LOS ANGELES, CA

Wednesday morning finally came, and Isis was discharged from Cedars-Sinai as promised. Susan Solomon's diagnosis was on the record now; the incident was officially an accident, not a suicide attempt. On her way out, Isis willingly agreed to continue weekly therapy sessions at Susan's private Beverly Hills office. She felt so much better after just 72 hours, she was nearly glad she'd been held against her will.

With Isis in such good spirits when he called, David Goldman wanted to set up a press conference in front of the hospital, use the opportunity for publicity, insisting, "Everyone loves a comeback, baby!" But with a new album hitting the bricks next week, the cover of Rolling Stone Magazine, and a Friday night appearance still scheduled for Leno, Isis figured that was more than enough publicity. She liked Chris Wyatt's exit plan: a quick and painless escape out the back door to avoid the press and cameras. Now with Sunil at the wheel of the SUV and Julie with her in the back seat, watching the world go by through designer sunglasses and tinted bullet proof windows, Isis Knox felt secure enough. Still, she wouldn't be home free until she had her daughter in her arms.

"We'll probably still see paparazzi at the house," Chris warned, riding shotgun, "But we'll pull right into the garage. The Malibu cops are online too. If any of those bozos try to trespass, we'll have them arrested."

"You might want to stay off the beach for a while, Ice," Sunil added. "That's public property."

Isis nodded in agreement. When the phone in Julie's hand rang, she huffed in frustration. "We're going to have to change your number, Ice. It's been leaked. All I'm getting is press."

"Where's Terry?" Isis asked.

"Fucking skipped town," Julie sneered.

"What?" Isis gasped, her heart sinking.

"Julie," Chris cautioned, looking hard into the rear view mirror. Then turning to Isis, he explained gently, "Ice, Thorne had a family emergency. He had to go to London."

Her brows shot up in concern. "His son?"

But Chris just shrugged. "I don't know, Ice. Maybe McGrath does."

"Perfect timing, huh?" Julie wondered sarcastically.

Isis scowled at her best friend in the back seat. "What's your problem?"

"My problem?" Jules scoffed angrily. "Oh, just that while Thorne is supposed to be on the job, you get drugged and freak out and nearly kill yourself. All this and he gets his rocks off too, while you can't remember a thing. What a fucking prince."

"Jules," Wyatt warned. "Those are serious allegations you're making."

"Allegations my ass," Julie accused openly. "Thorne was in bed with her, and she was totally out of it. That's called date rape."

"Jesus, Jules!" Isis gasped, and her temper flared. "That's not what happened. We didn't even have sex. Not that it's any of your fucking business."

Julie looked skeptical. "Yeah, how do you know? You don't remember."

"I'd remember that!" she insisted. Isis rubbed her head as she ran over the jumbled events of the evening. She remembered Terry's arms around her, the comfort of his embrace, but nothing more. But even after three days' rest, it was all still so hazy.

Julie gentled, reached for her friend's hand. "What did the doctors say about your memory loss?"

Isis didn't look at her, kept rubbing her aching brow. "They said it was a side effect of the drug, especially for someone like me, who…you know, has a history. I had a bad reaction, that's all. I'm fine now." She looked at Julie suspiciously. "And I'm not jonesing, if that's what you're asking. I'd never get into that shit again."

"Of course not," she agreed. "And I'd never let you. You know I only want what's best for you, Ice."

Coulda fooled me, Isis thought spitefully of her best friend, but wouldn't say it. Her voice was soft and unsure when she asked, "Chris, you were there that night. Can you help me fill in the blanks?"

Wyatt breathed deeply. When he spoke, his tone was official, but gentle on the sensitive subject, "Everything I know is in the police report, Isis. I didn't see any evidence of sexual activity, but I wasn't there all night."

Julie's brows arched to punctuate the point, though she held her tongue.

Isis sounded less confident when she asked, "Did Terry call, Jules?"

"Yeah, once," she answered curtly.

"If he calls again, you let him through." At the roll of her best friend's eyes, she insisted. "I'm not fucking around, Julie. I need to talk to him. He's probably so freaked out…Jesus."

"Whatever," Julie sighed. She hesitated before continuing, then clammed up.

"What do you want to say Jules?" Isis insisted.

Julie Cruise turned to look her friend in the eye and offered, "You'd be better off with Jason, Ice. At least he's one of us, not a suit."

"Is that what I am, Jules?" Chris asked from the front seat, sounding wounded. "A suit?"

"That's different, baby," Julie backpedaled. "You're cool, and…not old. Thorne's 'the man,' you just work for him."

"Jesus," Isis sighed. "This isn't high school, Julie. It's not jocks against rockers. I thought you hated Jason anyway."

"Well, at least he called. Everyday. Sometimes two or three times." Julie gentled, "He's really worried about you, Ice. It's sweet."

If Jason knew me, he wouldn't be worried, Isis thought silently. Wanting to drop the whole thing, she said finally, "Come on Sunil, step on it. I want my baby. Drive fast, take chances."

Sunil grinned into the rear view mirror, thankful that the uncomfortable conversation was over. "Yes ma'am," he answered. Gripping the wheel, he hit the gas. With his expert driving skills, weaving in and out of the usual LA freeway congestion, they were in Malibu in almost half the normal time. When presented with a line of paparazzi blocking the driveway, he told them all to hang on, and took the SUV off road onto the dunes. Isis and Julie shrieked and cackled in the backseat with the thrill of the lurching bumps, especially when Julie's bra strap broke.

"Oh my God, that was fun," Ice giggled as the garage door slid behind them securely. "We should totally get a dune buggy."

"Yeah," Julie agreed. "Call it the Bra Buster. Fuck! That was my best Victoria's Secret, too."

Safely inside the Malibu beach house, Isis was glad for the laugh, just before the tears started again. She rushed to Kore, who cried out "Mama!" at the sight of her. Isis gathered her baby into her arms and held her tightly, greedy for her weight in her arms and her familiar scent. Even as she smiled brightly into her daughter's beautiful green eyes, she couldn't stop crying. Kissing her pink cheeks, she gasped, "Oh sweetie, I missed you so much."

"Missed you mama," Kore murmured into her mother's hair, her arms tight around her neck, unwilling to let go for a moment. "All better?"

"Mama's fine, just got a little cut," she said confidently, showing the child her lightly bandaged wrist. "All better, see?"

Kore leaned and kissed the bandage sweetly, just as her mother did on all her boo boos. Isis giggled through her tears, "Now it's really all better. Thank you."

While Dez and Shana welcomed Isis home, the phone in Julie's hand rang again, interrupting the happy scene. She swore, but when she saw the call screen, her expression changed when she recognized the number.

"Is it Terry?" Isis asked, reaching for the phone.

"It's Jason, Ice," Julie corrected. "He's gonna want to come over. Do you want to see him?"

Isis sighed, disappointed. She didn't really want to see anyone besides Terry, just spend some quiet time with her daughter and rest. Julie pointed to a bouquet of roses on the dining room table and gestured that they were from Jason. After that and her story about his show of concern, she softened.

"Tell Jase thanks for the flowers, and I'll call him tomorrow."

LONDON, UK

Early morning in Hyde Park was grey and overcast, but the weather report promised another brilliant day. Running with Henry was a better workout than Terry had expected. The young man was strong and fast, and more than a little competitive with his father. He was thankful that he'd spent so much time running on the beach with Isis recently, or honestly, he would have had a hard time keeping up.

"Is this the Oedipus complex in action, then?" Terry gasped at the first break in five miles, going for his cigarettes. "Trying to kill the old man?"

"Looks like you're doing a good job of that yourself, Dad," Henry scowled with disapproval. "Thought you gave those things up."

He grinned, his expression guilty. "I've given them up plenty of times." Then poked a finger into the young man's unyielding chest. "Don't you start, mate - Christ, your pecs are like rocks. What, do you bench press cars?"

"I can do ninety kilos. One hundred with a spotter."

"Bloody hell," Terry marveled, more than impressed. He inhaled precious nicotine deeply. After a few minutes, he felt his breath return to him, then coughed. Terry envied Henry's youth, but not his inexperience. He thought about how much he'd love to have his eighteen year old body back, but only if he could keep his forty year old mind. "Youth is wasted on the young," he muttered bitterly.

"What's that, Dad?" Henry asked, sipping from his water bottle.

"You run like the wind, mate. All those years of footy paid off. Knew they would." Crushing the cigarette under his running shoe, Terry exhaled and stretched languidly. "So just take it easy on me, mate, especially in front of the birds. Christ, look at that one."

Henry turned to look where Terry had pointed, and soon realized it was a trick. "Dirty old bugger," he laughed in surprise, and rushed to catch up with his father, well ahead.

They spent the rest of the day doing errands, collecting the supplies a new recruit needs for his kit. Henry balked at the knee and elbow pads Terry suggested he wear beneath his uniform, wondering how many of the other boys would think to bring them. He didn't want to look like he wasn't tough enough to take it. But Terry assured him that after two days crawling through barbed wire on his hands and knees, he wouldn't be called a molly, he'd be the envy of the unit.

"Smarter, not harder, mate," Terry assured him.

On the street they passed a newsstand, and Henry stopped in his tracks. At his gasp of "Cor…" Terry turned to see what had captured his son's attention.

"Holy snapping arseholes," he swore in surprise.

Henry pointed to the attractively fanned display of Rolling Stone Magazine, where Isis Knox graced the cover. She was nude, her bronzed arms and legs wrapped around a highly polished red guitar as if she were clinging to a lover. The gentle curves of the beautiful instrument doubled and mirrored the curves of the young woman's body, and Terry marveled at the artistry of the shot. Isis' long dark hair was swept back from her face, and mostly hung down her back, but a couple long tendrils fell over her shoulder. He wondered idly if they'd tickled her breasts during the shoot, wondered if she was really nude, or possibly wearing one of those flesh colored thong's he'd seen her in on Grammy night. The illusion of baring it all while still being covered was stunning and nearly hypnotic. So much beautiful soft skin, highlighted by the contrast of dark tattoos around her biceps and the line of lotus flowers around one ankle. But while his eye struggled to take in the entirety of the picture, they were constantly drawn back to Isis' dark eyes, lined in kohl, commanding attention as they glittered with mischief. Her red lips curved in a teasing smile, and he could nearly hear her musical laugh.

"Bloody hell…that's rock and roll, love," Terry finally breathed in appreciation.

"Did you know about this?" Henry demanded without tearing his eyes away.

He shook his head. "She didn't breathe a word to me, mate." Terry's gaze shifted with effort to his son, wide eyed, and nearly slack jawed in awe. His own emotions were a roiling mixture of surprise, embarrassment, desire, and jealousy. He didn't know what he thought, though there was no questioning that it was a beautiful image. Terry was only half joking when he covered the picture of Isis with his hand and ordered, "Don't look, son. You're too young for this. What would your mother say?"

Henry batted his father's hand away instantly and pointed. "What would mum say if she knew you were kissing her?"

She'd say 'brilliant, maybe she'll kill him too', Terry thought silently. He shook his head instead.

"Dad," Henry became suddenly serious. "Is Isis Knox your girlfriend?"

The newsstand clerk listened intently, and Terry pulled a couple issues down to purchase them. Turning away, he answered his son's question quietly. "It was one date, son. And as everyone in the bloody world knows, it didn't end well."

Terry pressed the paper bag with the magazines into Henry's chest, and he wrapped his arms around it jealously. "Are you going to see her again?"

He shook his head sadly as they walked. "Honestly, I don't know."

w

Home in time for Marion's dinner, Terry was thankful that their few invited guests had begged off. It was awkward enough with the assembled family, without the neighbors being present as well. Freddy McIntyre, Henry's best mate from school, was the only guest. Red haired and freckled, the boy reminded Terry of Dino, and his giggle was infectious, of course at the most inopportune moments. Terry was forced to spit a mouthful of tasteless lamb into his napkin for fear of choking at more than one point in the evening. Michael did his best to ignore the rabble while Marion scowled at Terry, wondering out loud how many adolescents were sitting at her table. Terry winked surreptitiously to the boys, proud to be part of the club.

But he felt his age when they pulled out the projector and made Henry suffer through a computer slideshow of baby pictures. Freddy thought it was a riot. The pictures of Terry and Henry together were warm, but well outnumbered by the stolid presence of Michael in the boy's life. Birthdays, footy games, school awards. It was more than obvious that the constant presence in Henry's life was his step-father. Though somewhat distant and aloof, he was always there.

When the boys retreated to Henry's room to check their email and Marion busied herself in the kitchen, Terry stood with Michael by the hearth.

"I'm glad you came, Thorne," Michael offered in a rare moment of candor. "It means so much to Henry to have his father here, at such a time."

Terry touched his glass to Michael's in salute, felt his throat close as he spoke the words. "You're his father, mate. The pictures proved that, as if there was any doubt. Bloody good job of it, too. I'm grateful to you, Michael."

The banker coughed uncomfortably. "No, Terry," he said, stiffening his posture. "I've been his step-father. I'm a better man for it, I know, but it was no real effort. Marion and I have always been thankful that the boy was so good natured. Some parents have such a hard time of it, but he never gave us any trouble. At the end of the day, he's more your son than you might imagine. Henry Thorne knows who his father is. I think this decision of his says it all."

Terry nodded gratefully before he dropped his eyes. His tone was confessional. "I'm seeing a woman - well, possibly seeing her. Nothing official yet. She has a daughter, two going on thirty, ya know? Got me wrapped around her little finger." Terry grinned broadly, thinking of Kore. "It's just good to know that it can work out."

But Michael wasn't convinced. He shook his head in bemusement. "Boys are simple, Thorne. When they fall, you pick them up, dust them off, and set them back on their way. Daughters are entirely different." The older man looked apologetic. "I'm afraid you're on your own."

w

Back at his hotel for the evening, Terry stopped at the bar for a night cap. He was grateful for some personal space after a day of socializing, but didn't really want to be alone. On his own in a crowd was good enough. He thought to call Dino, wanted to check in, but realized the timing was wrong. It would be after 6:00 am in LA, and McGrath was probably up and working, unless he was up and working Roz. The thought made him smile affectionately for both his best friend, and until recently, his best girl. It also made him feel somewhat lonely. He wished Isis was awake so they could speak, but she'd be fast asleep this early in the morning, probably with Kore's little head on her pillow.

He savored the good Scotch as he watched the television over the bar. Isis was still in the news, the latest being the videotape of her off road escape from paparazzi in Malibu. Terry arched a brow questioningly at Chris' brazen approach, but smiled inwardly. Ice probably loved that ride, he thought.

What a fucking mess, Terry mused. This was an extreme incident, but this was also Isis' life: riding the storm of constant media attention, hoping to surf the pounding waves of fortune, always teetering on the brink as they threatened to crush her. But with the help of her friends, Isis Knox was an accomplished surfer. The Rolling Stone cover and new album couldn't have been more perfectly timed in the wake of this debacle. But he knew it took a hell of a toll. Was her life a storm he really wanted to be swept away in?

"Too late. You're already caught in the riptide, mate," he muttered to himself quietly. "No heading back to shore now. You've got to swim parallel if you're going to make it out alive."

Terry thought of home, the waves of the broad blue Pacific at Bondi Beach outside Sydney. The year before military school, he and his mates used to ride the city bus down on weekends, one surfboard shared between the lot of them. Surfing…he hadn't thought about that in years, and suddenly wondered why. He'd never been very good at it, not like some of his friends, but he loved it. When Terry caught that perfect wave and rode it in, it wasn't just the challenge of man against nature that thrilled him, it was the sensation of being part of something bigger than himself. Something important. Something that lived on forever.

In the corner of his eye, Terry caught movement: a woman's long dark hair as she approached the bar. He turned to take her in, convinced for a moment that she was Isis, but no. With the long day and the Scotch, his eyes and imagination were having a bit of fun. She was beautiful, there was no doubt about that. With dark eyes and olive skin, she was dressed in an expensive black cocktail dress and heels.

"Hello," she spoke simply. Her voice was a throaty purr that reminded him of Roz, with the added lilt of an Italian accent.

Thorne licked his lips unconsciously, undressed her with his eyes. He started imagining what it might take to charm this exotic beauty into coming up to his room for the night. The best plan was often the simplest.

"Hello, love," he answered with the smile he knew women loved. "Care for a drink?"

"I'd love one. Thank you."

Terry gestured for the barman to take her order.

"Traveling?" she deduced, moving closer. "How long will you be in town?"

Her perfume was alluring, but not more so than the ambient heat of her skin. "Few more days," he responded, watching her pretty lips. "And you?"

"I leave in the morning," she said, communicating her intention with her eyes.

"Pity you couldn't stay a bit longer," he nearly whispered, his voice gone low and rough.

"Business," she offered in apology. "Are you here for the conference?"

"No love, just pleasure," he corrected.

Her pretty lips spread in a seductive smile. "How nice."

When the barman finally brought her cocktail, Terry paid with a crisp bill, and told him to keep the change. The woman raised her glass, touched it to Terry's.

"Cheers," he toasted.

Terry admired the woman's style and grace, her sophistication. She was beautiful, but she wasn't Isis. It was the way she resembled her that had caught his attention, he realized. Reflecting on these days in London, Terry thought of drinking with his son at the pub for the first time, running with him this morning. Those baby pictures, Christ. He felt the weight of the years, tried not to think about the very real possibility of losing his child on a desert battlefield somewhere half a world a way. No. One night of passion with a stranger might have slaked his need before, but never for long. With Isis, he might have a chance at something more…if he could just catch the right storm wave and ride it in.

Finishing his drink, Terry gathered up his magazine and breathed, "Goodnight love."

Her dark eyes followed him as he rose, grown a little wide in surprise. "Where are you going?" she asked.

Terry thought for a moment, and a secret smile spread over his lips. "Going surfing," he answered mysteriously, and turned for the lift up to his room, alone.

LOS ANGELES, CA

Dean McGrath raced for the small round ball, and volleyed with gusto. It landed inside the line, but just barely. David Goldman dove and missed it, sprawling on the waxed court floor with a dramatic flourish.

"That's all she wrote, sweetheart," Dino called in triumph.

"Fuck you," David spoke up to the echoing ceiling as he swiped at his sweating brow. "I've already lined up the sequel. It's called Dino Goes Down, With a Vengeance, and I'm the executive producer"

"Yeah?" Dino asked, his tone sarcastic, and went for his bottle of water. "Who's the star? Your mom?"

David laughed, staggering to his feet, and gave a little bow. "I stand corrected, sir. Fuck me!"

"Sorry man, I got a date, and she's a hell of a lot prettier than you."

Goldman went for his towel, mopped his face, and met Dino at courtside. "Seriously man, I need some time, off the record. You and me, we need to talk about Thorne. We might need to change things up for Ice."

Dino was suddenly all ears, and all business. "Last I heard, Isis was back home with Kore and everything's fine. What kind of changes are you thinking about, D?"

"Your lips to God's ears," David said thankfully. "But still, this all went down on Thorne's watch. Julie was there and she told me what happened. Jesus, what a clusterfuck. And man, does she hate his guts."

"So I've heard," Dino replied stoically. "You might take that fact into consideration before you make any decisions."

"So what are the facts?" David said, looking at his racket. "On this guy's watch, Isis was drugged and nearly got herself killed."

"Technically, it was Chris Wyatt's watch, under Terry's supervision," Dino corrected. "After the red carpet, Terry and Isis were on a date. A date that you suggested, I might remind you."

David bridled, "I wanted Terry's ass in the line of fire on the red carpet, not in his skivvies in her bed."

"Terry's ass was on the line, and we met our objective with his plan."

Goldman gulped water. "Not before that crazy bitch got her shots in and made the evening news."

"That was a risk we'd all agreed on taking," Dino insisted. "David, listen, we got Helen Colbert arrested, and we offered her the deal. She's taken it: no interference and no talking to the press - for a quarter of the price she was asking, I might add. At least give Terry that one." David looked unconvinced. "What is it that you want, D?"

"I want you in charge, Dino. Terry Thorne is a loose cannon."

Loose cannon? Dino's brows shot up in surprise. He could almost hear the line from some bad cop movie. "If that's what you think, David, you don't know Terry Thorne. He's as cool as they come, and he's never lost a client."

Dino calmed himself with effort, backed down from his defensive stance. He tried to see the situation from Goldman's perspective, and he had to agree, it looked bad. McGrath was concerned himself when he heard Chris Wyatt's report of the night's events, Terry literally caught with his pants down. But he saw it coming a mile away. Jesus, you had to be blind not to see the attraction between Terry and Isis. They'd been working together so closely for two months now, this wasn't an overnight thing. Dean trusted his partner, and no matter what, he had his back. But at the same time, he had to think of what was best for his client and his business.

"It's no good Monday morning quarterbacking, David. You can't second guess decisions made in the field. Terry thought he could keep her out of the papers by taking her to the hotel instead of the hospital. It didn't play the way he expected. I agree that he's gotten close to Isis - maybe too close - but the way I see it, the feeling is mutual."

David nodded, conceded the point. "I'm not saying it's not, I'm just wondering where we should go from here. Julie's no fan, but I like the guy well enough, and I don't want to fuck this up for Ice. I've never seen her look at anyone like she looked at Thorne that day in my office. Fuck, maybe I'm a little jealous."

Dino nodded. "Maybe Julie's a little jealous, too."

That one hit David like a ton of bricks. He'd obviously never considered it.

McGrath continued guiding Goldman where he wanted him. "Believe me, T knows he's made bad calls on this, and I know he's beating himself up over it too. Doing a better job than Julie Cruise ever could. He's a pro."

"Where the hell is he anyway?" David wondered.

"Terry's taking some personal time," he answered. At Goldman's scowl, he elaborated. "It's a family emergency, D. If it wasn't, he'd be here." David seemed satisfied with that. "When it comes down to it, David, it's Isis' decision. We need to wait on her call."

"Yeah, you're right. Now there's a loose cannon," Goldman sighed, then brightened. "Speaking of speeding projectiles, have you gotten your bonus yet?"

"Bonus?" Dino asked looking puzzled. He shook his head. At Goldman's mysterious smile, Dino prodded for more information.

"Oh no, I'm not talking. Whatever torture you have planned, Isis would hurt me worse. Name, rank, and serial number. That's all you're getting."

"Bullshit," Dino teased. "You got a little sign on your forehead that says just add tequila."

"Make it a martini, and you're on. Got time?"

"Sorry, D," Dino grinned, thinking of Rozzie waiting at his place wrapped in his black kimono and nothing else. "Like I said, I got a date, and I need my strength."

MALIBU, CA

Isis sat at the baby grand piano in her studio and watched the last light of pink sunset fade over the blue Pacific with a glass of wine. Her wrist was a little stiff, but the doctor's fears of tendon damage were unfounded. She could play as well as always, tapping out the opening notes of the new hit with ease. Dark eyes moved to the clock on the wall, and Isis wondered what time it was in London. Now that Kore was asleep, she wanted to call Terry, concerned that Chris had called his absence a family emergency. But it would be the middle of the night there, half way around the world. She just prayed that Terry's son was okay.

"If he'd even take my call," she said quietly to herself. Reading the police report again was shocking, even in the distanced official language. She tried to imagine it from Terry's point of view: being woken suddenly by screams, then finding her on the floor of the bathroom half naked and covered with blood. Not exactly the most attractive face to show someone you were romantically interested in. "No wonder he left," she breathed again. "Who could blame him? Family emergency is probably just code for get me away from this crazy bitch." Rubbing her tired eyes, she sipped her wine. "Great job, Ice. You blew it."

After a few more solitary minutes, Isis felt lonely, but the thought of calling Julie for company left a sour taste in her mouth. She was tired of her cynicism. Isis had decided to go to bed, when a knock came at the door.

"Come in," she called softly.

Jason Montez filled the doorway, while Sunil looked in cautiously. "Baby, am I glad to see you," he said, rushing in. "Jesus, are you okay?"

Isis stood to accept his embrace, swallowed up in his arms. "I'm okay," she answered, speaking into his black t-shirt. At her nod, Sunil closed the door to give them privacy. When she looked into Jason's face again, she noticed the purple bruise under his eye. Reaching up, she pushed his long dark hair out of the way for a closer look.

"What happened to you?" she asked. "Get in a fight?"

Jason chuffed a mirthless laugh. "Wasn't much of a fight. I got cold cocked; never even got in a swing."

"Who did this?" Isis demanded.

Jason hesitated, but at her insistent expression, he answered reluctantly, "Your James Bond."

It took a moment for his words to register, but when they did, her eyes went wide. "Terry hit you?" she gasped. "Terry Thorne? Why?"

He looked away when he said it, as if he were trying to come up with a reason. "Hell if I know. Maybe he was jealous."

Isis was shocked, unsure of what to think, much less what to say. She never imagined Terry would be violent without a reason. There has to be a reason, she thought, her mind reeling. But the seed of doubt that Julie planted took root. Then again, what do you really know about him, Ice?

"He's not here, is he?" he asked, looking around cautiously.

"No," she sighed, moving pack to the piano. "Terry's out of town."

"Ah," Jason said, noticeably relieved. He changed his tack, got angry. "Well that's fucked up. He's your security guy, isn't he? He should be here. What do you pay him for, anyway?"

"Chris is here," she said confidently. Isis drank her wine and spoke her fears honestly, "Terry's probably freaked out, Jason. You would be too if you'd been there."

"I'm plenty freaked out, Ice, but I'm here." Sitting next to her on the piano bench, Jason put his arm around Isis' shoulder and pulled her close. He smiled when he felt her lean into his body for comfort. "Come on, baby, be straight with me. You didn't try to off yourself, did you?"

"Of course not," she said.

Tipping her chin up to look into her eyes, Jason whispered, "Good, cause I don't know what I'd do without you." Closing his eyes, he kissed her forehead chastely. She made a little sound of pleasure, and he leaned for her mouth, but she turned her face away at the last moment.

"Do you want to watch a movie or something?" Isis suggested. "I just want to chill, but I don't want to be alone."

Jason Montez smiled against her cheek, kissed her there. "Sure baby, anything you want."