MALIBU, CA

Julie Cruise opened the front door to a familiar face. "Hey, Cal! There you are. How you doing, man?"

"Great," he grinned. Isis' long time songwriting partner set down his guitar and amp to hug his friend, ruffling her long pink hair playfully. Julie scrubbed a hand over his close cropped hair in turn. Cal noted the security agent's nod to him over her shoulder. "Little curious about why Ice wants to see me, though. I thought we were done with the album. I was getting ready to head out to Hawaii, catch the big pipeline surf before the Grammies."

"Ooh, hang ten," she giggled. "I don't know but she's cooking something up. Been in the studio all week in the evenings after Kore goes to bed. Let's go, she's waiting for you."

Slinging the guitar bag over her shoulder, Jules showed him out to the studio, built on top of the detached multi-car garage. Cal loped along the familiar path in jeans and ratty Vans sneakers with his characteristic skateboarder's pigeon-toed walk. The last colors of sunset were still lighting the night sky over the Pacific, and they could hear the melodic strains of Isis' piano on the breeze, coming from the open doors of the portico. When they reached the top of the stairs, Sunil stood from his patio chair, his finger at his Bluetooth wireless earpiece, talking to the agent stationed in the house. Julie introduced them cheerfully.

"Wow," Cal breathed. "Slick new security."

"Yeah, they're pretty great. We have a dedicated team of ten agents now, plus their CO, Chris. He's a hottie," she punctuated with a delicately arched brow and a devilish grin. "We have at least two on duty at all times. And get this - Sunil, what's his blood type?"

Sunil recited from memory: "Calvin Gable III, male, aged 30, 5'10, hair brown, eyes hazel, medium build, blood type O negative. I hope you give regularly. All blood types can receive serum from O negative donors."

"Is he right?" she asked.

"Hell if I know," Cal chuckled. "I guess I better get to the frigging blood bank. Thanks man, good to meet you."

"They can all do that, with everyone Ice knows, and more than a few creepy stalkers she doesn't want to know. And Terry Thorne - he's the Boss - he's serving Court's crazy mother with a restraining order to keep her away from Kore. Sweet huh?"

"Yeah?" he marveled, impressed. "About fucking time."

Inside the open doorway of the elegant studio, Cal hushed her response as he listened to Isis play the baby grand piano. She was engrossed in her music, didn't notice they were there, and the large open space rang with her sophisticated and haunting melody. The windows were open to the Pacific, and gauzy white curtains blew in the light breeze. Guitars lined the walls, hanging from pegs, and amplifiers, drums, and electric keyboards stood proudly in their positions. The piano was the centerpiece, surrounded by low comfortable couches scattered with colorful throw pillows.

Cal and Julie moved to the bar in the corner and pulled a couple of cold beers out of the fridge. Isis seemed not to notice them, singing softly:

"How can you see into my eyes, like open doors? Leading you down into my core, where I've become so numb…"

"Cool, deep Ice," Cal marveled. "What's this? Is it new?"

She seemed startled, "Hey Cal, you snuck up on me." She stood, went to her partner for a warm hug.

He grinned down into her dark eyes, eyes he'd loved since they were kids in high school outside of Seattle. "Sorry babe, you were deep, doing that channeling thing. And whenever you do that, I know it's going to be good. So let me hear it."

Isis went to the black Stratocaster in its stand, draped it over her shoulder, and checked the volume of her Fender amp. "It starts slow with the piano, then hits hard with guitars. I love the contrast. So here's the hook - we can totally tear it up."

Strumming a power chord, she sang:

Wake me up inside.
Wake me up inside.
Call my name and save me from the dark.
Bid my blood to run.
Before I come undone.
Save me from the nothing I've become…

Cal was awestruck. He set up his equipment quickly to follow along. "Jesus, Ice, that's incredible. When did you come up with this?"

"Just over the last couple weeks. I've been inspired," she grinned, with a conspiratorial glance to Julie, who raised her bottle in a silent salute. Mr. Risk Management had proven to be more than inspiring.

"But the album's done, when are we gonna use it?"

"Maybe the album ain't done," she offered mysteriously. "You help me fill in the blanks, and this could be the next big hit."

Julie watched intently as the partners went to work, falling into their easy shorthand way of speaking.

"Take it from the bridge," Cal said. "I wanna hear the intervals. I think I got something."

Isis strummed and sang: "Wake me up inside."

"Wake me up!" Cal shouted, startling both women. It made him laugh, "Don't stop. Come on, keep going."

She sang on, with Cal adding his part:

"Wake me up inside."
"I can't wake up!"
"Wake me up inside."
"Save me!"
"Call my name and save me from the dark."
"Wake me up!"
"Bid my blood to run."
"I can't wake up!"
"Before I come undone."
"Save me!"
"Save me from the nothing I've become…"

"Oh man, that's rad," Julie giggled into the pregnant pause. "Like a rock/rap thing, the call and response. I don't know how the fuck you two do that, but together, you're dangerous. That's exactly what it needed." While Isis and Cal put their heads together, speaking in excited whispers, the phone in Julie's pocket rang. She answered, then covered the receiver with her hand. "Ice, it's Jason Montez. You wanna talk to him, or should I tell him you're busy?"

Julie noted Cal's scowl when he heard Jason's name. Lots of history there, even a fist fight once, way back in the day. As talented as Jason was, Cal always called him a coattail rider and a poseur. Sometimes Julie thought Cal was jealous. Isis had always liked him, even when Court was still alive, though none of them had ever liked his ego. Julie remembered Court burning him once at a party with, "Hey Jase, good thing you got all that hair to cover your big fucking head."

But Isis wasn't thinking about history now. She was in her own creative world, struck with the thunderbolt of some new inspiration. "Oh shit…" she breathed, her eyes distant.

"What?" Cal and Julie asked simultaneously.

"I just had an idea."

Jason Montez and his band Certified was the current critical darling, but somehow, they had neglected to produce a popular hit. He always played it off, made it seem like the public just needed to catch up, but Isis saw something missing. If she could just give them a little push, they really would be the next big thing.

Taking the phone, she breathed an excited, "Hey Jase!

"Hey, Ice. How's it going?" he greeted her, always so cool.

Isis thought it was funny how whenever Jason called, he made it sound like she had just called him, interrupted something he'd rather be doing. So many guys in bands were like that, so used to girls chasing them all the time, they never wanted to seem like they were making any effort with women. Isis hated the attitude, but was well used to it. Court had always been so different from the other guys she knew in the business, so unassuming and genuine. He didn't need the attitude, never had anything to prove. It's what had attracted her to Court in the first place. But now, Isis was in the zone. She didn't have time to play along with his game of 'cooler than thou'.

"When did you get back? And how soon can you get your ass over here?"

"Just last night. Man, the San Francisco show was sick. We're blowing up there, baby. You shoulda seen it. So what's up?"

"Oh nothing much," she grinned knowingly to Cal. "Just making rock history."

Jason chuckled at that, changed the subject. "Hey, Ice, I saw the tabloids. Man, that new look at Spago, the white suit. What's up with that? You going Hollywood on us?"

She furrowed her brows to Julie. "You didn't like my outfit?"

"No, no," he backpedaled. "You looked awesome. It's just different, ya know? I'm so used to the Queen of the Undead thing, love my dark Goddess."

Isis rolled her eyes. One extreme or another: Jason either showed no interest or way too much. "Well, girls like to play dress up sometimes. Can't always be jeans and t-shirts," she teased, then went silent, waiting for his real question. Suddenly, she had found time for games: cat and mouse, when he was the mouse.

"It's been a while since you've been out to play…" Jason said, letting the suggestion hang. He was fishing, but she wouldn't give him anything. She made him ask. "So who's the suit? The guy with the beard? New bodyguard?"

A slow grin of triumph spread on her lips. Jason was jealous. At least that was a good sign. "Sort of," she teased. "He's the CEO of the new security firm I've just signed." And now the test. "Get this, Excelsior put a sex offender in my house to guard Kore."

"That's fucked up," he replied, but quickly switched back to his agenda. "So hey, we're doing an unannounced show at the Whiskey this weekend. Thought you might want to come down and see us, maybe even sing a little." When she hesitated, he coaxed. "Come on, Ice. How long has it been since you've been in a club and not a fucking arena? Come out and see what the kids are into today. It'll be fun."

Isis was disappointed in his lack of concern about Kore, but not surprised. "I don't know, Jase. It's kinda hard for me to go to those places, you know? Always gets me in trouble," she confessed.

"Shit, if your new security CEO guy is any good, you should be able to go anywhere you want," he challenged.

That got her blood up, and she took the dare, but wanted something in return. "Get your ass over here tomorrow night and I'll come out to your show, okay? I just have to set it up with Terry and his team."

"What, you gotta ask permission?" Jason snorted over the line. "Is this guy security or your father?"

"Hey, he's the Boss. Like a real-life James Bond," she chuckled. "See you tomorrow, Jason." Hanging up, she tossed the phone down on the sofa.

"What was all that about?" Julie wondered.

"Let me guess. Jason Mt. Head said, 'I'm too cool for you, but let me ride your coattails anyway,' right?" Cal paraphrased succinctly. "I hate that guy, he's an asshole."

"He's the next big thing," Isis corrected him. "Come on Cal, if what I'm imagining works, this is going to blow everyone's minds. In fact, you gotta remind me to call David tomorrow, Jules. We got a business deal to make."

Cal glanced to Julie for a little help, but he should have known better. Julie Cruise always had her girl's back. She gave Cal and apologetic look, but he relented easily.

"Okay, Ice. You've been right so far," he sighed, knowing it was true. "Let's see what you got."

LOS ANGELES, CA

Los Angeles to Malibu. Terry took the 45 minute route on autopilot now, reading email on his Treo while driving. Bloody well should know the way, he thought. Been driving it for nearly three weeks. It had become quite a nice routine actually, driving out in the morning, joining Isis for her run on the beach, then meeting the subcontractors before they started the day's work on securing the mansion. The project was well behind schedule, of course. Construction always went slowly in LA where there were so many labor unions to coordinate. But it would have been much further behind without his close personal oversight. Handholding, actually.

"Gotta do everyone's fucking job for them," Terry had griped the other day over coffee, sitting spread eagled in an elegantly upholstered chair on the portico, still wearing his running shorts and sweat stained t-shirt, smelling of the ocean breeze.

"That's what it means to be the boss, Boss," Isis grinned in consolation, enjoying the view. "Do you think any of the guys I share my royalties with give a shit about liner notes? So many details, and always at the last minute. All executive decisions."

"Too right, mate," he agreed. It was nice to have someone to vent with, someone who understood what it was like, even in their disparate careers.

Terry and Isis hadn't seen each other every day of those three weeks, of course. He had other clients to attend to, and Isis had been meeting with a director to plan a new music video. Even so, the working partnership was starting to feel nearly like a happy marriage -- except for the fact that they'd never been on a date, didn't sleep together, and only kissed on the cheek. Lots of marriages like that, Terry thought with a grin. But the salsa dancing, he'd promised her that. Still, for three weekends already, their schedules hadn't aligned to let them go. It became a running joke between them: make a decision on the house, learn a new dance step. By they time they finally got to the club, Isis teased that the house would be an impenetrable fortress, and they'd be dancing like Ginger and Frederico. Strangely, the milestone also seemed to become an unspoken expectation. If the stars ever actually aligned for the two of them to go on a date, the unlikely couple might actually have a chance at something real.

Terry Thorne wasn't ready to give up the vow just yet, but for the first time in a very long time, he wondered if it might not be all it's cracked up to be: the single life. On the days they had missed each other, he had to admit that he missed Isis terribly. But there would always be a reason to call or at least leave a message; some security detail she should be made aware of, some executive decision he needed to consult with her about. And when the flowers on Isis' dining room table finally wilted away, he felt compelled to replace them, this time with white roses, three dozen. Kore had been thrilled.

And she was the real surprise and delight in this unexpectantly pleasant working environment. There was no other way to put it, Terry adored the child, couldn't wait to see that tiny smiling face when they got in from their morning run on the beach. Kore was always waiting there in her high chair in the kitchen, dark curls still mussed from her pillow, eating cereal, greeting them with a bright, "Mama! Tew-wy!" as if they'd been away for a week instead of an hour.

If Isis' two-year-old daughter was in reach, he hardly wanted to let her tiny feet touch the ground, greedy for her slight weight in his arms, her baby's scent, her little fingers in his hair. He didn't even care if they were sticky anymore. It was amazing seeing the world through Kore's eyes. Every day was a new adventure, a new learning experience, and another opportunity for the cuddles he was gravely in danger of becoming addicted to. Terry especially loved her "butterfly" kisses, the way she fluttered her long dark eyelashes on his cheek with the lightest touch. Those were special for him, Isis assured.

It had been a very very long time since Terry Thorne had had a child in his life, and sadly, he never remembered it being such a pleasure. Perhaps that was the wisdom of age. But realizing the truth of his own sometimes clouded emotions made the guilt twist in his gut. To avoid becoming too maudlin, he reminded himself that this poor girl had been cheated of her father by the prick of a needle. There were moments when he couldn't help shaking his head sadly as he watched Kore run and play, knowing how cruelly Colbert had cheated himself. But of course, Terry had cheated himself of his own son as well - without the excuse of an accidental suicide.

With the beautiful blue Pacific to his left, Terry thought about Henry across the Atlantic, half a world away. Calculating the time difference, he figured it was afternoon in London. The semester was nearly over. Henry would probably be out of class by now. When was the last time we'd spoken? The answer depressed him. It had been a month before he met Isis Knox on a plane coming home from Tokyo. His son had gone nearly two months without even a phone call from his father, and here he was allowing himself to enjoy the company of another man's child.

"Pathetic bastard," he cursed himself.

The long distance line crackled as he gripped the steering wheel surely with one hand. Terry was pleasantly surprised when his son answered, struck again by the fact that it was a man's voice on the other line, not a child's.

"Hello, Henry. It's Dad," he spoke his usual self-introduction. Terry never assumed that his son would recognize his voice over the phone, and he knew he had no one but himself to blame. "How are you?"

"I'm good, Sir."

"And your mother?"

"Fine. Just got back from another trip to the Bahamas with Michael. He's retired these days, you know? They'll be traveling a bit more now." His father's silence on the line told him he hadn't been aware. "And how are you, Sir?" Always so formal, the little soldier debriefing his superior.

"Good," Terry answered. "Things are actually going quite well for a change. Listen, I've had a bit of a win lately. Got a contract with someone you might be familiar with: Isis Knox, the musician. Have you heard of her?"

A surprised laugh bubbled up from the Henry's chest, making him sound like a boy again. "What? Isis Knox! Everyone's heard of her, Dad. You're really working with Isis Knox from Unforgiven? How did that come about?"

Pulling into the circular driveway, Terry put the BMW coupe in park and turned the key so he could concentrate on their conversation, thrilled to hear the unfamiliar sound of enthusiasm in his son's voice. "Well, this isn't our usual sort of contract, but the opportunity came up and we had to take it. This deal will finance the rest of the shop; really get us off the ground. That is, if we win the lawsuit."

But Henry didn't care about the particulars of the contract, he just wanted to hear more about the band. "The boys aren't going to believe this. So, Isis? Have you met her?"

"I have." Terry grinned.

"Is she as crazy as they say?"

"Actually, she's quite nice. I've just pulled up to her house. We're about to go for a run, have some breakfast."

"Bloody hell," Henry gasped in realization. "Dad, that was you in the newspapers, wasn't it? Freddy sent me a link and I thought it was a load of rubbish, but really, that was you?"

"It is rubbish," Terry corrected, "Those journos made it all up, that bit about our lunch being a date. It was just a business meeting, Henry."

"Well of course it was," the boy laughed. "Why would Isis Knox want to go out with you?"

Clever little shit, Terry grinned to himself pridefully. The boy's turning into a smart arse like his father. "Hold on," he said, sounding more than a little wounded. "Give the old man some credit. Her daughter likes me quite a bit."

"The little girl?" Henry breathed, realizing who he meant. "Cor blimey, that's Court Colbert's daughter, Dad. He killed himself, you know?"

"I know," Terry breathed, suddenly serious. "But it was an accident." Into the reflective pause that followed, Terry took a leap of faith, grasped for the golden opportunity being presented to him. "Listen, Henry…you're not starting Uni until the fall. How would you like to come for a visit? LA's the town for a young man your age - and a friend of course, I don't expect you to come on your own - bring Freddy or whomever you like. There's the beach, Disneyland, I could even arrange for you to meet Isis. How's that sound?"

"Cor…," Henry gasped, overwhelmed. But then his voice changed, and the formality returned. "That sounds nice, Sir. I wish I could."

Terry's heart dropped into his stomach when he realized his misstep. "Ah, Christ. I should have spoken to your mother first. I'm sure she has plans for you this summer, and I've just gotten your hopes up and buggered them. I'm sorry, mate." He hit the steering wheel in frustration, feeling the golden opportunity slip through his fingers.

"It's all right, Dad. Thanks for the offer. I don't think I can make it - I've had a change of plans with Uni - but I'll see what I can do. I'd like to come very much."

"Change of plans with Uni?" Terry asked, his disappointment fading into sudden concern. "What's this about, mate? Everything all right? My check cleared, yeah?"

"It's fine. The check it fine," Henry laughed, sounding again like a little boy. But then it was the good soldier again. "Don't worry, Dad. When my plans finalize, I'll let you know, all right?"

"I'm on tenterhooks," he chuckled, relieved. "Take care, Son. Give my love to your mother."

"I would but she doesn't want it," Henry giggled. And Terry was astonished to realize that he was hearing his own girlish laugh in his grown son's voice. He rang off, "Cheers Dad."

w

Terry went inside and set his gym bag in its usual spot by the French doors. Isis was sipping coffee at the marble kitchen bar with Dez.

"Ice, when's the new album due? I need to reserve a copy for my son, Henry," he began proudly. "He's a big fan, apparently. Spoke with him this morning and all he wanted to talk about was you and the band."

"Hey, cool. Should be soon." She offered her cheek for his kiss, held his grinning face there a moment longer so she could stroke his beard greedily. God, it was soft, and he always smelled so good. No real cologne, just soap, the light hint of expensive cigarettes, and man. Dez turned away to pour coffee for their guest. "So you just found out about this, huh? That your son has fabulous taste in music, unlike his father?"

Terry leaned on the marble bar comfortably. "What I don't know about my son could fill a book," he said, shaking his head in dismay. He suddenly wanted a cigarette, scratched at his bearded cheek. "More like a fucking library."

Isis put her hand on his forearm gently, loved the feel of his hard muscles under soft skin, but didn't tell him how sorry she felt for him. He knew. "The band is coming over to practice tonight. I'll get something for them all to sign. Wanna hang out?"

"Shit, wish I could. I need to meet with Dino about some new hires."

She arched a delicate brow knowingly. "Ah, the interviews in the strip club. How are those going?"

Terry chuckled. Christ, she's got a good memory. Need to be careful what you tell her, mate. He gulped Dez's good coffee and changed the subject. "This will amuse you, love. You'll never guess who applied for a position with Thorne-McGrath. Your old friend Steve Carlson."

Her dark eyes went wide. "Oh my god! Now that's balls."

"That's stupidity. Said we owe him," Terry shook his head. "Dino said he was a real prick on the phone."

"Jeez, he always seemed so nice. Of course, I never knew he was a sex offender when he was working for Excelsior."

"Well, now he's scared. If we win the lawsuit - and Eli is saying now that he has every confidence that we will - Carlson will be blackballed, won't be able to work again in the industry."

She shook her head sadly. "Poor Steve."

"Bloke's got no one to blame but himself, love. His crime and his consequences." he chided mildly. "So ta for the invite to practice tonight. Henry would love to hear about that. I'm sorry I'll miss it. Can I get a rain check?"

Isis nodded with a knowing smile. "Any time." Stepping forward into their well-practiced first dance position, she thought for a moment, then asked as if she was ordering from a menu: "Show me a new spin, Boss."

"A new spin?" he grinned. Setting down his coffee cup, he stepped into her arms. The floral scent of her shampoo lingered as he took a moment to appreciate her pretty face. Terry loved Isis' glamorous look, though he preferred this one, fresh from a good night's sleep, not a drop of makeup. What a beautiful face to wake up to, he thought silently. "How about a dip?" he suggested instead. "Mix in a little tango…One, two, kick, and dip…"

Isis' stomach fluttered as Terry held her firmly and tipped her body backwards in strong arms. But it was his deep sonorous voice in her ears that really took her breath away.

"There you go, love. You're a natural."

"With you, I am," she smiled.

Terry's eyes darted to her full lips. Christ, he wanted to kiss her, even with Dez watching out of the corner of her eye, pretending to fix Kore's cereal. Instead, he set Isis on her feet again and asked, "Ready to run?"

"Yeah," she sighed, hoping he didn't notice how she was reaching for the bar to steady her shaking knees. "But you need your cigarette first."

He noticed. "Yeah," he grinned a little sheepishly.

Isis shook her head in dismay as they moved out to the patio. She propped a ball cap on her head and slid on dark sunglasses. "I don't know why you bother to exercise when you smoke, Boss."

"So I can smoke more," he said drolly, and lit up.

"You're gonna croak," she scolded mildly.

"As Jim Morrison once said, 'No one here gets out alive.' At least my arse will look good."

"Mmm, it sure does," she purred. Terry coughed a surprised laugh when she swatted his back side. "Try and keep up, old man," Isis challenged, and disappeared down the stairs to the beach.

After a last drag, Terry crushed his smoke out in the planter and gave chase. He was developing quite a taste for something more dangerous than cigarettes: Isis Knox.

Author's Note: The song Isis sings is "Bring me to Life," by Evanescence.