing in protectively to shield the soft heart inside. As I watched, her eyes turned from the stormy, turbulent blue of grief to a flat, steel gray of resolve, a color which perfectly matched the sky above.

As she prepared herself to stand, with me still firmly gathered in her arms, I noticed for the first time the cuts and scratches scattered liberally over the naked areas of her skin, including the deep one right at her hairline which was dripping a slow, thick trail of blood down the side of her face.

I was about to say something, but the look in her eyes warned against it, so instead I concentrated on losing my invalid status. "I... can stand." I think.

The briefest twitch of a raven brow, and then I felt her grip around me loosen as she gently placed me back on my feet.

My knees, traitors that they are, promptly buckled under my weight. The asphalt and I would have once again become rather intimate acquaintances had not Ice’s preternatural strength come to my rescue. Gathering me in her arms once again, she shot me a look which was all business and brooked no arguments on any subject I might care to bring up.

Realizing that there were far worse places in the world to be than in the sure grip of my lover’s arms, I wisely decided against tempting Fate, and simply gave in to the inevitable, leaning my head against her chest in complete surrender.

The barest trace of a smirk ghosted across her face at my antics and we turned toward our sole remaining car with all due haste.

Rio finished tossing her boltcutters and the registration tag from the demolished car into the trunk, then moved to open each door in turn as we approached. Critter helped settle Ice and myself in the back seat, then joined us as Pony, Nia and Rio took up the bench seat in the front.

The sirens drew still nearer as Rio started the engine and managed to maneuver the large sedan around the tall tree which blocked all but the very edge of the oncoming lane of the highway. For a long, terrifying moment, I was sure we were going to take another trip into the canal, but Rio handled the car with the ease of a professional, and before I knew it, we were on our way back to Ice’s safe-house.

*  *  *

"Angel, lie still! I need to get these wet clothes off of you!"

"I can’t," I replied peevishly, scowling up at Critter as she tried to wrestle me to the mattress. "My chest hurts and it’s hard to breathe if I lay down flat."

Sighing, Critter dragged a hand through her soaking golden hair. Then she grabbed the waistband of my jeans and tugged. "At least lift up so I can get these pants off of you, okay? Ice will kill me if she comes back and you’re still dressed."

"Oh alright," I grumped, slapping her hands away and unbuttoning the jeans myself. As I struggled to pull the wet, clingy fabric off of legs which felt like lead, the effort suddenly became too much and I slumped back against the beat, exhausted beyond reckoning.

To her credit, and though I more than deserved it, she didn’t smirk at me. Instead, her eyes were kind and compassionate as she removed the sodden clothing from my shivering body. As the last piece came free, Ice entered the room, arms laden with towels and a thick comforter which she laid down on the bed. Her face was expressionless as she nodded to Critter, thanking her silently for helping me undress.

Nodding, Critter pointed to the large gash in Ice’s hairline which bleeding sluggishly. "You need to get that looked at."

"Later," my lover replied. Picking up two of the towels, she approached my side of the bed and began drying me off, her touch clinical, yet gentle. Her piercing gaze examined every inch of my body, with the exception of my eyes, which were continually avoided, no matter how much I tried to catch her own.

Soon, I was perfectly dry and well on my way to being warm as well, as Ice carefully tucked me beneath the covers of our bed and covered me with the extra quilt she’d liberated from somewhere. While the silence between us during these mundane tasks should have been comforting, it was anything but. I itched to draw her out, but my tired mind came up blank.

"You...should get out of those wet clothes," I finally managed, my voice soft and hoarse.

With a brief incline of her head, indicating she’d at least heard me, she gathered the wet towels and turned away, her every movement under tight control as she left the room.

Sighing, I slumped back onto the three pillows Ice had placed behind my head and shoulders to prevent me from lying flat. Fighting against giving in to the overwhelming exhaustion, I tried to keep my eyes open. The stucco’d ceiling above stared down at me complacently, giving me no answers.

Sighing again, I rolled to my side, facing the door and coughing a little as my lungs evidently protested the change in position. Settling down some, I stared into the darkened hallway and willed the woman I loved to appear.

Please, Ice. Don’t shut me out.

As if my thoughts had willed it so, Ice reentered the room, one towel wrapped about her lean hips while the other pushed through the inky mass of her thick hair, drying it. I found myself gasping in horror at the patchwork of deep black bruises which covered her chest and belly to disappear beneath the towel wrapped around her lower body.

Hearing my gasp, my lover froze and followed my gaze, looking down at her own body for a long moment before catching my eyes once again. "They’ll heal," she said softly, resuming her hair-drying task with casual indifference.

The silence hung heavy and thick between us, a white elephant we both pretended not to notice.

Tossing the damp towel down on the bed, she crossed the room in easy strides and crouched over the neatly stacked pile of clothing, rummaging for something clean to wear.

Getting dressed was not something I wanted to have happen. Naked, her body easily telling the tale of the tragedy we’d both survived made her vulnerable in a way that I needed at that moment. To allow her to cover those marks would be tantamount to accepting that this would always lie between us, undiscussed and unfinished. Given the chance, I feared, it would grow and fester if left alone, and that wasn’t something I was about to have happen. Not now. Not ever.

"Ice," I said, in the strongest voice I could manage.

Her broad back stiffened for a moment, reading my plea for exactly what it was.

For a long moment, her next action was a tossup. Would she give in and bare her soul as easily as her body? Or would she ignore me and gird both against revealing the pain in her heart.

I held my breath against the second possibility until spots swum before my eyes.

Relief washed through me in an almost painful wave as her hands finally came away from the pile and she came to her feet with an animal grace which never failed to thrill me. She turned, eyes as shuttered and as guarded as I’d ever seen them.

Smiling wanly, I held out a hand to her, willing her with my heart alone to step forward and take it.

And, after a second which spanned eternity, she did, clasping her warm, strong fingers around my smaller ones in a tender embrace.

Quickly, I made room for her on my side of the bed, and tugged her hand gently, my smile grown broader as she gave in and sat next to me on the bed. I looked up into that breathtakingly beautiful face, memorizing each and every feature for the millionth time since I’d first set eyes upon her, and holding that image closer to my heart than even the blood which ran through it.

"Thank you," I said finally, though my voice was strained and cracked through with emotion. Tears welled up in my eyes and spilled unhindered down my cheeks.

Two simple words, yet they encompassed so much meaning.

Thank you for not running away.

Thank you for saving my life.

Thank you for not giving up on me.

Thank you for loving me.

My lover’s eyes were shiny with their own tears as she looked down at me. Her hand reached out to cup my cheek, one strong thumb wiping away the wetness on my face. "I’m so sorry," she whispered.

Looking into those shattered blue eyes was like taking a knife to the heart.

"No," I whispered, watching as those brilliant eyes slid closed, liberating one solitary tear to roll down her cheek. "Don’t say that, Ice. Don’t ever say that. You fought for me. You brought me back. Don’t ever be sorry for that! You saved me!"

Jaw tightening, her proud head bowed, every line in her body negating my words.

Struggling to a sitting position, I took Ice’s hand from my cheek and clasped it between both of my own, holding it to my chest so she could feel the strong and steady beat of my heart. "Now you listen to me, Ice. What happened today was an accident. Nothing more, nothing less. It wasn’t your fault, it wasn’t my fault, it wasn’t Rio’s fault, it wasn’t anyone’s fault. Blaming yourself for it won’t change that fact, and I think you know that."

"If I had sent you back over the border when I got you out of that jail, none of this would ever have happened," Ice replied after a long moment, her voice a low, determined growl.

"Maybe that’s true, Ice," I replied. "But none of this would have happened either if I hadn’t come over the border in the first place. Or if Rio hadn’t taken us to that bar. Or if Nia hadn’t started that fight. Or if she hadn’t had the idea to come down here in the first place. Or any of a million other things that all conspired to put all of us at that place at that time." I clasped her hand tighter, not willing to let go. "Don’t you see? Responsibility for our actions lies with all of us, Ice. You can’t take that on your shoulders, as much as you sometimes seem to want to. You have to let us shoulder some of it too. That’s what being in a partnership is all about, and I don’t know about you, but I kinda like to think we are partners. In every sense of the word."

I could tell she was listening. I could sense it in the minute lessening of the tight coil of her body. I could hear it in the ease of her breathing. I could feel it in the slowing of the rapid pulse beneath my thumb.

Bringing our joined hands up to my lips, I touched a tender kiss to her fingers. "What you did today, Ice, was nothing short of miraculous. The only person who doesn’t see that, or won’t accept it, is you."

Her head raised slowly as her eyes opened, pinning me with glittering sliver. "I’m no hero, Angel."

I smiled. "You don’t know how wrong you are, Ice. You’re a hero to all those women out there. You’re a hero to Pop and to Corinne, and to so many others. You’re a hero to that little boy whose life you saved out on that frozen pond. And, most of all, you’re my hero. You’re the white knight who came riding over the hill when I most needed her. The person who taught me how to stand up for myself and how to fight to be all I can be. The person who believes in my dreams and encourages me to follow them. The person who loves me and allows me to love her in return. The person who would give her last breath to protect me, and who would give up her own life to save mine."

My smile broadened. "That, my love, is a hero. And that’s what you are. To me, and to a whole bunch of people out there. I believe it. They believe it. All you need to do is believe it as well."

Her dark head shook slowly in negation. "I...don’t think I can."

"Sure you can," I replied, grinning and nudging her gently. "That’s why you have me around, remember? To point these things out to you."

That got the smile I was looking for, even if it was just a ghost of the one I really wanted to see. Reaching out, I wrapped my arms around her shoulders, ever mindful of the horrid bruising on her breasts and belly. Not caring in the least, she pulled me to her and buried her face in my hair. "I love you, Angel," she whispered. Her lips brushed against my ear, causing a shiver to run down my spine and back up again.

"I love you too, Ice. More and more each day."

Leaning back, I managed to lay both of us down on the bed with my lover’s head pillowed against my breast. It was a wonderful feeling, getting to hold her like that, and I fell asleep with a smile on my face.

PART 9

PNEUMONIA CAME CALLING, as I knew it would, setting up residence in my chest, throat and head. I don’t remember much about those long days and longer nights, especially since I spent most of them viewing the world through a haze of fevered delirium. What I do remember is that every time I opened my eyes, Ice was there to cool my fever, ease my aches, calm my cough, and love me through it all.

I also remember my fever breaking fully for the final time, leaving me incredibly clear-headed and incredibly exhausted. I remember turning my head on a sweat-soaked pillow, and looking down to see one of Ice’s hands clasped so tightly in my own that I’d wondered if I’d cut off her fingers’ circulation with my obvious death-clutch. She’d been sitting in a chair pulled up to the bed, and her head was resting on the mattress next to my hip. Her deep, even breathing proclaimed her fast asleep.

Smiling slightly, and a little teary-eyed, I reached with my free hand and laid the most tender of touches to her dark, bowed head, relishing the feel of her thick, silky hair beneath my fingers. "I love you," I whispered on the smallest of breaths, pleased I could do so without coughing.

Her head snapped up quickly, her eyes fully awake and fully aware as they came to rest on my face. After a moment, those magnificent eyes warmed and softened, and my entire world became the look in them.

If the essence of love could be distilled into just one thing, it would be the color of her eyes when she looks at me that way.

"Hey," she said softly, her voice rough from sleep.

"Hey yourself," I replied, grinning as if my face would break. Reaching up, I tangled a lock of her hair around my finger.

"How do you feel?"

"I feel...good."

And it was true. Every word.

How could I have felt any differently, wrapped up as I was in her love for me?

"You don’t look so good, though," I said, gently tugging the lock of hair I held.

A ghost of her cocky grin came over a too-pale face. "I’m fine."

"Nothing a year’s worth of sleep wouldn’t cure, huh?" I teased.

"Nah," she replied, gently grasping the hand which held her hair and kissing my fingers before pulling away and standing. "Let me go get some dry sheets so you’re not laying in a pool."

I nodded, accepting her need for some distance. An exhausted Ice was a brittle Ice, and I knew I’d probably gone one step too far in teasing her about her own state of health. Still, I had the feeling that once I was in a dry bed, I could convince her to lay down with me and rest. Especially if I told her it would help me rest better.

Which was, of course, only the absolute truth of the matter.

Scarcely a minute after Ice left, Critter entered, carrying a mug in her hands. When she saw me awake, she grinned and crossed the room quickly. "Welcome back, Angel! How do you feel?"

"Not bad," I allowed. "What day is it?"

"Saturday. You’ve been sick for a week."

I slumped back against the pillows, stunned. "A week?!"

"Yup. You had us all pretty scared there for awhile. Ice wanted to get you to a hospital back across the border, but you kept begging her not to." Putting the mug down on the bedside table, she sat next to me on the bed and rubbed my arm. "I think it took everything in her not to just pack up and leave here, but you can be pretty persuasive when you want to be."

"Was I really that bad?" I asked, cringing inwardly.

She tilted her head to the side, pondering. "Well...you made some very good points, Angel. If Ice gave up on her deal with the Feds, the two of you would never have any peace."

I felt my eyes widen as I stared at her. "I said that?"

"Yup."

"Ice told me that. Not so long ago. When I was the one arguing that we should just leave."

She smiled. "Guess you listened, huh?"

"Guess so." I peeked up at her through my lashes. "Was she angry with me?"

Critter snorted. "Are you nuts? God, Angel, she was so worked up with worry over you, it was all any of us could to do just get her to drink something. Forget about eating or sleeping."

My chagrin must have shown clearly on my face, because she reached out and cupped my cheek. "It’s her way, Angel. You know that. You’re the most important thing in her life, and she wouldn’t have it any other way."

I nodded, accepting the truth in her words. The only thing which made it better was that Ice meant as much to me and she knew it.

"Besides, you’re better now, so things should get back to normal around here." She paused. "Or...as normal as things ever are with you guys."

Laughing, I poked her in the thigh for her impertinence. Then I sobered, as a new thought occurred to me. "If it’s been a week, what happened with Cavallo? We were so close...."

"Relax," Critter soothed. "We still are. Rio and Pony have been keeping an eye on him. He’s not going anywhere anytime soon." She shifted a little on the bed, crossing her legs. "A few days ago, Rio took Nia over to that friend of hers who used to work at the house Cavallo’s saying in. Now we’ve got the whole layout, inside and out. So when it comes time to do the deed," she grinned, "we’re ready."

Ice returned then, her arms filled with fresh linens.

"Let me help," Critter said, jumping up from her perch next to me and grabbing the bottom sheet from the stack. "No, you just stay there," she said as I struggled to get up. "We’re pros at this by now. We’ll be done in a jiffy."

Giving in to the inevitable, I laid my tired body back down and accepted my passive role in the whole thing. In short order, they were done and I was left feeling much better for their efforts. The tea Critter had brought for Ice was by that time cold, and after she’d gone off to get a refill, I looked over at my lover, on her feet through sheer, brute strength of will. I flipped back the sheets and patted the bed. "It’s been a week since I’ve remembered feeling you close to me. I sure could use some of that now."

I knew by the look in her eyes that she knew I had ulterior motives, but I think she also knew my words for truth. I simply needed to feel her against me, like I needed air in my lungs and blood in my veins.

And, smiling at me slightly, she acquiesced and I found myself wrapped up in the only world in which I wanted to live.

Forever.

*  *  *

The next several days were devoted to recovering my lost strength, and trying to get Ice to keep still long enough to do something about the deep, dark circles which had taken up semi-permanent residence beneath her eyes.

The second task consumed a great deal more energy than the first, but was, for me, much more rewarding. I was actually quite proud of myself for accomplishing the gargantuan job of getting her to relax in bed with me for seven hours straight two nights in a row. Of course, the hours before and after the "relaxation" period were anything but relaxing, but heck, making love for hours on end does help get a body back into shape, right?

One day, while Ice was off with Rio scouting out Cavallo’s place, I made myself a little nook in what passed for a front yard of the hovel we were living in and sat outside, letting the gentle breeze and warming sun do its magic on my body. Coming outside with a small sack in her hand and a smile on her face, Critter plopped down beside me on my blanket. "How ya feelin?"

"Almost back to my old self, I think."

"Good to hear. You had us worried there for awhile."

"So you’ve said. I think I’m over the worst of it, though. It doesn’t hurt anymore when I breathe, and hey! I even managed a run in the desert with Ice! Well, not really a run. More like a slow, groaning jog, but it’s progress, right?"

Critter grinned. "Yup." She tossed the small, cloth sack into my lap. "I don’t know if you’ve forgotten about this, but you gave it to me the other day. I found it when I was washing some clothes."

Curiously, I lifted the package, noting its weight was heavy for its size, and opened it. Reaching inside, my fingers brushed against something cool and solid, and when I pulled the object out, I saw it was the bracelet I’d been given the day of the accident. I looked upon it with awe. If anything, it was even more beautiful than it was the first time I’d seen it.

"Thank you, Critter," I breathed. "I thought it was lost forever. I forgot I gave it to you. I was gonna give it to Ice for... .shit!"

"Shit?" Critter asked, laughing. "Doesn’t sound like a very fair trade, if you ask me. Even for Ice’s."

I spared her a mock glare. "I mean I was going to give it to her for Christmas. But if I’ve been sick for a week, Christmas is already over, isn’t it."

"Fraid so," my friend replied, sobering. "It was last Wednesday."

"Damn." I could feel my shoulders slump under the weight of the unhappy news. Christmas at the Moore household was pretty much a grab bag from year to year. I had vowed while still a child that when I grew up, every single Christmas would be as special as it was possible for me to make it. And though I knew enough not to blame myself for being out of commission this particular Christmas, there was still a sadness there because a day I held so dear in my heard passed by without my knowledge.

Critter laid a warm hand on my shoulder. "It’s alright, Angel. None of us was really in the mood to celebrate anyway. And we pretty much figured that Ice’s heroics during that accident, and your heroics in battling death and coming back to us pretty much beat any store-bought gift all to hell anyway." Leaning over, she gathered me into a soft embrace. "We love you, Angel, and we know you love us. Isn’t that pretty much what Christmas is all about?"

After a long moment, I nodded against her chest, acknowledging the truth in her words to me.

Pulling back slightly, she grinned. "There ya go, then. So...are ya gonna give it to her?"

"Yeah, I think so. Maybe when she gets back."

"Which would be right about now. I think that’s their car trailing all that dust down there." Grinning and clapping me on the back, she stood up. "I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t."

"As soon as you let me know what that might be," I replied with a cheeky smile, "I’ll be sure and not do it."

A lurid wink later, I was on my own once again.

Replacing the bracelet back in its little cloth bag, I laid it to the side and stretched my legs out, enjoying the pull of muscle in my thighs and calves and the warmth of sunlight on my skin.

She wasn’t noisy. She never is. But I knew the second she came close. Call it a third eye, or some sixth sense. Call it crazy, or karma, or pheromones, if you want.

I’ll just call it love and leave it at that.

Though my eyes were closed to the brilliance of the sun, I still followed her movements easily, my mind playing a pleasing mental picture of a long, rangy body as it dropped to the ground beside me with incommunicable fluid grace. I pictured her eyes, darkened with concern, and the little furrow between her brows and the tense set of her mouth that spoke of the same.

Opening my eyes to that exact picture, I found myself smiling with the joy of knowing her so well. "Hey there."

"Hey yourself," she returned, her eyes intent. "You alright?"

Leaning over, I stole a kiss from the softest lips in the world, then sat back, a smug grin on my face. "Just perfect, thanks."

Her eyes brightened as a smile tugged at one corner of her mouth. "Glad to hear it."

"Me too." I shifted a little so that I was facing her. "So, is Cavallo still behaving himself?"

"Seems to be. I want to get this wrapped up soon, though. He’s gotten too lucky too often. It’s about time he paid the piper." That shark-like grin flickered briefly across her face before disappearing once again into whatever darkness housed it.

Nodding, I picked up the sack from beside my leg and fumbled with it a bit. "I’m...um...sorry I missed Christmas."

"You didn’t miss it. You just don’t remember it."

I nudged her. "Same difference, smart aleck."

"Not to me, it isn’t."

My eyes widened as I realized what she meant. "Oh. I’m... ."

One long finger covered my lips. "Don’t. Don’t be sorry. No one takes any blame, remember?"

As much as I hated getting shot in the foot with my own words, I couldn’t help but admit she was right. If I forbid her to feel guilt, I couldn’t either. Fair was, after all, fair. Even if I didn’t like it.

"Ok, ok. I’m not sorry for not remembering Christmas. But I am sorry for not being able to give you this." I held the bag out to her. "I’d gotten it on the day of the accident. Critter kept it for me. I’d like you to have it."

She took the bag from me and opened the ties. Reaching in, she pulled out the bracelet and held it so that the sun played across the shining silver. I watched her throat move as she swallowed. "It’s beautiful," she whispered, tracing the intricate engraving with the very tip of her index finger.

"A Native American silversmith made it. He said he saw the scene in a vision and knew I was the one to give the piece to. I don’t know how much I believe in his mysticism, but I do know that it has ‘you’ written all over it. I know you’re not much for wearing jewelry, and you don’t have to wear this either, if you don’t want to, but... .oh!"

My ramblings were cut short in the sweetest of ways as my lover’s lips covered my own in a tender, yet fiery, kiss of thanks.

After she pulled away, I watched through blurred eyes as she slipped the bracelet onto her wrist, adjusting it so that the cuff fit perfectly, the silver a breathtaking contrast to the bronze of her skin. "Thank you," she said simply, and her expression let me know just how deeply that expression went into her heart.

Suddenly shy with the intensity of her emotions, I felt myself color, and I smiled back, a little. "You’re welcome."

"I have something for you, too," she said finally, reaching into the pack she wore at her waist. "I made it quite some time ago, but never got the chance to give it to you. It’s something I thought of after I’d been shot this last time."

Pulling out a flannel-wrapped bundle, she handed it to me, her own eyes just a little shy, as they often were when giving me a gift. Especially one she had made with her own hands. Which were, of course, the best gifts I’ve ever received.

I opened the wrapping, then froze, tears immediately sparking my eyes as I looked down at the gift she’d so expertly made for me.

It was a wooden figurine, a little smaller than the palm of my hand, but heavy, and carved with exquisite attention to detail.

It was a carving of the two of us, together.

I was the figure behind, on my knees, angels’ wings arched forward in an all-encompassing embrace of Ice, who was half-laying in my lap, her head back against my breast, her eyes closed, and the most beautiful expression of peace I’d ever seen on her face.

"You’re my Angel," she whispered, raising a hand and tenderly drying the tears from my cheeks. "You always say that I’m the strong one, but this is what I see when I close my eyes at night. I love you, my Angel. And I always will. Merry Christmas."

Holding the precious figure against my heart, I once again closed the space between us and kissed her with all the love in my soul.

If I live to be a million, I’ll never understand the magic she uses to make the impossible happen. To make me fall even more in love with her than I was the second before.

And I hope I never do.

*  *  *

Desert nights can be blacker than any other. Or so I’ve found during my relatively short time on this earth of ours. Even with a billion stars sparkling coldly overhead and a huge half-moon hanging low.

They can be quieter, too. Quiet enough so that the blood rushing through your ears with every beat of your heart is the only sound you hear. Except, perhaps, for your breathing coming harsh and fast and tasting almost electric as it rushes in and out of your mouth and nose.

And if you’re scared, so scared that every second is a toss-up between vomiting and fainting, well, then the nights are blacker and quieter than ever.

And I was scared.

So scared that I felt a weird sense of detachment. The kind you feel when fever is sitting hot and heavy in your brain.

And yet at the same time, I felt totally grounded. My eyes, wide and dry and aching, darted everywhere at once, taking everything in, over and over, as if they’d never get the chance to prove their worth again. My body was wound tight, muscles trembling with the unconscious effort to keep still and silent. My heart thundered painfully in my ears, and the scent of my panic curled up around me, hot and sour like three day old summer sweat.

When a hand brushed against my back, I nearly jumped out of my skin. Only that same hand firmly gripping my upper arm kept me from making a mad, screaming dash back down the steep hill to the safety of the cars that waited below.

"It’s only me," Critter’s voice whispered mere inches from my ear. "How are you doing?"

Frozen shut, my jaw refused my summons to move. I couldn’t even turn my head to look at her. All I could do was stare ahead into the blackness.

The pressure of her hand changed from a stern grip to a warm clasp. "It’s alright. I’m scared, too."

Somehow, the tone of her voice gave my body the permission it needed to shake off—at least temporarily—the icy grip terror had over me. I was able to turn my head, and I could tell, just by looking, that she was speaking the truth. Her eyes were as wide as mine, and the area just above her upper lip shimmered with sweat, even though the night was anything but warm. She smiled at me a little. That sickly kind of smile a seasick pleasure cruiser gets just before he goes to the railing to evacuate his dinner into the ocean.

"I’m glad to know I’m not the only one," I finally managed to whisper.

"Not by a long shot. And I’ve done this kind of thing before."

I looked at her.

She blushed. "Well, not exactly this kind of thing, but I did break into a lot of places where I wasn’t welcome back when I was younger."

"Oh. Yeah." Though it might sound strange, I’d managed to forget that most of my friends had criminal pasts. "How did you deal with the fear?"

"Alcohol," she replied with brutal honesty. "I’d get blind drunk. It was the only way I could go through with half the jobs I did. They call it ‘liquid courage’ for a reason, ya know."

"Wish I had some of that kind of courage about now."

"No you don’t," she said, squeezing my arm. "You’ve got more courage in your little finger than you could ever get out of a fifth of whiskey, Angel. Even though you’re scared, you’re here. And that takes a lot of guts."

"You’re here too, Critter."

That threw her off for a second, and she blinked at me. Then a slow smile creased her face. "Yeah, I guess I am." Then she straightened and released my arm, touching me briefly on the shoulder. "I’ll talk with you in a bit."

Then she left me staring after her in confusion as she blended back into the darkness.

Only until I felt another presence next to me.

But this time, I didn’t flinch.

Ice crouched down before me, dressed all in black from the tip of her soft-soled boots to the top of the ski-mask which covered her head and face. Only her vibrant eyes, glittering silver, posed a counterpoint to the monochrome. And even in them there was a darkness swirling that I could feel as well as see.

"You doin’ ok?" she asked, voice low and only slightly muffled behind the knit material of the mask. A gloved hand reached out and cupped my cheek and her eyes warmed in concern.

Instead of answering her question right out, I leaned into her palm and took that dark, exciting, dangerous scent of leather deep into my senses. Paradoxically, perhaps, that had a calming effect on me.

I looked at her, examined her, asked her, silently, the same question she asked me.

Was she doing ok?

The answer was an easy one.

She was more than ok. Like a prize thoroughbred prancing at the gate, she was ready.

It had been a week since I’d finally gotten out from under the sickly weight of my bout with pneumonia, and in that week, we had practiced, practiced, practiced for this very thing. Practiced until I could go over every move every one of us was supposed to make in my sleep.

Which I did. Often.

And here we were, at this proverbial ‘D-day’, and if all I could think of was running away, all she could think of was running ahead.

I could see it easily in the dark sparkle of her eyes, in the loose and easy set of her shoulders, in the coiling aura of danger and intensity which swirled around her like a living thing. Not only was she ready. She was able. And willing.

She was born for this, I thought, startling myself with my insight.

Perhaps not for this very thing, no. But so close to it that the syntax made very little difference. "Close enough for jazz," my father might have said.

Ice is a hunter. Pure and simple.

And this time, Cavallo was the prey.

To my great surprise, I found myself sparing a brief second to feel a spark of pity for the man who had no idea who, or what, was coming for him.

That spark extinguished itself quickly beneath the weight of the memories of what that man had done to Ice, to me, to us.

Part of me was sad that she was only going in there to take him out alive. Part of me would have gleefully watched her hold him down as I pulled the trigger of a gun I didn’t own.

A very small part, perhaps, but I won’t deny it was there. If ever a bastard had it coming to him, Cavallo was that bastard.

"I’m doing ok," I answered finally as her eyes started to show a deeper concern. "A little nervous, but basically alright."

The way those same eyes subtly changed their shape told me she was smiling beneath her mask. "You’ll do fine."

"I wish I had your confidence."

She shifted a little, her expression going a bit hard. "Be glad that you don’t. Confidence in this type of thing is a wasted art. You’re not a murderer, Angel. Never wish for that kind of surety."

Knowing I’d well and truly blown the moment, I reached up and captured her hand before she could pull it away. "Ice, even if you’d never killed so much as a spider in your entire life, you would still have confidence in your ability to do this. It’s as much a part of you as the color of your eyes or the pitch of your voice. It was something you were born with, not something you were made into."

"Ya think so, huh?"

I smiled as I felt her body relax. "I know so."

A soft rustling, and Pony squatted down next to us, her expression apologetic. "I thought you’d wanna know. They just changed the guards."

Ice nodded. "Alright. Round the others up. It’s showtime."

And with that, my nervousness came back as if it had never left. "Ice... ."

Coming to her feet, she brought me easily up with her, then steadied me as my suddenly trembling legs threatened all-out rebellion. A moment later, Pony, Critter and Rio crowded around us, awaiting last minute instructions. Waiting in the car below, Nia was the only one absent.

For a brief second, I felt a flash of blinding hatred for her, sitting so safely while the rest of us ran down to danger. I pushed that counterproductive emotion down with a savagery Ice would have been surprised to see, had she known of its existence.

"Is everyone sure on what they have to do?"

Nods all around from women with somber, pale faces. The fear was there, palpable, like a sixth member of our group. But there was also something else sharing space with us. A keen sense of anticipation which dulled the fear’s sharp edges just enough to prevent panic.

Pale eyes pinned each one of us in place for a long, silent moment, and all around me, spines stiffened, jaws firmed, and shoulders squared.

Ice nodded. "Let’s go."

Then she disappeared over the breast of the hill while we, for now, stood watch.

As soon as Ice disappeared into the darkness, Critter drew up the sleeve of her long black coat and illuminated the dial of her watch. The soft light bathed her face in an eerie green glow as she watched the seconds scroll rapidly by.

"She’s over the wall," Pony whispered from her position half-behind a thick pine. She was staring through a night-scope attached to her rifle and tracking my lover’s every move, together with the movements of the guards who patrolled the grounds.

Though the plan was to leave everyone alive, if perhaps a little worse for wear, that was only if things went according to schedule. One hint that something was going badly and that rifle on Pony’s shoulder would be doing a great deal more damage than its current incarnation as a simple spying tool.

"Behind the house now."

My sigh of relief was an audible one. She was now out of sight of any guards, at least temporarily, and only an alarm system and a locked door stood between her and gaining entry into the house.

"Fifty seconds," Critter remarked, checking her chronometer. Ice had requested one full minute before we put phase two of the plan into effect.

As Critter watched the changing numbers on her watch, I stared out over the darkened compound. My heart hammered triple time in my ears, so loudly that I felt as if I’d been somehow transported into the very middle of a Jamaican steel drum competition. My head and stomach swam in queasy syncopation, and the spit in my mouth was sour and hot.

"Twenty seconds."

"Ten."

"Now."

Pony relaxed her grip on the rifle, then shouldered it as she turned to look at Critter and myself. "You guys ready?"

"As we’ll ever be," Critter replied for the both of us.

"Alright then. Let’s do it."

With a shuddering breath, I forced myself to move and prayed I wouldn’t break my neck while trying to navigate my way down the mountain wearing the ridiculous choice of footwear I was. "Come fuck me’s", Pony had called them, right before her instep was nearly speared by the heel of one such shoe. The pejoratives got a great deal less pleasant after that.

As if reading my mind, Rio came to stand beside me and offered one well-muscled arm. Smiling up at her, I took the assistance gratefully, and almost laughed out loud as her eyes darted shyly away from my own.

Within moments, we were at the bottom, and Critter and I held our places while Rio and Pony sidled up to the stone wall and eased themselves into position very near the wrought-iron gate.

When Pony gave us the thumbs up, I looked to Critter, who nodded. Together, we removed our long coats and dropped them down to the desert floor.

"God, I feel like a two-dollar whore in this getup," Critter grumped as she painfully adjusted the barely-there top which was cinched so tight across her chest that she could have rested her chin on her breasts if she’d had a mind to. "Could I look any cheaper?"

"Yeah, you could look like me." My face was sweating through enough makeup to send Revlon’s stock soaring to stratospheric heights. My clothes, what there were of them, were three sizes too small, and if my breasts were pushed up any higher, I could use them for a pair of fleshy earmuffs.

"Yeah, well if there are any pornographers around, we just might get that one big break we’ve been looking our whole lives for," Critter joked as she finished adjusting the seam of her stockings. "Now, for the finishing touch." From the sack at her feet, she withdrew a tall bottle of liquor and twisted open the cap. "Just what the doctor ordered."

"But I thought... ."

"Not for courage, dear. For veracity. We can’t just look the part. We’ve gotta smell it, too."

"Huh?"

"Watch the Mistress in action."

Tilting her head back, she took a long swallow of liquor, then did an all-over body shiver as she swallowed. "Ahh. That hit the spot. Here, have a belt."

"No thanks," I replied, waving the bottle away, and watching as Pony gave us the ‘hurry up’ sign. "C’mon, we’ve got to get moving."

"Alright. Just let me...there. Eau de Cuervo. What all the trollops in the low-rent district are wearing this year."

"Hey! That stings!" Some of the flying droplets had landed too close to my eyes for comfort’s sake, and I felt myself tearing up from the fumes.

"Quit being a baby and let’s get a move on. Time’s a’wasting."

"Great," I muttered as she slipped an arm through mine and almost pulled me right out of my cheaply made shoes. "You really are drunk."

"Nah, just acting the part. C’mon."

One hell of an acting job, Critter, I thought to myself as she yanked her arm away from mine and instead slung it over my shoulder, forcing me to bear most of her weight as she swayed against me. Together, we tottered somewhat unsteadily toward the gate, taking care to make as much bumbling noise as possible so as to announce our presence to anyone who might be listening in.

"Hey Candie, look! There’s a light on in there. Our prayers have been answered!"

"Prayers? What prayers?" Critter snorted. "Only prayer I got right now ish for another bottle. This n’s ammost empty. Heloooo in there! Anybody home?" Striding up to the gate, she wrapped one hand around the bars and shook, giggling madly all the while. "C’mon, open up! Ish cold out here."

"Shhh," I whispered overloud. "You’ll wake up the whole neighborhood."

"I wanna wake ‘em up! I need more booze, dammit! C’mon, open up!"

Though the racket we were making should have caused an entire army to come down upon our heads, the darkened area beyond the gate remained resolutely silent and still.

"Mebbe they don speak English," I said, giggling a little.

"Course they do! Everybody does! Hey, in there! Como...como...como whatever. Open up, dammit!"

"C’mon, Candie," I said, tugging Critter’s arm and beginning to feel a little nervous. "Nobody’s home."

"Bullshit," Critter replied, shaking me off. "Course they are. I can see people movin in there. Yoo hoo! Boys! Open up and I’ll show ya why they call me Caaandie."

The brilliant beam of a flashlight suddenly pierced through the darkness, blinding me for one heart-stopping second. "Beat it," came a menacing and heavily accented voice from behind the gate.

"Please, sir," I said, blinking rapidly and trying to see through the afterimages imprinted on my stinging retinas. "It’s cold out here and our car broke down a mile or so back. Could we use your phone?"

"I said beat it. We don’t got no phones here."

"Bullshit," Critter said, pressing her face against the bars. "Places like this got phones in the bathrooms. Jes let us in, willya? Jes a quick phone call and we’re gone. Unless ya wan’ us ta stick around for a little while and show you how grateful we are." Her purring voice trailed off suggestively. "Big strong man like you must get lonely out here in the middle of nowhere, huh?"

"Heh. Heh. You’ll have to excuse my friend here. She’s a little tipsy."

"I ain’t tipsy. I’m drunk. And horny. C’mon, mister, help a gal out, won’t ya? I’ll make it worth your while." And with that, she upended the bottle and...well...what she did next to that bottle is something they named a movie after.

If we’d have been anywhere else, I might have been tempted to ask just how she’d come by that particular talent. Especially without triggering her gag reflex.

On second thought, perhaps it’s better that I don’t know.

I heard some shuffling from the darkness behind the gate, then the low murmur of at least two male voices speaking rapid Spanish. A moment later, keys rattled in the lock, and the gate swung slowly open.

The flashlight was turned off and the face of one of the men came in out of the gloom. "Come on in, ladies. I think we might be able to help you both."

Before we could step through, Rio darted between us. A few muffled thumps later, and two unconscious guards were being dragged outside the gate.

Pony hogtied and gagged them quickly, then slipped her arm through mine while Rio did the same for Critter. In the darkness, they could easily pass for the men they’d just disabled, being of the same height and build. Just two lonely guards escorting a pair of willing women into the compound for a hour or so of fun and debauchery.

"The garage is off to the left," Rio whispered. "You guys head over there while I take care of the other two. I’ll come back when I’m done."

Pony grabbed my arm as Rio melted back into the darkness, and the three of us headed in the indicated direction, our pace no quicker than a somewhat leisurely stroll, despite the tension.

By the blueprints we’d been given, I knew the garage was huge and could house each of Cavallo’s five cars with room to spare. It was also locked, but the muted tinkle of lock-picks being tossed to Critter let me know that that particular situation would be remedied rather quickly and without much of a fuss.

Sure enough, very little time passed before the click of a lock giving way sounded in the silence of the night. The door opened quietly, and our senses were assailed by the scents of motor oil and rubber. They were smells I was well used to, and having them there gave me a strange sense of comfort in an otherwise terrifying situation.

Once we were inside, Pony closed the door and removed a flashlight from the belt at her hip. Soon, the garage was bathed in a faint, white glow.

I looked into the shadows of the far end of the garage, then stopped, my heart freezing in my throat. "Pony? Shine the light down that way, will you?"

"Why?"

"Just do it, please."

Penetrating the shadows, the beam confirmed my suspicions. A black oil stain marred the pristine white of the garage floor like a spot of decay on an otherwise healthy tooth. "One of the cars is gone."

"Shit."

"What are we gonna do now?" Critter asked from her place on my right.

"Nothing much we can do," Pony replied, sweeping the flashlight’s beam over the remaining four cars. "Except to get on with the plan."

"What if they come back?"

"We’ll burn that bridge when we’re crossing it. Let’s just get this over with. Critter, start with this car here. Bust in and open the hood. Angel and I’ll take it from there."

Just as Critter began to jimmy the first lock, the garage door opened. The only thing that kept me from screaming in fright was Pony’s hand clamped over my mouth.

"All clear." Rio’s voice floated in from the darkness beyond.

"Thanks," Pony replied.

"Everything ok in here?"

"One of the cars is missing."

"Shit. Should we do anything about it?"

"Just stick with the plan. Get outta here. We’ll meet you at the rendezvous point."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I’m sure. Now go."

"Alright. Good luck."

"You too."

After the door closed, Pony released her grip on me just as Critter made her way into the first of the cars and popped the hood from the inside. Turning away from my friend, I made my way over to the exposed engine and began my part of this stage of the plan.

Disabling cars is a quick, easy and mostly mindless task. So much so, in fact, that I made two of them completely undrivable while Pony was still working on her first. Walking over, I pushed my friend out of the way, and quickly finished her task as she looked on with something akin to awe on her face.

"Pretty handy around an engine," she said finally.

"I should be. I’ve helped Ice often enough." Pulling the last part free, I handed it to Pony, who stuffed it in a sack with the rest of the pieces. "What now?" The fourth car would be left intact for our getaway, since Rio had left with ours.

"We wait."

"Time?" I asked Critter, who was leaning against the only working vehicle of the lot.

"Five minutes."

"Alright. I’m gonna keep watch. You guys be ready."

Without waiting for an answer, I headed for the door and opened it up a crack.

The house and the grounds surrounding it were silent as a graveyard. It was killing me, not knowing what was going on inside, and I gave vent to my frustration by repeatedly pounding my thigh with a clenched fist, heedless of the small amount of pain my actions brought me.

According to the almighty plan—set in stone as if the burning bush itself had delivered it unto us—we were to give Ice ten minutes total to carry out her part, then, in her own words, "get the fuck out of Mexico, with or without me."

I think I surprised her when I didn’t immediately protest.

I wonder if she realized that I didn’t agree to it either.

Knowing Ice, she probably did.

"Damn you, Ice," I whispered as each second took an hour, and each minute took a century. "Where are you?"

In my hyperaware state, I easily tracked Pony’s movements by hearing alone as she left her place by Critter’s side and walked slowly toward my position. I whirled on her just as she was about to put a hand on my shoulder. "No," I whispered savagely, "no way. You and Critter can leave if you want. Take the car. I’ll fix one of the others. But I’m not going anywhere without Ice so don’t even bother opening your mouth, Pony."

Hands upraised in a gesture of placation, my friend took a careful step back. "I...wasn’t gonna ask you to leave, Angel," she assured me, her voice even. "I was just gonna ask what you thought we should do now."

Though I should have apologized, I’m afraid I didn’t have it within me to do so at that moment in time. As each second passed, I became more and more certain that something had gone horribly wrong. "I don’t know about you, but I know exactly what I’m gonna do."

So saying, I stepped forward and grabbed Pony’s rifle, which was leaning against the wall nearest the door. "I’m gonna find Ice, and so help me God, nobody better stand in my way."

Like some deranged GI storming a French beach half a century too late, I hefted the rifle and marched off into the night, my eyes staring nowhere save straight ahead at the door centered firmly in my sights.

I could hear Pony’s half-whispered epithet behind me and her determined footsteps as she struggled to match my determined stride. "Don’t try to stop me, Pony. I’m warning you."

"Wouldn’t dream of it, Angel," she grunted. "Just figured I’d give you a hand."

When we got about halfway between the garage and the house, the door opened wide. The interior light silhouetted a tall figure with what looked to be a large sack slung over one shoulder like some hellish underground film’s version of Santa Claus.

I came to an abrupt halt, and Pony slammed into me from behind, sending both of us forward for several more steps until I dug my heels in and stopped us both again. If it were possible for hearts to leap for joy, mine did just that.

"That’s Ice!"

"How do you know?" she asked, peering over my shoulder.

I spared a brief second to give her a pointed look, which caused a sheepish grin to come to her face.

"Oh. Yeah. Forget I asked."

"Go tell Critter to get the car out here."

"Will do."

As Pony left, I started forward again, this time breaking into a flat-out run. "Ice!"

"Hey, Angel," she replied, her voice and manner as casual as if I’d just met up with her coming out of the grocery store. "Just taking out the trash." She paused. "Nice gun."

I blushed. "Yeah, well, you were supposed to be out of there three minutes ago."

She shrugged her unencumbered shoulder. "One of the guys had a little problem with my bedtime story. He’s sleeping like a baby now, though."

I rolled my eyes and shook my head. "Any other problems?"

"Piece of cake. You?"

"Not really. Except one of the cars is missing."

"I figured. There were three fewer guards than I expected inside."

Further conversation was cut off by the arrival of Critter, Pony and our getaway car.

"Pop the trunk," Ice ordered.

Walking to the rear of the car, I pulled open the compartment and stood aside as Ice dumped Cavallo inside. The small light illuminated his face, where a bloody nose and a rapidly swelling jaw bore mute testament to his meeting with my lover. He was deeply unconscious, though still breathing, and his hands were bound tightly behind him. After a moment, I looked up. "I didn’t know you brought handcuffs with you."

Ice smirked. "I didn’t."

"Kinky bastard, isn’t he."

As Ice slammed the trunk closed, the courtyard was suddenly lit by the twin beams of approaching headlights.

Grabbing my arm at the elbow, Ice opened the rear driver’s side door and pushed me in, then followed quickly. "Go," she ordered Pony, who’d replaced a slightly drunk Critter behind the wheel. "Drive out nice and easy if you can. If they follow us, floor it."

"I’m there."

"You can’t think they’re just going to let us go by," I said, disbelief plain in my voice.

"Stranger things have happened. But I doubt it."

Three men got out of the car after it had pulled through the gate. Three heads swiveled as we passed by. I resisted the urge to wave. Shouting "we’ve got your boss in the trunk, suckers!" was out as well, though I must admit I was sorely tempted. Giddiness does that to me, and having Ice alive and whole made me very giddy indeed.

"I don’t fucking believe it," Pony muttered as we left through the gate and headed down the dark road without any signs of pursuit. "They just gonna stand there with their thumbs up their asses all night?"

"You sound like you want them to chase us," I accused.

"Let’s save the arguments for when we get home, alright? Hit the gas, Pony."

"You got it."

If there was one area where I couldn’t find fault with Cavallo, it was his taste in cars. The acceleration was so smooth that, though I could tell we were moving at a high rate of speed by the shadowed scenery blurring by my window, it didn’t feel as if we were moving at all. The rich scent of leather wove a seductive cocoon around me, and when Ice reached out and gently cradled my hand in hers, I smiled and sank into the soft-as-butter seat and allowed my eyes to close.

The brief respite was over almost before it started. I felt Ice’s hand carefully withdraw from mine and felt her body twist, one broad shoulder brushing against my own. "What is it?" I asked, my eyes coming quickly open.

"Company," my lover returned, peering out the rear window, eyes narrowed to slits.

Squirming in the seat, I turned to look just in time to see the twin beams of headlights breast a small rise a mile or so behind us. "Could just be another traveler."

"If so, he’s in a hurry," Critter remarked, eyeing the rearview mirror. "He’s gotta be doing a hundred ten, easy."

"Take that turnoff up ahead, Pony. Let’s see if we can lose him in the desert."

Grunting in acknowledgement, Pony jerked the wheel hard and spun us onto the off-ramp with a minimum of fuss, though doubtless if Cavallo was awake, he didn’t enjoy the maneuver overmuch. Not that I would be spilling any tears over that particular thought, but it helped keep my mind from harping on the probability that we were being chased through the desert by a group of madmen at speeds humans were never meant to travel.

This close to the ground, anyway.

Twisting back in my seat, I snapped the shoulder harness over me, then checked the latch several times to make sure it was secure. No use tempting Fate any more than I already had, especially since cars and I weren’t the best of friends lately.

Next to me, Ice also turned to face forward once again, but not before giving me a grin that was half confidence, half glee.

"You’re enjoying this, aren’t you," I groused.

She shrugged, her expression unrepentant. "Beats doing laundry."

I had to laugh at that. If there is anything Ice hates more than doing the laundry, I don’t know what it is. While I, on the other hand, absolutely love it. There’s just something so satisfying in putting dirty, smelly clothes into a machine and pulling them out wonderfully clean and fresh. It’s just another example of the odd nature of our partnership, I guess. And one which I wouldn’t change for anything in the world.

"So far, so good," Pony remarked softly, her gaze split between the road and the rearview mirror. "Though with all the damn dust I’m kicking up right now, it’s hard to tell for sure. I’m just glad we’re doing this in the middle of the night. If it were during daylight, we might as well be sending up fucking flares."

"Just drive, Pony," Critter ordered, thumping her lover solidly on one well-muscled shoulder.

"I’m drivin! I’m drivin, already!"

"Make that right up ahead, then the second left. There are some mountains to the right. We might be able to ditch them there."

I looked over at my lover, my eyes opened wide. "Do you have an atlas in your head or something?"

"Or something," she replied, throwing me her best smirk.

"Looks like we lost ‘em," Pony replied after several moments without a sign of pursuit.

"Oh, they’re around," Ice murmured. "Take the next right you can and let’s get back on the highway. Once you’re there, run her as fast as you can. We need to get to the rendezvous point while it’s still dark."

"I’m on it."

Out on the highway, Pony opened up the throttle and we sped through the desert like the devil was on our tail. An hour passed quietly, and then another, before I felt Ice stiffen once again. "What?"

"They’re back."

"Damnit!" Pony shouted. "How in the hell could they find us? We took enough turns to confuse a compass, for Christ’s sake!"

"This car’s got a tracer on it," Ice replied.

"Like hell it does! Ice, I checked it out myself! It’s clean!"

"Tell that to our friends. Floor it, Pony. There’s nowhere to turn off for another ten miles. We need to outrun them."

"I say we stand and fight."

"We can’t. This area is too exposed, and too far from anything if we run into trouble. Just do as I say and drive. We’ll make our stand at the rendezvous point if we need to."

"You’re the boss," Pony grumbled, then stomped her foot hard on the accelerator. The car responded, dredging up extra power from somewhere, and we flew down the road at impossible speeds.

Ice gently removed my hand from it’s white-knuckled grip on my short skirt, and held it gently in her own. "We’ll make it, Angel," she said in a comforting tone.

Drawing in a shuddering breath, I nodded, wanting more than anything to believe.

Time passed. It could have been ten minutes, it could have been ten hours. I was too scared to tell the difference, to be truthful.

I knew enough, however, to know when we were finally close to our destination, especially when the headlights of our purloined car lit up a long copse of trees indicating a water source in the near vicinity.

"Left at the crossroads up ahead, right?" Pony asked.

"Yeah. Then go an eighth of a mile. There’s a small loop there. Go around it and park. Rio should be waiting for us there."

"Are they still following us?" I asked, not daring to turn around. A shootout was the last thing I wanted to be a part of, though if it came down to that, I’d be right there at my lover’s side, doing whatever I could to keep us whole.

"We’re clear for the moment," Ice replied. "Get ready to run the minute this car stops, though."

"You don’t have to ask me twice."

Following Ice’s directions to the letter, Pony turned on a sharp, if ill defined, hairpin curve and pulled off onto an unpaved path which was surrounded by tall, thick trees on all sides. As soon as the car stopped rolling, the four of us opened our doors and hopped out. Critter and I ran in the direction of Ice’s pointing finger, down toward the river, while Pony stayed behind to help Ice with Cavallo and the small amount of possessions we’d managed to accumulate during our stay south of the border. Rio jumped from behind a large tree, and brushed by me on her way to help Pony and Ice.

Hearing a rustling in the bushes to my left, I turned that way, to see a white-faced Nia peering out. "Hey," I whispered. "It’s just us."

"Oh thank god," she half-sobbed. Standing up, she came out of the bush and wrapped me in a desperate hug. "I never want to go through that again. I’ve been so scared, waiting for everyone, thinking that the border patrol was coming down the road any minute. And Rio wasn’t any help at all."

"It’s alright. We’re here now," I replied, hugging her tightly to me. "And we’re getting ready to go home."

"God, that sounds so good to me right now."

Pulling away, I smiled at her. "Yeah. Me too."

Grabbing my hand, she led me down the short path to the river. "C’mon. We got a boat. Not very much of a boat, but as long as it floats, I’m not gonna complain."

The river was wide, black, and silent as death. It also stank of decay, and I was quite glad that I would be crossing it in the dark, because I had absolutely no desire to see what, exactly, was causing such a stench.

"Ta-da!" Nia sang, throwing out her arm in a dramatic gesture. "There it is."

I looked. Then squinted. Then cocked my head. Well, I supposed, technically what I was looking at could be called a boat. Course, I’d seen larger beds, but Nia was right. As long as it floated....

"Um...are all of us going to fit in there?"

Was my first question.

"Who’s going to row?"

Would have been my second, had I time to ask it. Which I didn’t.

Ice led the way down to the shore, and after gesturing Nia and Critter to the very back, she dumped Cavallo’s still unconscious bulk in the middle. Pony came behind her and tossed the duffel bag with our gear in it on top of him. "Now what?"

Ice’s answer was interrupted by several soft ‘popping’ sounds coming from behind us. "Angel, Pony, get in the boat! Now!" Reaching behind her, Ice pulled her gun from the waistband of her jeans. "I said now!"

Before I could even think to move, Pony grabbed my wrist and all but threw me into the boat, which rocked wildly with the action and almost capsized. Then she jumped in, pinning me inside with no chance to escape.

"Get outta here!"

"No!" I screamed. "Not without you!!"

"Go!!"

Reaching forward, Critter grabbed the oars and began rowing the second Ice kicked the boat away from the shoreline.

"Ice!!!"

More popping sounds, and Ice turned away and ran up the embankment toward the sounds of shooting.

"Goddamn you, Critter! Stop!" I grabbed for the oars at the same time as Pony grabbed me, and the resulting flailing almost caused the boat to tip once again.

Critter regained her grip on the wooden oars, and we began moving again as I struggled against Pony’s tight hold.

"Let me go, goddamnit!"

"Stop struggling, Angel! I’ll knock you the fuck out, I swear I will!"

"Try it, you son of a bitch! Ice!!!"

Two small splashes sounded to our immediate left. It didn’t take a genius to know they came from bullets attempting to halt our getaway.

"Critter! Faster! C’mon! Row!!!"

Grunting with effort, Critter put her back into it and I could feel the boat pick up speed beneath me as Pony shielded my body with her own, still taking care to hold me so tightly I feared my ribs would shatter.

"Let. Me. Go!!" My teeth were so tightly gritted, I thought sure they’d break off at the gumline.

"I won’t warn you again, Angel." Pony’s breath was hot on my cheek. "Keep struggling and you’ll tip us. Critter can’t swim and neither can Nia, so you’d best be still or I’ll crack you one. I swear it by any fucking god you wanna name."

"Well throw me overboard, then, because I... ."

The rest of my words were cut off as I heard Pony give a soft groan and felt the weight of her body collapse over me, bearing me right off the wooden seat and to the floor of the boat.

"Pony!!" I could hear Critter’s muffled scream as I tried to struggle from beneath her lover’s limp, full weight

"Keep rowing!" Nia’s voice was pitched high with terror. "Oh god! Keep rowing!!"

"Pony!!!"

I could tell Pony was still alive by the movement of her chest against my back and the soft moan of pain near my ear, but I didn’t know how to tell Critter that from my position.

Then I heard splashes, loud ones, and suddenly our boat was moving again, twice as fast as it had before. We hit the riverbank hard, and Pony’s weight drove into me, causing my face to slide against the splintered wood of the boat’s bottom, the resulting sting bringing tears of pain to my eyes.

Then, like a blessing from on high, the weight was lifted from my chest, hips and head, and when I looked up, I met the concerned expressions of people I knew.

Like some sort of modern-day cavalry, the Amazons had come over the hill once again.

Montana and Cowgirl quickly, but gently, grabbed Pony, while others hauled Cavallo from the bottom of the boat and onto dry land, none being particularly careful with where or how hard he landed.

I scrambled to a sitting position just as Cheeto stepped forward and offered me a hand. "C’mon, Angel."

"Not a chance," I growled, moving up so that I was sitting on one of the benches and grabbing the oars.

"Angel! Don’t!!"

"Watch me."

With swift, sure strokes, I pulled away from the bank, determined to make it back to the other side as quickly as I could. Some of the Amazons jumped back into the river in an attempt to halt my progress, but I made sure that their efforts were futile in the extreme.

Nothing, not heaven nor hell nor anything else was going to stop me from getting back to Ice.

Halfway across, I bumped into...something...hard enough to rock the boat. When that something grabbed onto the side with a bloodied hand, I almost tipped it over myself scrabbling to get away.

"It’s me!" came a harsh whisper from below.

I froze for a split second, then scrabbled back the way I’d come. "Ice? Ice, is that you?"

"Yeah, it’s me."

"Oh, thank you God! Wait a second. I’ll try and pull you in."

"Can’t. Rio got hit. Just row back for shore as fast as you can."

"Where is she?"

"I’ve got her."

"Where are the others?"

"Taken care of. Just row."

"Ok. Let me turn around on the seat."

It’s amazing how fast and how easily you can move when you’ve a mind to. Switching positions quickly, I grabbed the oars and began rowing. Ice’s hand disappeared for one heart-stopping second, before reappearing over the stern.

Then I rowed for all I was worth, the extra weight I was towing slowing me down not at all.

Once again, the Amazons met the boat in the shallows and helped pull it onto shore. Ice lifted Rio and carried her onto the bank before laying her gently down on her back. I scrambled out of the boat and knelt down next to her.

It was bad.

Very bad.

Rio’s normally deeply tanned face was white as a newly-laundered sheet, except for the wide streams of blood which drained from her nose and mouth.

"Ice?" I whispered, looking up into the stone mask she’d pulled on to hide her emotions.

Ignoring me, she ripped Rio’s shirt open to expose a vastly muscled chest and torso which was marred by three tiny holes, no larger than American dimes, if that. The two in her belly were oozing a slow, but steady stream of blood. The third, in her upper right chest, was bubbling with pink froth with every breath she took.

Tearing her own shirt off, Ice quickly folded it, and pressed it hard over the chest wound. "C’mon, Rio," she murmured as she reached with her free hand to the side of Rio’s neck, searching for a pulse. "C’mon. Fight."

At the touch of Ice’s gentle fingers, Rio’s dark eyes fluttered open. They were painfully aware, and my heart seized in my chest. "Hey," I whispered, smiling as best I could.

"Aaaaaa... ." One hand lifted from her side and hung there, trembling. "Aaaannnn... ."

Grasping it, I pulled it up to my cheek and held it there, the tears starting to fall freely down my face. "I’m here, Rio. I’m here."

"Ssssooo." She coughed and dark blood streamed from her mouth, but her eyes never wavered. "Sorrrrry."

I choked out a sob. "Don’t be sorry, Rio. You saved our lives. You just concentrate on pulling through this, alright?"

"Sorrrry!" she said again, her hand curling to a fist in my own.

Taking in a shuddering breath, I nodded. "I know," I whispered. "I know. I forgive you."

Her hand relaxing in mine, the faintest ghost of a smile twitched her bloodied lips. "Thaaank youu."

Then she turned her head, just slightly. Her other hand lifted, and Ice caught it and held it tight. "Aaam... ?" She coughed again and her eyes rolled briefly up in her head, before returning their intense stare to my lover. "Aaamazon?"

Ice’s lips pursed, and I knew she was holding back tears by sheer force of her formidable will. Her eyes, though, were bright and shiny. "Yes," she replied, her whisper harsh with unshed tears. "Yes, you’re an Amazon."

With those words, Rio relaxed, seeming to fold back into herself. Her chest lifted once more, then fell and didn’t rise again. Her eyes became doll’s eyes which stared blankly into the canopy of trees overhead.

"Rio! Rio, no! Oh, no, please!" I turned to my lover in time to see one single tear roll silently down her cheek. "Ice! Do something!"

Lifting her free hand from the makeshift pressure dressing, Ice reached up and gently closed Rio’s eyes. "Goodbye, my friend," she whispered.

"No! No! It’s not goodbye! It’s not! Damnit, Ice! Do something! Save her like you saved me!"

Soft hands descended on my shoulders. I tried to shake them off, but their grip was iron. "It’s over, Angel," Corinne’s voice whispered from the darkness surrounding us. "Let her go."

"No! I won’t let her go!" Moving quickly forward, I dropped Rio’s still hand in an attempt to start some sort of CPR on her.

But Ice was quicker still, and stopped me with a forearm to my chest.

I looked up at her, eyes full of fire, but the look in her own stopped me cold.

I collapsed into Rio’s unmoving body and sobbed into her chest until Corinne gently gathered me up and pulled me into a firm, gentle embrace.

I sobbed like a child in her mother’s arms as the rest of the Amazons surrounded us, their faces somber and grieving.

Behind me, Ice stood, lifted Rio into her arms, and headed silently away.

PART 10

WE CREMATED RIO today. On a large open pyre, as she requested, so that her spirit would be freed and, together with the smoke from the blazing fire, soar to meet her ancestors in a place beyond death.

Ice lit the fire, as we’d all known she would, and with lit torch in hand, she sang. As mournful and melancholy a dirge as I have ever heard, and hope never to hear again in this lifetime.

I think that she was the only one there who didn’t cry.

Not that anyone noticed, since they were too busy shedding tears of their own.

As for me, all I can really feel is a pervading sense of numbness. Like being swaddled in cotton from head to toe. They used to call in ennui, I think, once upon a time. Or maybe it was a different word that I’m searching for. At this point, though, I really can’t seem to care.

Pony’s the only one who didn’t make it to the service. One of the Amazons, appropriately named (what else?) Doc, removed the bullet from her shoulder and declared her bedridden for the foreseeable future. But at least she’s alive.

I don’t know when, or if, I’ll ever be able to face her, though.

What do you say to someone who saved your life just as you were doing your level best to end theirs?

"I’m sorry," just doesn’t seem adequate enough, somehow. And I don’t think "thank you" would be all that well received, at this point. Though Corinne has gone to great pains to assure me otherwise.

It disturbs me greatly that I would willingly put the lives of my friends in danger just so that I could get back to my lover. A lover who most definitely, and for all the right reasons, didn’t want me there to begin with.

I look at the woman I am today and realize how very much I’ve changed. And not all of those changes have been for the better.

I’ve become quicker to find fault and quicker to anger. Quick to do violence and quick to lash out.

But by far the worst thing of all is that I find myself becoming someone I swore I never even had it within myself to be.

A woman who puts the needs of herself above the needs of others.

It shames deeply me to recognize how very selfish I’ve become in that regard.

And I have no one to blame but myself.

Every once in awhile, I see Ice looking at me in that way of hers. As if she’s not quite sure what’s going on with me, but doesn’t quite know if I’d be receptive to her attempts at comfort.

She’s pretty withdrawn herself, however, and I’m not sure either one of us is ready to talk it out just yet. Rio’s death hit her very hard. There’s an angry energy swarming around her. An energy that makes everyone keep their distance from her. This is the Ice of legend. The only Ice most of these women have ever known, or heard tales about. They watch her in awe as she passes, and whisper behind their hands when they think she’s out of hearing range.

Most of the time, their judgement is off, and whatever it is she hears only serves to increase her anger.

We made love last night. A hard-hitting, brutal kind of love. The kind two souls and bodies share when they’re in pain and just need to feel something beyond that. If even for just a moment.

Ice was relentless in her passion, taking me again and again and again. And I wanted it, craved it, begged for it over and over until she’d exhausted us both and we tumbled down into sleep still wrapped around one another.

Our pain was, for the moment, forgotten.

But it came back this morning, as I knew it would, and made itself at home in my soul. I wish I could cry, or scream, or beat my fists bloody on the walls, but it seems all I can do is just sit here with my thoughts and pray for this nightmare of listlessness to be over soon.

Please, God, if you can hear me, just let it be over.

*  *  *

I awoke the next morning to the sounds of screaming.

Masculine screaming.

Tossing back the covers, I hit the ground running, oblivious to my half-naked and sleep-rumpled state.

The hall was crowded with whispering women and I charged through them all, like some sort of half-sized halfback making an endzone run. I turned to the left and headed immediately for the kitchen, where an even larger and more dense crowd awaited me.

The woman who had owned the ranch prior to Montana was a bit of a survivalist, you see. She’d grown up during the Las Vegas nuclear bomb testings, and she’d decided to build her very own bomb shelter and tack it on to the back of the house by way of the kitchen.

Normally, the shelter held canned goods and various and sundry other items needed to feed, shelter and clothe a large community of women.

Now, it held only one thing.

Cavallo.

His continued screaming led me on, and I pressed through the crowd with renewed vigor. Some of the women were hesitant to step aside, but when they saw who it was who was doing the pushing, they gave ground willingly.

When I finally got free of the crowd, I saw Cowgirl and Cheeto in front of the open door, looking inward. Their bodies were pressed tightly together as they barred the door against the press of women behind them.

A hand snaked out, grabbed my arm, and pulled me off to the side. I looked into Montana’s grim face, then into the equally grim face of Corinne.

"What’s going on?" I asked, though most of me already knew the answer to that question.

As if in answer, the screaming stopped.

It didn’t wind down, as screams of pain often do. No, it was cut off completely, leaving a ringing, pregnant silence behind.

A silence shattered by the heavy double-thud of a body hitting first a wall, then the floor.

Then by the sound of a heavy tread moving toward us.

Cowgirl and Cheeto took a step back, and Ice came through the door. The energy around her was black and menacing. Several women gasped upon seeing her, and they quickly looked away, their faces drawn and pale.

Like those of a hunting cougar, my lover’s eyes scanned the crowd of women. Any spark of humanity in them seemed absent. They were flashing silver and promised pain.

It was as if she was culling the herd.

As if instinctually recognizing this, the crowd of women parted, giving her a long, wide path down which to walk.

Her eyes met mine for a moment before sliding away. If there was a hint of recognition in them, it was deeply buried.

And then, like a shadow touched by sunlight, she was gone, disappearing into the throng of humanity as if she were never there at all.

I made as if to go after her, but Montana held me fast.

"Let her calm down a bit, Angel."

Calm? She was already calm. Deathly calm, in fact.

I heeded Montana’s request, however. Because I needed to help Ice, and I couldn’t do that until I knew what had gone on.

Cowgirl disappeared into the shelter, only to reappear a brief moment later, her face set in grim lines. "Get Doc," she ordered her lover.

As Cheeto turned away, I shrugged off Montana’s grip and stepped forward. "Is he... ?"

"He got the crap beaten out of him, literally I think, but he’s alive."

I rounded on Montana. "Tell me what happened."

For a long moment, she looked as if she were going to refuse, but then she sighed and shrugged her shoulders. "He’s been cursing up a blue streak pretty much since he finally woke up last night from Ice’s little nap. I wanted to feed him some breakfast this morning, and Ice came in with me." She ran a steady hand through her thick, dark hair. "He started ranting and raving, as usual. Called us some pretty uninventive names and demanded we let him out." She shrugged again.

I shook my head, not understanding. Even grief stricken as she was, Ice wouldn’t have done that much damage just because a few ugly names were tossed her way.

Doc walked by, medical kit in hand, followed closely by Cheeto, and disappeared into the bunker.

I turned my attention back to Montana. "What else?"

"He started in on Rio," Corinne said, voice soft and grim. "Evidently, he’d heard some of the women talking in the kitchen earlier, and decided to use up most of his idiot points in one fell swoop."

I nodded, beginning now to understand my lover’s rage.

"And then," Corinne continued, "he began to talk about you. Though perhaps ‘talk’ isn’t the best description one could use in this instance." She shook her head in mock wonder. "How he became such an important piece of property, I’ll never know. That man doesn’t have enough genuine wit to fill up a thimble."

"And then he took a swing at her," Montana added. "And it was pretty much over from there."

Hearing all that I needed to, I thanked them both and left, heading out of the house and toward the one place I knew she’d be.

*  *  *

The stables were cool and dim, and smelled strongly of hay and horses. Because the day itself was overcast, my eyes adjusted quickly to the poor lighting within.

She was sitting on a hay bale which had been pushed against the furthest wall, legs splayed carelessly. Her hands, dark with blood, fiddled with a piece of straw, and her face was hidden by the long fall of hair which hung across it.

I didn’t bother treading softly as I approached. I knew she knew I was there. If she wanted to stop me, she would. But I didn’t think she wanted to.

Reaching down, I snared an old bucket partially filled with water, and the handful of clean rags piled next to it. Circling her so that she had a clear path to the door, I dropped to one knee, placed the water bucket at my side, and dipped one of the rags into it.

Wordlessly, I grasped her left hand and began to dab at the bleeding cuts her rage had wrought. Most of the blood was Cavallo’s, I knew, and I quickly cleaned any traces of him from her skin. Her face was hidden from me, her body tense and coiled, but I expected that, and concentrated on lending her as much support and love through my touch and presence as I possibly could.

"Rough day, huh?" I finally asked, when I could bear the silence no longer.

"Yeah," was her only comment as I traded left hand for right and began my task anew.

I let that go, knowing when to push and when not to.

Her hands now fully clean, I patted each one dry with another soft rag, then laid everything else aside and took her warm flesh into my own hands, raising each one to my lips before lowering them to her thighs and just holding gently on.

It might have been minutes, or hours, or days, but when she finally lifted her head to look at me, her eyes held the woman I knew shining brightly within their clear, bottomless depths. "Thank you," she whispered.

I gave her my first real smile in days. "Anytime." I squeezed her large hands, gratified to feel her return the pressure. "I love you, you know."

Her hair swung free as she nodded. "I know."

Seeing the question in her eyes, I tried to answer it with what little information I had. "Don’t think he’ll go dancing with Ginger Rogers anytime soon, but I think he’ll pull through ok."

She nodded her thanks, her gaze again going far away.

"Do you think he’s got some kind of death wish?"

Her eyes focused once more as a perfectly arched brow rose to hide behind the fringe of her bangs.

"I’m serious! I mean, you’ve already single-handedly taken out a bunch of his guards up in Canada, you take out a bunch more in his own home, and then you beat the snot out of him and bring him here. He’s got to know he doesn’t stand a chance against you."

She shrugged. "Maybe you’re right. Maybe he doesn’t want to go back to prison."

"Or maybe he’s just an idiot."

She chuckled, a little. "I thought that was a given."

I couldn’t help but grin back. "Well, yeah, you’re right on that one."

We fell into a more or less comfortable silence, and I felt her thumbs trail slowly back and forth over my knuckles. I could tell she was deep in thought.

"So," I asked after several moments passed, "where do we go from here?"

Taking in a deep breath, she let it out slowly, then released my hands and straightened. "That depends on how bad off Cavallo is. There hasn’t been any news from south of the border, but those bodies aren’t gonna remain hidden for long."

"Have you heard from Donita?"

"I called her last night to let her know we have him. She’s arranging a drop-off location somewhere out of town. Says things have gotten pretty sticky up there lately."

"Sticky how?" A tendril of fear curled deep in my belly and sunk roots there.

"She couldn’t say. I’ll try to contact her again tonight. We need to get moving as quickly as we can. I don’t want the ranch to come under suspicion."

"And you think it will?"

"I can’t afford to assume otherwise, Angel. Not with this."

As she stood, I rose with her, and noticed for the first time the small deerskin bag, no larger than a quarter, which hung around her neck on a choker-length piece of rawhide.

"Rio’s totem," I whispered, blinking back tears which were threatening to form at the sight of it. A streak of her blood had dried on the hide, creating a dark crimson slash which only served to make the object even more precious and profound.

Ice’s hand went up to the hollow of her throat, and the touched the totem briefly, reverently, before drawing her fingers away. Her expression was a curious and heartrending mixture of sadness, loss, and steely, stoic determination.

Like a moth to a flame, I was drawn in to her, and circled her waist with my arms even as she closed her own around me.

And there, in the dimness of the stables on that cool winter’s day, we finally found the ability to grieve.

*  *  *

We returned to the ranch house, hand in hand. Most of the women were still gathered there, no doubt discussing the morning’s festivities. All talk came to a dead stop once we entered, however, and I was struck with a curious sense of deja-vu. The last time I’d found myself the center of attention, I’d just arrived from a blissful evening spent with my lover.

This time, that lover just happened to be with me.

Curious glances darted quickly away, and I knew at once that Ice had given the women a taste of her patented glare. I almost laughed as I realized yet again that most of these women had never met her, and the stories they’d been told were nothing compared to being in her very tangible presence.

A legend come to life, as it were.

Corinne stepped out of the crowd and gestured for us to follow.

Still joined by our clasped hands, we made our way down one dim hallway and into Corinne’s bedroom. "I think you should see this," she said, indicating a large television sitting on her bureau. It appeared to have been tuned to a Mexican station, and though the words being spoken by the reporters could have been Greek for all I understood of them, the scene splashed behind the men was clear as crystal.

It was the clearing where Rio had given her life so the rest of us could remain free. Bright yellow tarps dotted the ground close to the river. I knew those tarps hid the bodies of the men she and Ice had killed as the rest of us escaped to the other side of the border.

"What are they saying?" I demanded as Ice and Corinne quietly watched the events unfold. "Do they know who those men are? Do they know what happened? Do they... ."

Ice’s hand squeeze quieted my ramblings as Corinne turned to me. "No, they haven’t identified the bodies. Seems none of them had any identification." This was said with a significant look in Ice’s direction.

"Rio’s doing," came my lover’s short answer.

"Then how... ?"

"One of the men wasn’t dead yet."

"Oh." She turned back to me. "In any event, they’re only speculating on the happenings at this point. Though the chain of events is rather obvious, even to the uninitiated, wouldn’t you agree?"

I nodded, my heart in my throat.

"Would any of the survivors, assuming there are any, have cause to recognize you?" Corinne asked Ice.

"She was wearing a ski mask," I supplied.

"They were all locals," Ice answered. "Those men," she gestured to the television, "were Cavallo’s."

"Ahh," Corinne replied, nodding sagely. "And dead men tell no tales. Or so they say."

"Is there any chance at all that this can be traced back to you?" I asked Ice.

"Likely that’s already been done," she replied. "If not, it will be soon. Those guards I left alive are gonna tell someone sooner or later that their meal ticket got stolen. It won’t be long before someone somewhere puts two and two together."

"And likely ends up with seven," Corinne snorted.

"We’ll need to move as soon as Cavallo’s stable."

"Which should be in seventy-two hours, barring any unforeseen circumstances," Corinne reported.

"Why so long?" I asked.

"Our physician in residence wants to make sure there are no internal injuries waiting to surprise us down the road." She looked at Ice, awe glittering hard in her eyes. "How you were able to inflict so much superficial damage without breaking any of his bones is something I’ll never understand. It was a pleasure watching a master in action."

I looked away, slightly sickened. Accepting that Ice had beaten someone bloody in anger was one thing. Having someone else express joy in that was another thing entirely.

"So," I said finally, just to break the uncomfortable silence, "what now?"

Ice straightened and released my hand. "I need to contact Donita." And with that, she left.

I sank slowly to Corinne’s narrow bed, my eyes still glued to the images on the television. Corinne stood nearby, her dark eyes darting back and forth as we watched the bodies as they were loaded into ambulances. Though I knew in my very soul that these were the men who had killed Rio, injured Pony, and tried their best to kill us all, deep down, I still felt a sense of sorrow.

Not for them, of course, for they were dead and beyond caring.

But for their families and their loved ones. For their children who would spend days, months, perhaps years wondering when their fathers would be coming home. For parents who would grieve their passing, and for spouses or lovers who would never get used to going to sleep in an empty bed.

It could have been me.

It still might, one day, given the life I’ve chosen to lead.

And that’s what it all comes down to, doesn’t it.

Choice.

Those men lived by their choices, and died by their choices. As do we all, I suppose, in one way or another.

That’s not to say that I was happy that those men were dead, nor that I would have wished their deaths upon them had I the ability to do so.

But as I’ve come to realize, especially over these last several gut-wrenching days, responsibility is a great deal easier in theory than it is in practice. Everyone bears some responsibility for their actions, and for the pain those actions cause in others.

As the meaning behind that thought hit me full force in the guts, I straightened and turned to Corinne. "I have to talk to them."

She smiled. That wise, almost ancient smile she sometimes uses, and nodded, well knowing of whom I was speaking. "They need that, Angel."

I nodded, sucking in a deep, deep breath. "I know. They’re my friends. And even if they weren’t, they deserve more than silence from me."

Leaning down, Corinne pressed the smooth, cool skin of her cheek against my own. "That’s my Angel."

I squeezed her tight, then stood as she backed away. "I don’t feel very much like one right now, Corinne, but thanks."

"We all learn from our mistakes. Even Angels," she said quietly, then sent me on my way.

Swallowing back my fear, I walked the few short steps that would take me to the room Pony and Critter shared. The door was closed, as I’d known it would be, and as I lifted my hand to knock, I played what I would say to them over in my mind. Which didn’t amount to much more than "I’m sorry, please forgive me.", but it was the best I could do at the moment. It seemed I was suddenly out of words.

The door opened before I could knock, and Critter stood there. We both looked at one another, uncertain. Such a large part of me demanded my retreat that I almost gave into it. Another part of me just wanted to break down in tears and hug her to try to take the pain from her eyes. I stood between that proverbial rock and hard place for a long moment before this newly born sense of responsibility kicked me in the hind quarters and made my decision for me.

"I...um...may I come in?"

After a second, she backed away, giving me space to enter. "Sure."

I entered the room, my steps slow and hesitant. There, on the bed and covered to her chin with a sheet, lay Pony. She looked somewhat pale and somewhat drawn, but much better than I’d honestly expected. Her dark eyes caught and held my gaze. There was some pain in them, as well as some uncertainty, but none of the anger or loathing that I’d expected. Or, in truth, deserved.

"Hi, Pony," I said softly, coming to a stop several feet from her bed.

"Hey, Angel." Her voice, though slightly raspy, was strong and sure. "How are you doing?"

That question, of course, only made me feel worse. I wasn’t the one shot, after all. "I’m doing ok. How about you?"

She shrugged. "Not bad. Doc says I should be up and around in no time." She leaned forward conspiratorially. "I just wish Nurse Ratchet here would get that through her head."

Though I wanted to laugh, I didn’t, still too scared to hope that things between us could ever be the way they were before.

"How’s Ice?" she asked.

"A little better. She’s still mourning Rio’s death, but... ." I shrugged, conveying the impossibility of guessing my lover’s emotions.

Pony grinned. "I heard she beat the shit outta Cavallo."

I nodded in lieu of answering verbally, and watched as Critter came to sit on the side of the bed. With both sets of eyes on me, it became even more difficult to think, and my words tumbled out of me like water going over a fall. "I know you won’t be able to forgive me, I can’t even forgive myself, but I just wanted you both to know how sorry I am for what I did the other night to both of you. It was wrong of me. I almost killed you both. You’re my friends and I treated you horribly. I was selfish and pig-headed and blind and I acted like a total idiot. I just wanted to tell you that. That I’m sorry for what I did, and I’m sorry for avoiding you these past few days. You don’t deserve that. Not from me, not from anyone else. I was an idiot, and I was scared. I’m sorry."

I ground do a halt, my words all used up. I stood there, numb, not daring to read anything into the way they looked back at me.

What happened next I’ll leave for Pony and Critter to tell, if they ever get a notion to do such. Suffice it to say that these two women, who most of society would look down upon and speak ill of because of their past mistakes, have more honor and integrity, compassion and caring, love and loyalty than any thousand who claim that to have the handle on getting into heaven first.

They taught me something about friendship that day, and about forgiveness, and the power of love.

I can only hope that one day, I can feel deserving of the honor they’ve given me by calling me "friend".

*  *  *

That evening, as I lay naked between the cool, crisp sheets of our bed, Ice walked in, her eyes dark and distant.

"What’s wrong?" I asked, immediately coming up to my elbows as her expression registered.

She tapped her cell-phone absently against her palm. "I haven’t been able to contact Donita."

My belly fluttered. "At all? But I thought you had a hotline to her directly?"

"I do. She’s not answering it."

"Did you try any of the other numbers? No, forget I asked. Of course you did." I wriggled until I was sitting up, my legs crossed in front of me. "Do you know of anyone up there who might know where she is? The prosecutor, maybe? Or the judge?"

"The only person I trust is Donita."

I nodded, biting my lower lip. "So...what now? Do we wait until you can get in touch with her somehow?"

Ice shook her head. "We can’t afford to. As soon as Cavallo is able to travel, we move."

"Even if we don’t know where we’re taking him?"

"Even then," she replied, firm resolution coloring her tones. "Did the news give any more details?"

"Not really. They still haven’t identified the bodies. The story doesn’t seem to have made it up here yet. At least not that we heard."

"Good." Laying the cell phone down on the nightstand, she tiredly stripped off her clothes, then slipped between the sheets and rested her head on my thigh.

Smiling, I sifted my hand through the soft onyx strands of her hair, enjoying, as always, the feel of it against my fingers.

A small contented hum made its way up from her throat as her body relaxed against mine, and the very tips of her fingers drew abstract designs on my legs.

Sensing her exhaustion, I deepened my touches and rubbed along her scalp and forehead, doing my best to ease away the day’s tension. Almost before I knew it, her own touches slowed to a stop and her breathing deepened and evened out into true slumber; the first she’d had in days, if not weeks.

And though we were standing on a precipice over a chasm so deep I couldn’t see the bottom, I hugged this tiny island of peace around me like a warm sweater and let my doubts and my fears be washed away by the awesome power that was love.

*  *  *

"Oh yes, love," I gasped as a pair of warm, wet lips applied gentle suction to a particularly sensitive area at the back of my neck. That gasp turned into a groan as long fingers danced across my breasts in time with the rapidly quickening beat of my heart. Leaning back into the long body behind me, I felt Ice’s hips rock against my towel-covered behind, and the sensation caused a sudden weakening in my knees.

Overcome with a need I knew only too well, I spun within the circle of her loose embrace and crushed our bodies together even as my hands reached up and through the shining raven locks of her hair to pull her head down to meet mine in an incendiary tangle of lips and tongues.

"Bed," I gasped when I pulled away for much needed air. "Now."

Growling deep in her chest, she lifted me easily from my feet as my own hands worked at the towel girding her lower half, courtesy of our shared morning shower.

Before I could blink, I found myself flat on my back as the bedsprings squeaked out their displeasure beneath me. Ice loomed over me, the look on her face the epitome of every fantasy I’d ever dreamed of and a few I hadn’t even thought up yet.

Like a lioness she was, all tawny sleekness and barely controlled hunger. Her eyes, passion-dark, swept over my body setting fires wherever her gaze touched down. Her nostrils flared, scenting the air and the passion growing between us. She growled again, long and low, and my body became liquid and burned hotter than the sun.

Taking care to make sure that no part of our bodies were touching, she came in low. White teeth snatched at my lower lip and a strong tongue swirled and tasted its captured prize, then tugged and released and recaptured until I thought I would go mad with this all-encompassing need she was engendering within me.

My hips sent out a plea of their own, and I groaned when their fruitless quest was answered only by the cool air of the room beyond.

My groan of frustration was answered by a wicked chuckle, but she was fair, this mistress of my passions, and used my own desire against me for only a moment longer before ending the sweet torture and melding our bodies together.

Oh, the transcendence of that one exquisite moment when we joined together as two halves of a perfect whole.

Ice’s towel had loosened somewhere along the way, and lush heat of her passion as it bathed my flesh sent me spiraling far and away. Lips softer than the finest silk enveloped my breasts, and the air was filled with the sensual sounds of flesh moving against flesh.

A moment later, Ice stiffened above me, but not in passion. My eyes sprung open to catch an intent look on her face.

"What?" I whispered, barely having the breath for it.

And then I heard it, the sounds of a struggle going on in the next room, complete with muffled shouts and angry voices, one of which was undeniably Pony’s.

At that particular moment, however, I didn’t care why Pony was yelling or who Pony was yelling at. I wanted Ice, and I wanted her now.

She returned willingly enough, capturing my lips in another incendiary kiss as her hand began its slow, teasing trek down to where I most desperately needed it. Then she halted again. I groaned in frustration, slapping my hand down on the mattress hard enough to sting.

This time, we both heard the shout simultaneously.

Just one word, but it was as if ice water had been thrown over both of us.

"Police!"

Ice rolled off the bed and stood, all in one fluid motion. She was across the room and had her hand on the door handle before I even had the chance to sit up.

"Ice! Don’t forget your... .robe," I sighed, talking to nothing but empty air. "Oh boy."

Managing to get my stunned limbs to cooperate, I stood up a great deal less gracefully than did my partner, grabbed my own robe and belted it over my nakedness before grabbing a second and bolting after her.

If the situation hadn’t been so serious, I would have fallen to the floor with laughter as I slid into Pony’s room. It was as if I’d walked in on a very adult version of the game of "Statues".

Pony was flat on her back in the bed with Critter half-sprawled atop her in a position which could have very definitely been construed as sexual had they both not been fully clothed. Nia was standing in one corner, her eyes so wide that if they hadn’t been attached to her skull, I felt sure they’d pop right out and roll around on the floor like marbles. Cheeto was standing next to Nia, the tanned skin of her face flushed a shining red. Cowgirl, standing next to her, didn’t have the benefit of a tan, and the flush on her face was tending toward purple.

And, of course, the centerpiece of this tableau was my naked lover, to whom all gazes were affixed.

Gathering myself, I crossed the last, small distance between us and slipped the robe over Ice’s shoulders. Though she pulled it on and belted it closed over the vast expanse of her wonderful flesh, those actions did nothing to break the frozen stares of her admirers.

That feat was accomplished by Montana, who stalked into the room with a grim expression on her face. Entering, she took charge effortlessly.

"Cowgirl, Cheeto, get out to the perimeter. I want to know the second they get within sighting distance. Critter, round up the non-Amazons and get them into the house. Move!"

As Critter jumped up, Pony attempted to get out of the bed, only to find herself pushed down by her lover. "Oh no ya don’t, hero. You just stay there and let the rest of us grunts take care of the dirty work for ya."

"Like hell I will!" Pony growled, using her greater strength to overpower her thinner lover. "Get the fuck off me, will ya?"

"Pony!"

"Enough."

Though not spoken in a loud tone, that one word had the entire force of Ice’s personality behind it, and once again, the entire room froze in place.

"What’s going on?" she asked Montana, still in that same smooth, controlled tone.

"Paycheck just called in. Ten or more police cruisers are heading here full bore."

"Cavallo?"

"No. Apparently, Nia’s husband has decided to bring in the cavalry."

Nia stepped forward and laid a hand on Pony’s shoulder. "Please, stay in bed. I’ll handle this."

"But... ."

She sighed, and suddenly I saw a new Nia standing in place of the old. A sadder, wiser Nia who’d learned a few life lessons the hardest way possible.

"Rio taught me something the other day," she said as if speaking to herself. "She taught me that it’s time I grew up and stood up for something I believed in." Raising her chin proudly, she looked, in turn, at each one of us. "I’ve decided to start with believing in me."

"Nia," Pony protested, "you can’t just... ."

"Yes, Pony, I can. And I will. Every one of you has given of yourselves for me. And it’s about time I started giving back." She turned beseeching eyes to Montana. "Please, ask Pony to stay here. I don’t want anyone else hurt because of me."

"You’re not thinking about going back to him," Montana said.

"No. Never again. He’s probably got those police convinced that I was kidnapped and brought here against my will. I’ll just have to convince them that I’m here because I want to be."

After a long, searching moment, Montana nodded. "Alright, but you’re going to have backup, just in case."

"Alright," she softly replied.

"Great!" Pony shouted, renewing her struggle to free herself from Critter’s embrace.

"Not you, Pony. You stay in bed. We can take care of this without you just this once."

"Damnit! Not you too, Montana! Come on! I’m not an invalid, for Christ’s sake!"

"No, but you might just become one if I see you step one foot outside of that bed, Pony. And I mean that."

With a groan worthy of an Emmy, or a martyrdom, Pony slumped back on the bed and covered her face with one arm.

Then Montana turned to Ice and myself. "You two need to get out of here. Doc’s already preparing Cavallo for the journey. Even though the police are here for Nia, we can’t afford to have them do a search of the house."

Ice nodded. "We’ll be ready in five minutes."

Turning, she took my hand and we headed back to our room to prepare for a journey whose ending was anything but certain.

*  *  *

We didn’t talk as we returned to our room. There really wasn’t much to say at that point. Ice had already tried to talk me out of accompanying her, and I’d turned her down flatter than roadkill. My butt was as much on the line as hers was, and whatever happened, I was more determined than ever that we’d see it through together.

Reaching under the bed, she pulled out her black duffel, already packed, then opened a drawer in the bedside stand and removed her gun. Though it was as much a part of Ice as the color of her eyes, I detested that gun, with its pristine, shining finish and malevolent air. I avoided it like the plague, and if I could have made an evil-eye sign to ward off the cold shudders I got whenever I looked at it, I would have.

She didn’t even bother looking at me as she opened the clip and then chambered a round before slipping it into the waistband of her jeans at the back. "You ready?"

"In a second," I replied, reaching for my own, mostly-packed, bag. "How long should I plan for?"

"At least two weeks, but don’t pack too much. With Cavallo, we’re not gonna have too much room to spare."

"What car are we taking, anyway?"

"Montana said she had something to show us, so I suppose we’ll know when we see it."

"Alright. How about if I meet you out back?"

"Fine, just hurry up. Those cops are gonna be here any minute."

"Be right there."

Corinne entered as Ice left, and came to stand next to me, arms crossed against her ample chest. "I just heard. Leaving already, are you?"

"Yeah," I said as I looked around the room to make sure that I wasn’t missing any indispensable item. Spying the carving Ice had made for me for Christmas, I carefully grasped it from its place on the nightstand and rubbed my finger over the exquisitely carved angel’s wings as one would a talisman.

"Your things will be safe here," Corinne said.

"Oh, I know that. It’s just... ."

"Difficult to leave yet another home?"

I sighed. "Something like that, yeah. Especially since we don’t really know where we’re going."

Corinne’s eyebrows raised. "Hasn’t Donita told you at least that much?"

"She hasn’t told us anything. Ice can’t get a hold of her."

"Now that is worrisome."

"Yeah. I know." I rubbed the rapidly forming stiffness at the back of my neck and spared a last look around the room. My eyes lit upon my growing stack of journals which, prior to Mexico, had gone everywhere with me. And now it looked like they’d be staying behind once again. I looked to Corinne. "Would you keep these for me in a safe place? I...don’t think I’ll have room for them in the car."

"I should be insulted that you even felt the need to ask, but that would be a waste of effort, so I suppose I’ll just say ‘yes’ instead." Gathering the books up, she held them close to her chest. "They’ll be here for you when you return."

"Thank you," I replied, for far more than babysitting my journals, and we both knew it.

Dropping the journals onto the bed, she reached out and engulfed me in an all-encompassing hug. I inhaled the scent of her sachet and, as always, drew some measure of comfort from it. My love for her burned fierce in my heart and I hugged her with as much strength as I could manage while keeping in mind the frailty of her elderly bones.

She hugged me back, just as tightly, and we both had teary eyes when we pulled apart. "Go, Angel."

Taking in a deep breath, I nodded, then grabbed my duffel. "I love you, Corinne," I said, brushing a kiss against her cheek.

"I love you too, sweet Angel. Be safe."

"I’ll do my best."

I hurried down the halls, duffel in hand, and into the back of the house, where I had to push upstream against a tide of women being escorted inside to safety. Stepping outside, I saw Ice and Montana standing next to a very large Jeep—the kind that looks like some sort of hybrid cross between a car and a tank. The engine was on and it was loud and rumbling, giving me what I was sure was just a small taste of its power. It was a dark, metallic blue and had heavily tinted windows, better to keep prying eyes away, I gathered.

Seeing me, Ice grabbed my duffel and slipped it into the back seat. A back seat that I was quite positive could comfortably house a family of four and their dog—and perhaps some cats, a bird or two, and an aquarium thrown in for good measure.

I briefly wondered if it came with its own butler before going around to the very back and peering inside. The interior space was huge, and there was a mattress of sorts laid out on the floorboards together with a couple of small pillows and two pairs of shackles locked to the seat supports.

A perfect love nest for the kinky set.

Which, of course, gave me some ideas, none of which can be shared in polite society.

Hearing a noise behind me, I stepped back just in time to avoid being trampled by Cheeto and Cowgirl as they carried a lolling Cavallo between them. His swollen face was a sunset of bruises and scrapes, and he appeared dead to the world.

The two women slung him inside the Jeep, then Cowgirl entered and began to secure him. Doc supervised, smiling.

"How is he?" I asked.

"Woke up a little feisty this morning, but I sent him off on the SS Valium and now he’s feeling nooo pain." She handed me a small black bag. "There’s more drugs in there. If he starts yowling, just hit him with another dose. They’re pre-measured, so you don’t have to worry about unintentionally narcing him."

I took the bag just as Cowgirl jumped back out of the Jeep and dusted her hands off on the legs of her jeans. "Packed up and ready to go."

I stepped away further, and Doc closed the door, trapping Cavallo safely inside.

Ice came to stand next to me. "You ready?"

"As I’ll ever be, I guess."

"Let’s go, then."

After sharing quick hugs with Cowgirl and Cheeto, and a firm handshake with Montana, I climbed up into the high cab of the Jeep and settled myself in. My belly was a flaming ball of tension, and my head was pounding in time to the beating of my heart. Ice’s face was unusually grim as she settled herself in the driver’s seat and reached for the gear shift.

"What is it?" I asked, the tension in my body ratcheting up yet another notch.

"I don’t like leaving them this way. I’ve never run from a fight." Her tones were clipped, her voice measured.

"And you’re not running from one now," I replied, laying a hand on her wrist. "I have faith in Nia’s word. Rio’s death has changed her. For the better. And the police will make sure no harm comes to the women. There’s a friend or two of Montana’s on the force."

An eyebrow raised in clear surprise.

I just managed to bite back a smug grin. Though the chances were one in a million, I’d actually been able to bring my lover up short with information she didn’t already know.

If the circumstances were any less grave, I might have taken the time to savor the once-in-a-lifetime event. "Though the cop/con dynamic sounds pretty cheesy, Paycheck’s lover is an officer. As long as Nia does her part and tells the truth, Montana and the rest will be safe."

Jaw set, she nodded and slipped the Jeep into gear. The engine roared, and with no more fanfare than that, we were on our way.

To where, I wasn’t sure. I don’t even think Ice knew at that point. But at least we were moving, and as long as we were moving, I could convince myself that, somewhere on the road ahead, there’d be a light waiting at the end of a tunnel which had encompassed almost a third of my life.

PART 11

EVEN THOUGH IT was winter, Ice elected to take the northern route back toward Pennsylvania. That involved heading up into the Flagstaff Mountains, which were a beautiful Faerie Wonderland of snow and ice, not to mention treacherous driving conditions. The Jeep was sure-footed and well equipped to brave the storm buffeting us as we drove along, but I kept my white-knuckled grip on the dashboard (a "mother-in law" clutch, my father used to call it) just the same.

Though it seemed like a year, maybe two, in reality only a few short hours passed before we were out of the snow and entering into the unsurpassed beauty of New Mexico’s Painted Desert. Not that I got to see most of it, mind you. My neck seemed on a spring, the way I kept looking over my shoulder to try and see if we’d picked up a tail along the way.

Of course, my chances of actually spotting said tail were about as great as seeing Elvis singing "Blue Hawaii" next to a roadside Burrito stand, since I wouldn’t know a tail unless it was sporting a "we’re following you!" sign in the front window, but I had to feel like I was doing something.

Right before I would have spent the rest of my life with a crick in my neck, a cell phone and piece of paper was slipped into my hand. I looked over at Ice.

"See if you can get a hold of Donita at any of these numbers."

Nodding, I picked up the phone and started dialing. I soon realized that this task would be as fruitless as trying to spot a tail. Each attempt resulted in an infinite number of empty rings echoing back at me, like some sort of discordant curse.

With a sigh of frustration, I flipped the phone closed and laid it on my lap. "No luck," I said, though it wasn’t necessary.

"Try again in a little while." Though Ice’s voice was the epitome of calm, I could see her jaw muscles tense and bulge.

"Yeah, no problem. We’ll get through this, right?" I gave her a sick little smile.

Her eyes, when she looked back at me, showed nothing but confidence. "Sure we will."

I laughed. "After all, what’s driving around aimlessly with a kidnapped fugitive everyone seems to want dead compared with the things we’ve been through already, huh?"

There really should be a vaccine for ‘Foot-in-Mouth’ disease. And if one ever becomes available, I’ll be the first in line.

"I’m sorry," I said softly, laying a hand on her thigh.

"So am I," she whispered, then lapsed into a silence which went unbroken until our first rest stop. It was an angry silence, but it was directed at herself and not at me. So I squeezed her thigh and loved her as best I could until I could think up something better to do.

Rest stops themselves, as I came to quickly find, were an exercise in creativity. Since ushering a bruised and battered Cavallo into the men’s room at gunpoint seemed to be out as an option, only Ice and I availed ourselves of the conveniences of modern plumbing. Cavallo got to use the bushes by the side of more or less deserted roads.

Since Ice was much more adept at subduing a dangerous fugitive who wanted us both dead than I, I happily let her do the honors, all the while hoping that she would stuff him into a particularly virulent patch of poison sumac or something equally nasty.

He was actually quite complacent that first day. I think it was the combination of the Valium he’d been given and the fact that the woman who was escorting him to and from said bushes could, and had, beaten the living tar out of him, and wouldn’t need much provocation to show off that particular skill again, should he wish a replay.

Rest stops aside, we continued to drive well into the night. The fiftieth attempt to contact Donita fared no better than the first, but I was able to reach Montana, which eased my mind considerably. It seemed that all had gone very well at the ranch. Nia had come through with shining colors, surprising everyone from the Amazons, to the police, to, especially, her husband. A husband who, apparently, came within a hair of going to the big-house for a very long time when the police heard the true tale of why Nia was where she was.

Montana had passed me off to Corinne, who, like me, hadn’t been able to get in touch with Donita or anyone else who might know where she was. We commiserated for awhile, then hung up as Ice pulled into yet another in a long line of nondescript rest areas. This one was long and narrow, with a few parking spaces, a few picnic tables abutting a small evergreen wood, and a tiny clapboard building with a sign in front announcing that it held restrooms and vending machines within.

Aside from a sleeping trucker or two, the place was utterly deserted. A fact, I guess, which caused Ice to pull in there in the first place.

Knowing well my pea-sized bladder, Ice handed me a flashlight almost as long as my arm, and grinned. "Go on and take care of business. I’ll get Mr. Personality here settled for the evening."

Which, of course, told me that there was to be no hotel bed in my near future. That made sense, really. Being trapped in a motel room with no chance of escape while the police or whomever else came swarming in like locusts wasn’t exactly the brightest plan in the world. And Ice was known for being bright.

Still, after twelve straight hours, the last place I wanted to be right then was that Jeep, nice though it was.

Knowing well that beggars didn’t really have choices, I accepted the flashlight gamely and returned her smile with one of my own.

At least her mood seemed to have brightened.

A definite plus, in my book.

Turning on the flashlight’s powerful beam, I followed a narrow, trash-strewn path up to the building and hunted for the little silhouette that announced to all but the most criminally idiotic that a ladies’ room was lingering about. Opening the splintered and graffiti-laden door, I was immediately assailed by the sickly sweet odor of faux strawberry barely covering the baser scent of stale urine and god only knew what else.

After turning my head to take in a deep breath of fresher air, I stepped inside, tried my best to ignore the way the soles of my hiking boots were sticking to the floor, and made my way to the first stall that didn’t have five entire rolls of toilet paper stuffed into the toilet bowl.

"God, this is so disgusting." I could feel my whole face screw up as I relieved the pressure in my bladder while trying my best to stay as far off the toilet seat as I could. If I could envy men for one thing, it would be the ability to pee standing up. My mother’s ageless warnings about the correlation between "diseases" and toilet seats rang through my head, and for the first time in my life, I believed there to be some small truth to her tales.

Task completed, I rinsed my hand (there wasn’t any soap, of course) and didn’t even bother trying to give myself the old "once-over" in the cracked and stained mirror which hung gamely over the sink on one loosening bolt.

Then I made my way back outside, breathing in the fresh, pine-scented air with a distinct feeling of relief. Walking down the trail with the beam of my flashlight leading the way, I caught the movement of Ice as she led Cavallo back to the Jeep.

His gaze met mine in what I assumed he meant to be a vengeful stare full of venom. However, since the eyes doing the staring were mere slits surrounded by swollen, blackened flesh and sitting atop and to either side of a squashed flat lump of flesh which might once have resembled a nose, I’m afraid all the emotion I could come up with was a mild revulsion. Certainly not the white-faced terror he no doubt was seeking from me.

Catching the look, Ice smirked and basically tossed Cavallo into the rear of the truck, then followed him inside. I finished my trek, and slipped into the back seat.

Though Ice and I had stopped at a McHeartAttack’s for food, there was almost nothing on the menu to feed a man who couldn’t open his jaw wider than a half inch, so we settled on a vanilla milkshake. When I handed the shake over the seat, the man glared at me as if I was handing him dog vomit in a cup. Shrugging, I made as if to pour it out, until a resigned grunt made me smile inside.

Using his cuffed hands, he took the cup, caught hold of the straw, and sucked that shake down in two seconds flat.

I guess even dog vomit tastes pretty good to the hungry.

When he was done, Ice eased him back down and chained him up. Then she unbuckled his pants, over his vehement, if badly garbled, protests, took out a syringe from the black bag I handed her, and sent him back into slumberland, courtesy of some really good drugs.

Dusting off her hands, she leapt out of the back of the truck and slid back into the driver’s seat. "What’re ya doin?" she asked, eyeing me over the headrest.

"I figured I’d put some pillows and blankets down," I said, shrugging. "It’ll probably be better for you to sleep back here, since you’re gonna need the extra space."

"Nah," she countered with a faint shake of her head. "I don’t want either one of us that close to him. C’mon up here. We’ll have plenty of room."

I looked at her doubtfully, but her smile was, as always, engaging, and whatever questions I might have had melted beneath the sweetness of it.

She was still grinning as I heaved myself back into the front seat. Reaching behind her, she grabbed one of the pillows and stuffed it into the well between the two seats to make the area more or less flat. Then she lifted the steering wheel to its highest, most out of the way point, reclined her own seat back, and patted her lap invitingly.

Though I knew that she meant for me to lay down and put my head in her lap, I just couldn’t help myself. It took a good deal of wiggling, but the effort was well worth the pain when my lover found herself with a lapful of me, and I found myself the most comfortable seat known to man. Or woman, for that matter.

Grinning at her slightly stunned look, I planted a cheeky kiss on her nose, then snuggled in and rested my head atop one broad shoulder, nestling into the crook of her neck and inhaling her wonderful scent. "Mmm. You always smell so good."

Wrapping her arms around me, she hugged me tight and rested her cheek on my hair. "So do you."

I touched my lips against the pulsepoint in her neck, then felt the slow, steady beat pick up a little as my tongue took a little taste of her skin. Really, I couldn’t help myself. She tasted so good, I took another sample, and then another, and smiled as her cheek lifted from my head, exposing the long, delectable length of her throat to me.

That was all the invitation I needed, of course.

As my lips explored the strong column of her neck, my hands certainly weren’t idle. She’d worn a half-shirt which was incredibly easy to push up, even from my somewhat awkward position, and in virtually no time at all, I held the soft, warm, firm weight of her breast in my hand.

With that, her head lowered, and mine raised, and our lips met in gentle passion.

Having much easier access, her own hand found its way beneath my shirt, and soon my breasts were being deliciously loved, responding to her touch in a way that sent trails of fire to every point in my body capable of feeling.

Which was pretty damn much everywhere.

I tried to move with her caresses, but I was trapped against the glorious length her body to one side, the damnable steering wheel to the other, and the door behind. The entrapment, however, added a subtle erotic underpinning which helped further fuel my desire, as if that had ever needed any help where the fabulous woman who was my lover was concerned.

Knowing that the man sharing the Jeep with us was sleeping by the sound of his healthy snores, I relaxed further, and when her lips pressed more insistently against mine, I responded with everything in me, opening myself up to her all the way down to my soul.

The moans on her breath tasted sweet as honey, and I drank deeply of them while I loved her breasts and the searing heat of her skin with hands tingling from the blood surging through my veins.

Her own hands, so large and so relentless, made their way down my belly and quickly undid the button and zipper of my jeans.

I pulled back from our kiss as her hands reached their goal and began to stroke a raging fire into an all-consuming inferno. "God, yes," I gasped, leaning my head against the cool, moisture-condensed window. "Please...keep...oh...like that, love...yes...just...like that."

"God, I want you," she groaned in reply. Her long fingers delved deep, then retreated, then returned, filling me oh so wonderfully full of her. My hips moved and swayed to the tempo of her thrusts and I had to bite my lip to keep from screaming out my pleasure.

Moving her head forward, she buried it in the crook of my neck, then latched onto my flesh with her lips and teeth as her fingers kept up their never-ending dance within and without. The feel of her teeth hard against my flesh released a flood of passion within me so great that I thought we must both surely drown in it.

I could feel myself opening ever wider to her, my body greedy and hungry for her touch, my need for her almost insurmountable.

Her thighs splayed open and I slipped down between them to rest on the seat. Her hips rocked against the outside of my thigh and her low, guttural moans became grunts of both effort and sublime pleasure as she matched the tempo of her own body to mine in a rapturous dance surely composed by the heavens, so great was its beauty.

I almost yelled aloud when I felt her fingers withdraw, and my eyes popped open, dazed with bliss and shock. "Noooo….."

"I need to taste you, Angel."

"But... ."

"Now," she growled, somehow managing to slide herself out from beneath me and position me so that my entire back was pressed flat against the door. My knees were pressed up at the same time my jeans were taken, with no small force, from my hips and down my legs.

It might have almost seemed comical, watching as she somehow fit the long length of her body crosswise against the cramped front seat, but any thought of inappropriate laughter flew right out of my mind when her mouth descended upon me and her ravenous hunger followed. I could feel her lips vibrate against me as she hummed her delight. Her tongue, first silky soft, then firm and insistent, twirled and swirled through my wet heat, before sharp teeth latched on and she suckled lovingly.

I felt as if I’d been turned inside out. Though my eyes screamed out their need to close so that all I would know was the feeling of her loving me, I couldn’t keep myself from staring at that glossy black head as she feasted. As if sensing my white-hot stare, she looked up, and her eyes were silver and glittering and completely enraptured.

My fingers twined in her hair and she returned to her task with a fervor only seen in the most devout of worshippers. My body was her altar, my wetness her font, and her mouth paid tribute in the most passionate of ways.

My hips ground against her and she pressed back, pinning me and taking me and loving me beyond measure until my eyes, finally, slipped closed, trapping me inside a body that could do nothing but feel, and pant, and pray.

When her fingers sheathed within me once again, I imploded until there was nothing left of me but a small pinpoint of brilliantly colored light, which grew larger and larger until I became that light and found the freedom to soar among the heavens for one brief, aching, transcendent moment.

And in that brief span of time, I truly knew what it was like to be immortal.

Tears flowed, and I let them, too weak and overcome with emotion to do anything else.

Somehow, I was eased, and turned, and wound back up within the warmth and safety of her arms. Her lips gently dried my tears, and landed, like butterflies, on each closed lid, until my eyes fluttered open and I looked at her wonderful face through a filmy haze of tears. "I love you," I said, my voice thick with the tears I’d shed. "So much. Sometimes, the feelings, they... ."

"Shhhh," she whispered, holding me close and resting her cheek atop my head. "It’s alright, sweet Angel. I understand. Shhh."

She began to hum, softly, beautifully, and as her hand drew soft, lazy circles against my back, I felt my eyes drift closed once again. And though I fought against it for a moment, sleep won out, as it always did, and I felt myself relax by slow degrees, save within the circle of my lover’s arms.

*  *  *

The second day started out much like the first, though both Ice and myself were a bit stiffer for the experience of the night before. Not that I minded, of course. Nor did she, if the grin on her face upon seeing me awake was any indication.

After quickly attending to our own needs and those of our rather reluctant guest, we started out again, traveling in a rather vague northeasterly direction with no definite sense of purpose. It was as if we were, like a circling jet awaiting permission to land, in some sort of holding pattern. But unlike such a jet, we didn’t have the comfort of a control tower watching out for us.

As we journeyed, I stared out of the window at the passing scenery, and began to notice when the jagged edges of mountains gradually gave way to the more rolling plains that characterized the midwest. It was a homecoming, of sorts, and one that was by no means happy. Even if the circumstances had been different, my return to the general area of my birth would not have been met with welcome emotions.

I’ve come to realize, during the course of my adult life, that home isn’t necessarily the place where you were born, or where you lived as you were growing up. It isn’t necessarily the place you settle down into after you’ve gotten married and think to raise a family. It isn’t necessarily the place where you go when you become old, a place where the bright sun leeches the pain from your bones and joints.

No, home is, like it says in countless needlepoint masterworks hanging above countless kitchen sinks, truly where the heart is.

A prison cell. A lakeside cabin. A sprawling ranch. A Mexican hovel. A borrowed Jeep traveling miles from nowhere to nowhere.

My heart was in each and every one of these places far more than it ever was in the house I shared with my parents.

Pretty simple mathematics when you get down to it, really. My home is wherever Ice is. She has my heart, and therefore, she is my home. Think of it as Angel’s Theorem, if you like.

In any event, as the afternoon wore on, my ‘home’ decided that it was time to take another bathroom break, for which my kidneys swore their eternal devotion.

I went first, then switched off with Ice, who handed me her gun to use on Cavallo, if needed. I handed it right back to her as if it were a poisonous snake ready to bite my hand off. She handed it back, pretty as you please. "I’m not buying his good little boy act," she whispered, lips brushing close to my ear. "Just do me this favor and keep it on you. I’ll take it off your hands in two minutes."

"Oh, alright," I sighed, though as soon as she left, I dropped it on her seat and covered it with an overshirt she’d donned that morning.

A bare second later, I heard the sounds of chains jangling, and the jeep began to rock slightly on its springs as a result of the force Cavallo was using to try and yank himself free from his metal bonds. The interior rang loudly with the noise of his curses.

"Stop it!" I shouted above the din. "You’re only going to hurt yourself!"

"I’m gonna hurt you and that fucking bulldyke lover of yours a lot more once I get free," he snarled, though with his still-swollen jaw, it came out as more of a mumble than a clearly voiced threat.

"I don’t think that’s gonna happen anytime soon," I replied.

"Fuck you!"

"No thanks. You’re not my type."

Not the smartest thing in the world to say, I’ll agree, but I couldn’t seem to help myself. The opening was just too wide not to go on and step through.

He bellowed again, and the jeep shook even more violently as a result of his redoubled efforts to break free. "Why are you doing this to me?!? Why the fuck are you doing this to me!?!" After a long moment, he half sobbed in frustration, and gave up his attempts at escape. Sitting up as much as he was able, he peered over the back seat and pinned me with his angry gaze. "Tell me. I have a right to know."

I shook my head very slowly. "You lost that right the day you set Ice up for a murder you committed, you bastard."

He laughed bitterly. "Screw you, blondie. That was all just part of the game. That bitch Steele knew it. If she wasn’t so fucking stupid, she’d have realized she was taking the fall."

"She wasn’t stupid."

"Yeah? Then why’d she wind up in jail, huh?" His jaw thrust out in challenge.

"Guess that makes you just as stupid, now, doesn’t it."

His eyes widened and his face purpled. "Fuck no. You ain’t takin’ me to the cops, are ya? That’s fuckin’ nuts!!! Do you know what they’ll do to me??"

I might have cared. Once. Now, I only shrugged with studied nonchalance.

"You can’t do that to me! You might as well just shoot me now, then! I’m fucking dead! Dead!!!"

"Maybe you should have thought of that before you shot my lover, hmm? Or before you sent that goon squad of yours after her in Canada?"

"Come on! I fuckin told ya! It’s just part of the game!"

I felt my eyes narrow. "It’s not a game to me, Mr. Cavallo. Not at all."

He tried to grin, but the expression looked quite macabre on his swollen and bruised face. "Maybe you should stop playin’ with the big dogs then, huh?"

"I’m not the one chained to the doghouse, Mr. Cavallo."

"Fuck you, bitch. Fuck. You."

"Interesting command of the English language you have there. Here’s a little tip for you, though. Since I’ve got the key and the gun, you might try lightening up a little on the expletives. They’re not winning you very many points."

For a long moment, I thought sure that his head was quite simply going to pop off his neck like a rocket. Then, as if an interior steam valve had suddenly opened, he relaxed against his bonds as the redness drained from his face. "Listen. Whatever they’re offering you, I’ll double it. Triple it, even. I got money, lots of it."

"All the money in the world wouldn’t make me let you go."

"What then? You don’t want no one sniffin’ up your ass no more? Fine. I can do that. I know people. Lots of people. In high places. They’ll make it so no-one’s ever heard of ya. You’ll be free and clear. Just like that. You want a nice house? A nice car? Jewelry? Gals like jewelry. Whatever you want, name it. It’s yours."

"I don’t think so."

"Goddamnit, woman! I’m offering you shit on a platter here!!"

"That’s exactly what you’re offering me, Mr. Cavallo. Shit. No matter how nice and gussied up it is, it’s still shit. And it stinks."

Once again, his face reddened in anger, but just as quickly, the color drained from it. "Listen, lady, just tell me what you want. Anything you want, anything at all, name it and it’s yours. Just let me go, huh?"

It had been a very long time, if ever, that I’d seen a grown man about to cry. Where I once might have felt pity, all I could feel was a faint sense of revulsion which curled the corners of my lips downward.

Fortunately, I was spared from having to answer him by Ice opening the rear door and climbing inside. Cavallo turned and fought her with everything he was worth, but really, what chance did he have against her?

To her credit, Ice was almost gentle with him, and before even two minutes had passed, he was once again slumbering peacefully, all desire to escape drained out with the drug she’d given him.

"Well, that was fun," she casually remarked as she slid once again into the driver’s seat.

"You don’t know the half of it," I replied, handing her back her gun. "You know, I stood the chance of becoming a very rich woman in return for just a tiny, little favor."

"Ya did, huh?"

I couldn’t hide my grin. "Yup. With all the stuff he was offering up I could have been a queen."

"What stopped ya?"

"I didn’t have the heart to tell him I already was one."

Grinning at me, she shook her head and started up the jeep.

"Drive on, footman," I ordered, with an imperious wave of my hand. "My public awaits."

Receiving a gentle pinch to my royal cheek (one of the ones on my face), I burst into laughter as we drove away.

*  *  *

As afternoon bled into evening with the setting of the sun, the cell phone rang, startling me out of the comfortable half-doze I’d fallen into. For two full rings, I stared at it as if a viper had come to life in my lap, before finally picking it up and answering. "Hello?"

"Angel, thank goodness. Where are you?" Donita’s voice sounded tinny and far away.

I gulped, caught between extreme relief and niggling unease. "Donita!" I said, cutting me eyes over to Ice, who gestured with her hand toward a small, nearly deserted strip mall.

Nodding, I returned my attention to the phone. "Are you alright? We’ve been trying to get a hold of you for the past four days! What happened?"

"Long story," Donita replied. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, we’re fine."

"That’s good to hear." She paused a moment. "Remember how I just asked you where you were? On second thought, don’t tell me. It’s probably better right now if I don’t know."

The unease in my gut grew. "Donita, what’s going on?"

A longer pause.

"Are you somewhere you can speak freely?"

I looked over at Ice, and though she couldn’t hear the conversation, she divined the meaning of my look, and nodded. I paused myself as I watched her drive us through the strip mall until she came to the end, which housed a rather large 24-hour supermarket which was quite crowded. Finding a spot near the middle between two smaller cars, she pulled in and parked, then eased herself back in the seat and looked at me expectantly.

"Yeah," I said finally to Donita. "We can talk."

"Alright." She took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. The line went to static for a moment, then cleared. "The reason why you haven’t been able to contact me was that I was given three days tax free housing courtesy of a couple of very large, very intimidating FBI agents."

I went very still for a moment as my mind attempted to process what she had just told me. "Are you trying to tell me that you’ve just spent the past three days in jail??" From the periphery of my vision, I could see my lover’s jaw tighten.

"Got it in one, Angel."

"But how...why...who?!?"

"Like I said, it was the FBI. They paid me a little visit and tried to talk me into telling them where you were."

"But...you didn’t know!"

"That’s what I tried to tell them. They didn’t like that answer. The one about attorney-client privilege went over real well, lemme tell ya."

My head whirled in confusion. "I...don’t understand. Could you start from the beginning, please?"

Donita laughed slightly. I could picture her holding up one beautifully manicured hand. "Alright. I know I kind of caught you unaware here." She cleared her throat briefly, then began speaking. "It’s like this. Someone somewhere’s found out that Cavallo has gone missing."

"But how is that linked to us? I mean, you told us this plea agreement was made under the strictest secrecy. How could anyone outside of that meeting room know about it?"

"That’s the part I haven’t been able to figure out yet. The FBI guys weren’t spilling any information. They just wanted mine. Which I didn’t have."

"Damn." As I sighed, I felt a warm hand reach out and grasp mine. Despite the gravity of the situation, I couldn’t help but smile. Ice looked back, her face shadowed, but her eyes full of concern. Not for what I was being told, but for how I was handling it. I gave her a nod to show her I was ok, but she held onto my hand just the same. I laced our fingers so she wouldn’t be pulling away anytime soon. "Ok," I said after digesting her words, "what else?"

"Well, when I wouldn’t tell them what they wanted to know, not being blessed with superhuman abilities, they threw an ‘obstruction of justice’ charge at me and tossed me in the pokey to cool my heels Couldn’t make it stick, though, since they don’t have any proof at all that my clients, and that would be you, are in any way involved with anything even remotely illegal. So they let me out without too much of a fuss, but I picked up a couple of tails along the way." She laughed softly. "Managed to give ‘em the slip though. For now."

"Where does that leave us?" I asked softly, afraid of the answer.

"Safe. Again, for now. They’re spreading a dragnet out around the Pittsburgh area. They’re convinced you’ve kidnapped Cavallo and are gonna use him as a bargaining chip to get the charges against both of you dropped. Which is pretty close to the truth, when you think about it. And, obviously, they do not want that to happen."

I paused for a moment, ordering my thoughts and trying to figure the questions that Ice would most want answered. I was actually a little bit surprised that she was so willing to let me take the lead on this, but I figured that if she had that much trust in me, I wasn’t going to let her down. "How far out does this dragnet extend?"

"Last I heard, it reached west to Dayton, east to Trenton, and south to DC. There aren’t that many agents involved so far, though, so it’s pretty much a hit and miss affair."

Inwardly, I breathed a sigh of relief. We were still perhaps a hundred miles to the southwest of St. Louis, well out of the boundaries of the net. At least so far. Another question popped into my mind, and I gave voice to it. "Can you tell me why the FBI is involved? They’re federal, and the last I heard this was a state matter." I could see Ice nod in satisfaction from the corner of my eye. I smiled again.

"It still is, yes, but someone in the upper echelons of state politics, and no one is saying who, managed to convince the FBI to enter under an interstate kidnapping investigation. Like I said, they’re sure you’ve bagged Cavallo and are traveling somewhere with him. Didn’t take much to push the right buttons, and presto, enter the FBI."

"Jesus," I blew out, resting my head against the cool window. "What a mess."

"You said it, Angel."

"So, what do we do now?"

"Best thing is to sit tight. I know that’s difficult, since I gather you’ve left the ranch already. But coming anywhere near Pittsburgh is a very, very bad idea. Those men want Cavallo, and they don’t much care how they get him. He’s government enemy number one around here."

I choked out a laugh. "And we’re pretty much in there at two and three, aren’t we."

"With a bullet, I’m afraid."

"Your choice of similes leaves a lot to be desired, Donita."

She hissed through her teeth. "Sorry."

"It’s alright," I replied, feeling a headache gather behind my eyes. The queasy kind that makes your guts roll and your head spin. "So, we’re just supposed to what…drive around in circles until somebody either catches us or figures out what to do with us? Is there anybody in the government on our side anymore?"

I knew I was whining, but I couldn’t seem to help it.

"Yes, Angel, there are. The good guys want Cavallo just as bad as the bad guys. And they’re doing their best to make that happen, but it’s a very uphill battle, I’m afraid. They’re fighting against an entire mountain of state politics and a good ol’ boy network the size of China. And you know how quickly the wheels of bureaucracy turn."

"Like maple syrup in a Vermont winter."

"Just about." It was her turn to sigh. "I’m sorry. I’m supposed to be your lawyer and your friend, and I’m doing a piss poor job at both."

"No you’re not, Donita. We’re all just in a bad spot here. We’ll just keep...um...driving around till you let us know what’s going on, ok?"

"Yeah, ok." She sounded dejected, but then her voice brightened. "One somewhat bright spot, though. If this all continues to turn sour, just dump Cavallo off in the nearest trash-bin and head west. I have a few friends there who will keep you safe. They used to do work for the Witness Protection Program, and believe me when I tell you, they’re in the habit of making some very famous people disappear."

"Not permanently, I hope."

She laughed. "Well, not in the way you’re thinking, no. So, just sit tight, and I’ll get back to you as soon as I know anything. I’m just about to wake the Lieutenant Governor out of his date with the blonde-who-isn’t-his-wife he had dinner with this evening. Wish me luck."

"Good luck."

"You too, Angel. Tell Ice I said ‘hi’, ok?"

"I will."

"Night, Angel."

"Night, Donita."

As I closed the phone with a dejected snap, Ice removed her hand from mine and took it from me. Laying it down in the space between the seats, she then gathered me into her arms as best she could, and rested my head against her shoulder. "It’ll be alright, Angel," she whispered, kissing my temple. "I promise."

And because it was Ice, and because I love her and trust her more than I ever thought it was possible to love and trust another person, I did what my heart told me to do.

I believed.

*  *  *

Whoever said that life is just one big series of giant circles was right on the money.

There’s nothing else I can think of that comes close to explaining why, nearly three years to the day later, I’m sitting in a hotel room very much like the one I went to with Ice on the day of my release from prison, writing on a pad of paper cheap and grainy enough to be from the same tree, and waiting to dash off somewhere yet again just one step ahead of the police.

It’s almost as if the intervening three years between that event and this were just some hallucinogenic or fever inspired dream I couldn’t wake up from.

But the difference in my body and the new lines on my face tell a story all their own and, personally, I’m glad it wasn’t all just a dream, since there were definitely huge parts of it I’m glad I was there to experience in the flesh, as it were.

It’s been twenty-four hours since the conversation with Donita that I related here. Twenty four hours of mostly bad news.

It didn’t start off that way, of course. It never does.

Donita had managed to get a hold of the Lieutenant Governor, apparently our one powerful ally in all this. He didn’t seem to mind overmuch getting yanked out of his tete-a-tete with his latest blonde du jour and agreed to help as best he could.

Things moved swiftly throughout the morning, and I could feel an expectant hope bubble up within me. Even Ice seemed to pick up the mood of the day, and her eyes held a sparkle I hadn’t seen in a long while.

But the eleventh hour, in this case noon, changed all that when the Lieutenant Governor ran up against a group of men with much bigger axes to grind, and so quickly lost the will to fight.

Like Cinderella’s ball gown, our hopes for a peaceful resolution faded away into nothingness and left tattered rags in its place.

Ice happened to field that particular call, and needless to say, our cell phone is now history, may it rest in pieces.

It was then that she decided to take matters into her own hands.

And so we wound up here, on the outskirts of a large, midwestern metropolitan airport, in a small, seedy hotel run by some friends of hers. Friends with heavy beards, crooked noses, and bodies that looked like they could stop a speeding train without breaking into a sweat. Friends who took the description "shady character" and made it into somewhat of an art form. And friends that Ice could, and did, trust with her life. And mine as well.

Cavallo’s here too, kept in a separate room, and being watched over constantly by the largest of the bunch. A true bully, our captive turned belly up the very second he set his eyes on his new keeper. I haven’t heard a peep from him since, which is just as well, since I have a headache that could drop a raging bull.

We argued bitterly today. For hours, it seemed. So bitterly that I must confess to a tiny thrill of fear seeping into my soul as I watched her eyes, silver and glittering with rage, set upon me. It was only for an instant, but in that instant, I felt what her victims must have felt when staring into those same glowing eyes. And it frightened me. Then she walked away and left me all but trembling in her wake.

We were arguing about her plan, of course, and my part in it. Which was to say, none.

She wanted me far away from here, from her. From danger. The city was large, she said, and her friends would help me blend into it. We had money, lots of it thanks to Corinne, and I could set myself up nicely as the events around us unfolded. I’d be safe, she said. And free.

And, of course, I bought none of it.

We got into this together, and we are going to get out of it together, or not at all.

I can be as stubborn as a two headed mule when I put my mind to it. And this time, my mind was very much ‘to’ it. I wasn’t about to be swayed. Not by her pleas. Not by her rage.

It is my right to stand by her side. I’ve earned it. And I’m not about to give it up.

In the end, as I’ve said, she walked away, her anger following her like a roiling thundercloud. She returned an hour or two ago, and though her anger was still there, her mood had mellowed to one of quiet resignation.

She sleeps now, but it isn’t a peaceful one. She tosses and turns, and at times, reaches out for me.

And though every fiber of my being aches to join her on that narrow bed, I don’t. Because I know, sure as the sun rises in the east, that if I give into my impulses, I’ll wake up alone in the morning and she’ll be far, far away.

And I’m not about to let that happen.

And so here I sit, drinking cup after cup of wretched coffee, and wile away the hours writing and watching my lover in her fitful sleep, and pray that this plan brings us the peace we both so desperately need.

Her friends have leant us a car. A car so bland that it could blend in with vanilla pudding and no one would be the wiser. That car will be our means of escape.

Cavallo will be transported by another friend, trussed up and drugged in the back of the jeep, to a spot in the airport’s long-term parking area. When the time is right, that friend will place a call to Donita with Cavallo’s location, and the chase will be on.

If there’s any justice in the world, Donita and the good guys will find him first.

I doubt that will happen, though.

As for us, we’ll be on our way to Donita’s safe house in our bland little car.

I just hope to God we make it.

*  *  *

It’s rather amusing, the things that people say when they think you can’t hear them. I’ve often thought of explaining to the women around me that just because I choose not to speak doesn’t mean that I can’t hear, or listen, or feel.

I’ve never followed through on that, however. After all, what would be the point? Would it lessen the pity in their eyes when they look at me? Would it turn their thoughts and words to more pleasant things?

I don’t bear them any ill will, in any event. They’re young, and filled with life. Grief, for them, burns fast and hot, like a flash fire, and is quickly gone, forgotten beneath the exciting weight of the life they’re busy living.

My grief lingers, an old enemy come home to roost. It has been with me so long that some days it seems more cherished friend than bitter adversary.

My true friends have all gone, and like the strangers they’ve left in their places, I bear them no ill will. They have jobs to do, and people who need them. The world continues to turn, after all, no matter how much we sometimes wish it wouldn’t.

They asked, one might even say ‘begged’, me to accompany them, but the thought of spending the coming winter in a place so desolate and so cold outweighs my desire to have them close around me.

Only Nia has remained behind. She’s blossomed into a kind, compassionate woman whose beauty shines brightly from the inside, as it was meant to. She endures my long, morose silences with nary a complaint, and helps tend to the few needs I have. Sometimes I despair of what I perceive to be her wasted and wasting life, but she is quick to smile and reassure me that, right now, there’s no place she’d rather be.

Perhaps it’s a time, and a place, of healing for us both.

They say that the young live for the future, and the old live for the past. And while once I might have fought anyone with the temerity to actually spout that drivel to me, now I see those words for truth, and accept that truth as my own.

While I might have more things to live for, if you can truly call this living, memories seem to be the only things I want to live for.

And memories I have, both in my head where they play constantly like a film I don’t have to pay money to see, and in the stacks of journals and scrapbooks which take up constant, and reassuring, residence at my side. Though I’ve left the prison library far behind me, it appears my affinity for all things readable has followed me patiently, simply waiting for a time that I was still and quiet enough to realize it.

The journals I’ve read and reread and reread until the words themselves have taken up residence in my brain. I’ve memorized them all, I think, several times over. But if there’s one good thing to be had by living as long as I have, memory isn’t exactly what it used to be. At least short term.

Which means that every time I open one of those precious books, I see the words before me again, as fresh and as exciting and as new as when I first set eyes on them, a little more than a year ago. A small joy perhaps, but in a life filled with anything but, it’s a joy I take and hold to me with all the selfishness of a young child asked to share his toys with a stranger.

The scrapbooks I’ve read and reread as well, but they bring me no joy, and in that I am very thankful that my mind tends to lose hold of the images presented within rather quickly.

For the scrapbooks pick up where the journals leave off, chronicling the last journey of the two women I love most in the world, the women who took my heart and spirit with them when they left, and have never returned it.

They almost made it, you see. Almost, being the operative word. And deep within this rotting blackness I sometimes call a heart, there lives a tiny glimmer of hope that they did, in fact, make it, despite the overwhelming evidence to the contrary.

The others don’t share that hope, and I’m hardly in the position to case aspersions upon them for that. It’s not as if I don’t sound crazy, even to my own mind.

But the elderly have some immunity when it comes to off-the-norm thoughts. It’s expected of us, so rather than a shot of Thorazine and lovely men in pristine white coats, I only need suffer the slight indignity of pitied glances and thoughtless words.

I suppose, for one to get the full effect, I should start at the beginning, or at least as close to the beginning as I am able to get. Donita has been kind enough to fill in some of the massive holes left behind, but most of what I know is spread out before me in lines of newspaper ink much too small for my aging eyes to easily comprehend, even with the benefit of the glasses I’ve been cursed to wear since I was much younger and more sprightly of form and face.

The drop was made as planned, and Donita received her phone call. There was a jet, fueled and ready, and a freshly minted court-order she’d managed to pull out of her bag of tricks, along with the state prosecutor who’d originally penned the deal (and hadn’t been one lick of help since) as well as two sworn officers of the court who were charged with taking Cavallo into custody.

Somewhere along the way, however, a leak developed, and the FBI jumped in on the case before Donita’s plane had even left the runway. Because they have agents in almost every state, the FBI had a tremendous advantage over Donita.

The only information they didn’t possess, it seemed, was the make of the car Cavallo was held in. That was one thing Donita had sense enough to keep all to herself, and it quite probably saved his life.

The FBI was already searching the lot when Donita’s cavalry came over the hill, so to speak, and I imagine the scene at that time somewhat resembled one of those horrid game shows where the contestants debase themselves by rushing up and down supermarket aisles in search of a certain, big money, product.

The payoff in this case, however, would either make or break the fools in the statehouse who call themselves a government.

I’m told that Donita and the FBI arrived at the holding spot at very much the same time. And perhaps the fight for custody of one simple, if inherently evil, man would have been much fiercer if not for one very large Ace the lawyer held up her sleeve.

The press.

In my scrapbook, there is a picture in grainy news ink which shows Donita holding up her court order for all to see. A triumphant grin is plastered all over her lovely features. She really is quite fetching in her guise of Avenging Angel, and I’ve told her so, once or twice over the years. Off to the side in the same picture stand several very angry looking men, the bulges in their coats a testament to the heavy firepower they are carrying.

The copy below tells the story very briefly and very succinctly. Donita got her man. The FBI was left empty-handed.

And that should have been the conclusion to this sordid little tale. But it wasn’t.

Government agents detest being played for fools, and if they can’t take their frustrations out on the guilty, the innocent will do nicely in their stead.

With Cavallo caught and hauled away, there was no reason to continue to chase after Ice and Angel. But continue they did, determined to exact their pound of flesh in whatever way they deemed necessary. That it had stopped being necessary the minute Cavallo was arrested may well have entered into their minds, but it never stayed their hands. Off they went on another chase, one they determined would not end without bearing fruit.

Donita knew none of this, but I don’t have it within my heart to blame her for her uncustomary lapse of judgement, though not a day goes by when she doesn’t lay that blame upon herself.

The court order had called off the hounds. As is sometimes the way with curs, they turned a deaf ear to their master and continued on the chase, unabated.

No one will ever know with certainty whether or not Ice felt the loop of the dragnet begin to close about her neck. I believe that she did. For it is my steadfast tenet that Ice is, at heart, a feral, wild creature who lives bound to instincts most of us who embrace the so-called civilizing influences cannot begin to comprehend. Such a creature seems, with preternatural senses, to know when danger is closing in.

Perhaps it was that sense of unseen danger, or perhaps it was just a desire to travel a less beaten path, but something made her choose to turn off of a well traveled highway and onto an almost deserted forest road.

Several witnesses, for there were witnesses, stated that the driver of the log truck coming in the opposite direction had been driving erratically for miles. One of the men who had passed him earlier stated that he saw the driver red-faced and clutching at his chest. Based upon this one report, the coroner concluded that the driver’s cause of death was a heart attack. Not enough of the man has ever been found to challenge that diagnosis.

By far the best witness was a young woman, fresh out of college, who had stopped by the side of the road in an attempt to change a flat tire. She never saw the truck coming straight for her, she reported. Never even knew of the immanent danger until an off-white car on her side of the road came, as she says, "charging forward", and a young blonde woman fitting Angel’s description exactly screamed at her to run.

She was only able to jump a short distance away before the log truck collided with the front left of the white car, dragging them both down a long, grassy hill. The rear bumper of the car hit the young woman’s leg, breaking it, but doubtless saving her life in the process. As she rolled from the impact, she was able to see the very tops of both car and truck as they teetered for a long moment at the edge of a ravine. Then they toppled over and dropped, I’m told, more than fifty feet to the bolder-strewn ground below.

Both vehicles exploded on impact, which started a small forest fire that took several hours to contain.

There wasn’t much of anything left when the police came to look for survivors.

We didn’t hear of the news until three days later, and the memory of that phone call sits etched indelibly within this capricious brain of mine. Though my descriptive abilities certainly pale in comparison to Angel’s aptitude with words, I can only state that if Stonehenge had been given form and face, it would resemble almost exactly the tableau in the living room as Montana ended the call from Donita.

After the shock came disbelief. Which was in no way surprising, in that Ice had by that time attained immortal status among the Amazons. More logical minds pointed out that there simply wasn’t enough evidence to conclude anything, no matter what the FBI and the local police were stating with such surety.

Critter, Pony, Cowgirl and Cheeto made the immediate decision to investigate the matter themselves. They left without packing. The rest of us remained behind, too shocked to speak, even among ourselves.

What they found wasn’t revealed to me until well after the fact. My last clear memory of that night was drifting off into a somewhat fitful sleep.

That sleep was indeed a long one, for when I awakened next, it was fully two weeks later, and I found myself staring at a vast, if rather bewildering, array of medical equipment which surrounded me. I had, apparently, had another stroke, my recovery from which was compounded by what the doctors said was a "rather massive" heart attack. I was told that I was lucky to have survived it.

One look in Critter’s eyes told me that such ‘luck’ was a cursed, wretched thing indeed.

I heard the story in tiny increments, in between shots of Morphine to keep me calm and tests which caused far more agony than my life, such that it is, is worth.

The Amazons managed to track down what few witness to the accident there were, including, most importantly, the young woman whose life had been saved by the timely and heroic intervention of two strangers in a white car.

Her description of the woman who had encouraged her to flee was unwavering. Attractive, short blonde hair and brilliant green eyes. As that description also fit a rather large number of women, Pony and the others weren’t unduly concerned.

They had brought with them some pictures; some of Angel, some of other women of similar description.

It had all happened so fast, the witness related, though she pointed out the pictures of Angel as bearing the most resemblance to the woman in the car. She couldn’t be positive, she warned. She hoped they understood.

But then she saw another picture, and I’m told she stiffened and the color drained from her face.

"That’s her," she said. "That’s the driver of the car. Those eyes. I’ve never seen a color of blue like that before, and they were so angry! I still have nightmares about them."

After that, Pony reported, the woman became closed-mouthed and wouldn’t utter another word, no matter how much they pleaded with her.

Armed with no further information, they left and drove to the scene of what was euphemistically being touted as an ‘accident’.

"There’s no way they could have survived it, Corinne," Pony told me after she returned, much against doctor’s orders, and with tears streaming down her face. "No way. And even if they did, they couldn’t have outrun the fire. It’s just impossible. They’re gone. Both of them. For good."

I’ve afraid I underwent a moment of insanity then, though I don’t remember very much of it, except for the memory of a brilliant rage which consumed me, rendering me, even in my weakened state, insensate and all but impervious to the pain I knew I must have been feeling. I hated them all in that moment. Hated Pony for giving up, hated Ice and Angel for dying, and hated myself most of all, for living.

It matters little, however, for that brief lapse into insanity garnered me nothing but the need to be restrained against the possibility of ‘hurting myself’ again.

If it is true that the human species can die simply by willing it so, that fact must have been left out of my genetic make-up, for I believe no person ever willed themselves away from life as strongly as I did during that time.

Yet my traitorous body ignored my wishes and became stronger, until the time came when I was well enough to be released from the hospital.

And the world continued to turn on, uncaring.

As my body continued to heal, I withdrew into myself, and refused to speak, even to those closest to me. I remained, however, acutely aware of life going on around me. And, in particular, the events transpiring in Pennsylvania.

The wheels of justice do indeed turn slowly, but eventually, the inevitable occurred. Cavallo was given his day in court, and a government crumbled as a result. Several high-ranking officials went to prison for an entire laundry list of crimes, and others resigned in disgrace, preferring such ignominy to facing the prospect of a long prison term, or worse.

And, thanks to Donita, both Ice and Angel were remembered for their part in lending aid. With firm political pressure, aided by the ever-present news media, the Governor was finally pressured into honoring the plea agreement and issuing posthumous pardons to both women as well as ordering their criminal records expunged.

Ice had finally made full restitution for her crimes.

If only she were alive to know of it.

Donita sent me those pardons two weeks ago. They now hang, framed, on the living room wall for all to see. I never pass by without stopping to look at them and run my fingers against the bold, floridly written names of the two women I love. Those scraps of paper, so insignificant to most, are the only memorial I have, save for the journals and the scrapbooks and my own fading memories.

Montana, Critter, Pony and the rest keep in contact with me, and the weekly phone calls are the only time I consent to speak, aside from brief conversations with Nia. They are all doing as well as can be expected.

The world turns, and the living move on.

Only the old and the sick seemed trapped by time’s immovable weight, maudlin a thought as that is.

Donita keeps in contact as well, though her busy life limits the number of phone calls she has time to make. We communicate mostly by letters, which I find comforting, in some ways. Letter writing is a lost art, and I was sad to see its passing.

She often tries to brighten my mood with various and sundry bits of nonsense, and constantly chastises me for allowing myself to give up on life. Her threats, of course, hold little sway over me, though I do appreciate that she has taken the time to voice them. I sometimes regret the stony front I put up, but I believe that she understands.

We are bound by our love and respect for two extraordinary women, and a bond of that nature forgives flaws.

I received another such letter--a small packet, really--from her just today, and the contents, though by no means exceptional, caused this entire sojourn into memories past and painful. And though my hand is stiff and aching, perhaps this solitary journey into the past has helped somewhat to ease the demons of pain and guilt which plague me still.

The envelope contained a photograph of the sun setting over some tropical paradise or other. I suppose the setting could be considered beautiful if you enjoy that sort of thing. The photograph was wrapped within a small sheet of unlined paper which contained a plane ticket, and two words.

Small words. Simple ones, really. Insignificant, when taken apart, but when put together, containing enough power to rekindle the flame of hope dancing weakly in a heart weary of living.

Perhaps I’m nothing but a fool for believing in them. But if I am, I shall bear the title of ‘fool’ proudly and damn all who would hope to think otherwise.

The ticket is to an island called Bonaire, someplace in the Southern Caribbean. I imagine that that island is the one shown in the picture in my hand.

And the words?

Simple enough to write, even with an aching hand.

But wondrous enough that I would break my long vow of silence and shout them at the very top of my lungs.

Come home.

EPILOGUE

I SIT IN THE warm, dry sand, the trunk of a tall, stately palm doing double duty as an uncomplaining backrest as I write out my thoughts on a simple pad of paper. The brim of my floppy straw hat helps to shade my eyes from the low, westering sun whose heat warms my mostly bare body in the most wonderful of ways.

The breeze is likewise warm, and brings with it the ever-present scent of the sea. Overhead, seabirds whirl and dive for their dinners against the brilliant backdrop of a sky bursting with a kaleidoscope of colors as the sun plays out its last over the open ocean, gilding it in rose and gold.

Thoroughly content in a way I have never before been, I stretch complacent muscles, pleased when they respond quickly and without pain. My broken arm, courtesy of our unfortunate encounter with a runaway truck, is fully healed, and I’m near to being ecstatic that I can write again.

I hear a sound off to my left, and turn my head to see Corinne heading my way with a glass pitcher of iced tea and two large tumblers. Her colorful caftan flutters in the breeze and I don’t even bother holding in my laughter as her hat, nearly identical to my own, flies off of her head like some new species of wingless bird.

She scowls at me, but can’t hold the expression for long before the grin, which has become a nearly permanent fixture, reappears on her face.

Gone is the gray, sickly pallor that colored her skin when she first arrived. Gone too is the stiffness of a body grown weak with age and infirmity. She almost glows now, and appears nearly half her age, as if Bonaire housed the mythical Fountain of Youth and she has drunk her fill from it.

The guilt, heartache and tears that plagued our first meeting are things of the past as well. She understands why events played out as they did, and accepts the need we had to continue the charade of our deaths until the final pardons came through. She also says that she understands why we have chosen a place so far away to call our home, and I have no reason to disbelieve her.

"I don’t suppose you’d be willing to do an old woman a favor and chase down my hat, would you?"

I laugh again, shaking my head as I accept the chilled glass of tea which she hands me. "We’ll get another one tomorrow."

"I could well be dead by then, you know," she replies, lowering her body to the sand next to me.

"Well, then you won’t need it anymore, now will you," I reply cheekily.

"The youth these days are so very rude," she tsks in the tone of a true martyr.

"Yeah, but you wouldn’t trade me for the world," I reply, taking my own hat off and plunking it down on her head.

She adjusts the hat primly before clinking her glass with mine. We sit together in a comfortable silence as the sun continues its final journey to the west.

I look up, and my eyes track the ungainly flight of a flamingo as it moves to the south toward the fresh water lake not far from our home. If there is a god, he or she certainly must be blessed with a wicked sense of humor to create such a creature.

"Mother Mary, have mercy on the soul of this poor sinner."

Corinne’s nearly breathless whisper distracts me and I turn to see her, wide eyed and clutching at her chest.

"Corinne?" I ask, alarmed. "What’s wrong?"

She doesn’t answer, just continues staring out to sea.

I turn my head slowly, and am then struck with the same affliction.

Out from the water my lover comes as if birthed from the sea itself.

A mask and snorkel are clasped loosely in one hand, swim fins in the other, and the only covering on her body is her deep tan and the sheets of seawater which glide down her magnificent form in iridescent droplets of shimmering fire. Backlit by the setting sun, she is beauty incarnate. Wild, and untamed, and as free as the sea behind her.

I jump to my feet before my mind even realizes my body’s intentions, and fly across the sand faster than I have ever run before.

She drops her gear and opens her arms just as I jump into them. With a joyful shout, she twirls me around and around. The sound of our laughter mingles with the sound of the sea.

Then she sets me down, and I am breathless as I look into eyes the exact color of the water behind me. So beautiful they are, so clear and unfettered and filled with the joy of living. No black shadows mar their pristine depths; no guilt mutes their brilliant hue.

I can see right down to her very soul, and what I see is peace and love and joy, and it is so very beautiful.

Her teeth are uncommonly white against the deep, burnished tan of her face as she smiles openly at me, looking very much like the young girl in the picture I so treasure, radiating an innocence once so cruelly stripped away from her. Her body is warm and pliant and taut with muscle and we glide together on the beads of water still dotting her skin.

Our lips come together without pretext or warning. She tastes of the sea, and of passion, and of promise.

I respond, melding my body to hers. My heart and soul follow effortlessly.

The kiss leaves us both breathless as we finally break apart, and we stare at one another, the smiles threatening to shatter our faces.

"I love you, Morgan Steele."

"And I love you, Tyler Moore." A damp hand tenderly cups my cheek as a strong thumb brushes across my lips. "My Angel."

Still embracing, we turn slightly so that we both face the sea, and I lay my head on her chest as the last crescent of the sun dips below the gilded ocean, setting it aflame.

Our journey has been a long one, filled with danger and heartache and angst. But at the end of it, we have both come to find what it was we were searching for all along.

Love.

Peace.

Freedom.

Joy.

And standing on the precipice of this new life we’ve won, I find that despite the hardships and despite the grief, I am, and always have been, the luckiest woman in the world.

Angel

THE END

AUTHOR'S AFTERWORD

And with that, ladies and germs, we conclude (for now) the tale of Morgan Steele and Tyler Moore, better known as Ice and Angel.

Thanks to everyone who took time out of their busy lives to drop me a note. Each and every one was very much appreciated by me, and I can only hope I’ve given you something to enjoy over the last two weeks of posting.

Keep an eye out for the continuation of Desert Storm (yes, I’ve picked it up again), and a new little number I’m working on with the tentative title of Full Circle which will be my first attempt at a pre-Uber.

As for whether Ice and Angel will be making a comeback, all I can say is not in the near future. But sometime, in the depths of If, on a dark night, if Angel happens to whisper in my ear, I’ll more than happily listen.

I’d be curious to know what people thought of both the ending/epilogue and the story as a whole, so if you have some extra time after reading this, drop me a line. I’d love to hear from you.

Swordnquil@aol.com

Ciao for now!

And thanks again.

Sue
3/27/01