Oh, mirror, mirror, you're coming in clear.
I'm finally somewhere in between.
I'm impressed, what a beautiful chest.
I never meant to make a big scene.

Will you resign to the latest design?
You look so messy when you dress up in dreams.
One more for hire, a wonderful liar.
I think it's time we all should come clean.

Stacked, dead actors, stacked to the rafters.
Line up the bastards, all I want is the truth.

Hey, hey now, can you fake it?
Can you make it look like we want?
Hey, hey now, can you take it?
And we cry when they all die blonde.

-- Stacked Actors, Foo Fighters

MALIBU, CA

Standing guard outside the upstairs studio, Craig Foster found himself nodding to the thumping rhythm of the music being produced inside by the combined forces of Unforgiven and Certified. He'd known when he took the position that he'd be faced with many distractions: the scenery, the celebrity lifestyle, not to mention the beautiful women. None of that fazed him. But the rock - man, that's hard to tune out. Especially when it rocks this effing hard.

Scanning the Pacific Coast highway from his lofty perch, he noted a car approaching. When it turned down the palm-lined driveway towards the Knox house, he touched his Bluetooth earpiece and reported the sighting to the agents inside. As the acting CO, Sunil checked the schedule and sent confirmation of an expected guest: Miss Knox's stylist delivering her dress for the awards show. Guess practice is over, he thought. Too bad.

As if on cue, the cymbals gave a final crash, and the music was silenced for a dramatic pause, until a loud hoot of victory went up. A perfect take.

Inside the studio, Cal Gable wasn't happy that Jason Montez had stolen his vocal part, but he couldn't deny that the dude had pipes, way better than his own. Jase would do the song justice, matching Isis' strong performance note for note. Even harder to admit, they looked damned good together singing it. The surprise performance of the new song was going to bring down the house at Staples Center, especially when the Grammy audience would be expecting Unforgiven to just do their nominated song, like every other act that night. Isis loves to keep them guessing.

"Oh man, that fucking rocked," Cal said as he mopped his sweaty brow on a shirtsleeve.

"I think that'll do it, gentlemen," Isis purred happily. "As long as we all hit that first beat after the intro, we're solid. I've got an appointment, so I have to bail, but everyone feel free to hang out. Plenty of beer in the fridge and Dez is gonna barbeque on the beach."

Switching off her amp, Isis unslung her axe and propped it on the wall peg. The groups broke into excited conversation, gathering in corners of the open space.

Before she could make her exit, Jason grabbed Isis by the elbow. "So, what time should I pick you up, babe?"

"Pick me up?" she wondered with arched brows. "For the show?"

"Yeah, for the show, stupid," he laughed. "What are you wearing anyway? Should we match?"

She hadn't been expecting that. Jason Montez was always the lone wolf. She certainly never thought of depending on him for anything as important as getting her to an awards show on time. But then again, this was his big moment in the spotlight. He'd want to milk the publicity for as much as it was worth, and being seen on the red carpet with her would cause a media stir. This time, she figured, he'd definitely be on time. Still, she had other plans, tried to let him down gently. "Um, thanks Jason, but I already have a date for the Grammys. I'm going with Terry Thorne."

He was surprised, but covered it well. "Ah, the James Bond guy?" he asked coolly.

"Yeah," she smiled, wondering if she looked like she felt: like a silly girl with a crush. "And anyway, we should probably keep this on the down-low, you know? Make it a real surprise for the show. David said he could get us seats together, make it look spontaneous. Then we can do the joint publicity thing later. Don't worry, Jase; people will be talking about this for a long time."

He nodded, taking it in stride. "You're right, Ice. The surprise is better." Leaning close, he looked deeply into her eyes, made the implication plain. "Then after the show, we can hit the circuit, do some serious partying. You and me, for all the cameras to see."

"Yep," she agreed. They'd make the rounds together for their careers, hers, Jason's and Terry's. But the celebration she was really looking forward to was Terry's private after-after party at the Beverly Hilton. They'd reserved the Presidential suite for the occasion. The thought of it made her face burn. She gave that smile to Jason; let him share in her excitement. "Been a long time since I've been out to party."

"Too long, baby," he grinned back, then took her hand in a mock gallant gesture and bit her knuckle, made her laugh.

Julie appeared in the studio doorway. "Hey Ice, your stylist is here. Time to plan the big look."

"Thanks, Jules," she answered. Turning back to the combined forces of her band and Jason's, she called, "Tomorrow night, everyone. We're gonna kick some ass!"

LOS ANGELES, CA

If he'd heard the news from Dino, he would have assumed it was a joke and rolled with it until proven otherwise. But Chris Wyatt's jokes were usually of the 'there once was a man from Nantucket' variety, and this nightmare didn't rhyme.

As they walked into the cavernous interior of the Staples Center from the security office, Terry Thorne's brows were nearly at his hairline. "Excelsior undercut Simmons for the Grammy security contract? Well, fuck me!"

"I'm afraid that was the point, boss," Chris grimaced. "Fucking us."

"And we're just hearing about this bloody now?"

"Just happened last week, apparently. The show was over budget so they're cutting corners. Great place to start, huh? Security. I don't know how the hell Kent thinks he's going to pull it off so late in the game."

Terry knew how. "Badly, like he does everything else, the sorry bastard." Turning towards an exit, he patted his pockets for his cigarettes as his brain went into overdrive. "We were counting on Simmons' men to cover the red carpet. What the fuck are we going to do now?"

"All I can say is, it's a good thing Isis likes you, man. You can cover her on the carpet and inside. But to watch that crowd, we'll have to pull in the new guys, baptism by fire. Maybe take two off the house?"

"No, full compliment at the house," he insisted. "Kore's the main target. She is priority one." With a cigarette on his lip, Terry patted down his pockets again for his lighter, his frustration mounting.

Chris caught a smoldering butt out of the ash tray, held it in offering.

"Way to improvise, mate," Thorne grinned gratefully, inhaling precious nicotine to help him focus. "Now make ten more agents appear and we'll be apples."

Terry should have known better than to speak his wish aloud today; he was having shit for luck. Arthur Kent approached the security office entrance with a satisfied smirk.

"Thorne-McGrath, how may I be of service?" Kent asked, his British accent crisp and cold.

You can do your fucking job, Terry wanted to crack, but he held his tongue with effort. "How many men do you plan to have on the red carpet, Arthur?"

"This isn't our first time at the faire, Mr. Thorne. We'll have every angle covered, I assure you."

Chris stepped up, challenged. "Yeah? Well give us a number then?"

"Coordinate with my office as all the other agencies are doing."

Terry shook his head in dismay. The incompetent fool doesn't know his own team's plan. "We'd planned extensively with Simmons already, Kent. You should know that Isis has had new threats from Helen Colbert. We need coverage on the crowd to watch for her."

"Ah, so you've been doing an excellent job, I see. Miss Knox must be thrilled," Kent spoke cuttingly. "Or is it your performance in other arenas that she's really interested in, perhaps?"

Thorne's blood went cold at the blatant insulting suggestion. He turned the surge of anger into drive. Lowering his voice, he made himself perfectly clear. "Your men know the woman's profile. Most likely point of contact is the red carpet. Don't fuck this up, Arthur. If anything happens to Isis Knox tomorrow night, there won't be enough fucking lawyers to hide from me, I swear to Christ - "

"Threats, Terrence? Really? Let's put our past aside, try to work together."

"Which means I've got to do your fucking job, too," Terry spat as he turned before he lost his temper and really let fly. Isis is right. Arthur Kent is an asshole.

Terry tasted burning filter by the time they'd walked the parking lot to the BMW. No other option, he thought. The way out - as usual - is through. "Chris, we need the big guns."

Chris sighed knowingly. "You want me to call my Dad?"

"No, your mother. We need the brains of the operation to pull this off."

Fishing his phone from the pocket of his blue suit, Chris dialed Florida, handed it over, and watched without much hope. There's no way Mom is going for this.

When he had the lovely Lauren Wyatt on the line, Terry Thorne put every ounce of charm into his whiskey voice and showed his cards, "Lauren darling, I'm paying thirty thousand dollars for one night with your husband, and not a penny more. After thirty years, you should be paying me to take him off your hands."

Chris couldn't believe it, but after two minutes and a promise of a night at the Grammys and dinner at Spago, Thorne had sealed the deal. Incredible. Ian Wyatt was coming to run the show, take the pressure off Terry and Dino so they could work.

"Thanks a lot, Terry," Chris grumped over the roof of the car. "Now I have to clean my apartment. Mom's gonna have a stroke when she sees my place."

Terry waved him away as he got behind the wheel. "Get a maid. Expense it. Anything else?" But he didn't wait for his number three man to answer. Terry Thorne was already on the phone to his partner. "Dino, good news and bad news here, but first tell me your guy on the LAPD has located Helen Colbert."

"Sorry, T. There's no sign of her. Since we served the papers, she's been off the grid."

"Fuck," he breathed. "What about the private eye, the bounty hunter?"

"No word from our friends in low places. I was about ready to hit the pavement myself, save the day. What do I get when I find her?"

"A new Porsche and a kiss on the arse," Terry said succinctly.

"Lucky me," Dino purred. "So you want me to offer her the deal we talked about?"

"Yeah," Terry said, lowering his voice. "But first, I want you to get her off the street until Ice is home safe Sunday morning. Fucking kidnap her, Dino - whatever it takes. Helen Colbert will never press charges once she sees all those zeroes Goldman is offering, I guaran-fucking-tee it."

BEVERLY HILLS, CA

Isis Knox sat in front of a gilded mirror in the incredible Presidential Suite of the Beverly Hilton hotel. The stylist had set up her hair and makeup station on the gleaming marble counter of the master bath, then gone back to the van for the dress. Three hours till show time. Butterflies flitted through her nervous stomach, but it wasn't stage fright. She was probably more comfortable on stage than anywhere else in the world. Isis was nervously anticipating Terry Thorne's after-after party with both excitement and more than a little trepidation.

They'd been playing this game for over a month now: the flirting, the friendship, literally dancing around the thing both of them really wanted. And now the opportunity was upon them: Grammy night. But here and now, swathed in a fluffy white spa robe and nothing else but a flesh-colored thong, Isis Knox gazed at the simple gold band on her finger and remembered her wedding night.

Deep in the forest of the Pacific Northwest, with friends partying around them, Court and Isis exchanged vows they'd written by the light of a campfire. Court wore jeans and a red flannel shirt. Isis wore a black miniskirt and ripped fishnet stockings. The entire service cost them five hundred dollars, and most of that was for the officiant and the kegs of beer. Julie organized the food. Dez made the cake. Cal was the DJ. What a party. Their first night as man and wife was spent in a borrowed tent with their friends chanting drunkenly outside, "Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

Christ, Court could fuck. Well, he could before the heroin got her teeth into him.

Been a long time, Ice. More than two years, she thought silently. Julie wasn't kidding about those Panties of Doom. By now, Isis didn't just have cobwebs, she had bats. And ghosts.

"Wonder if it's like riding a bike?" Isis asked aloud as Julie entered. "You know, sex?"

"Oh yeah," Julie assured. "Better than a bike, though. You'll be fine, baby. Mr. Risk Management looks like a man who knows what he's doing. That boy's a pla-ya."

"You think?" Ice asked nervously. "What, like he's a man whore?"

"No, no," Julie backpedaled. "Just that he knows his way around the bedroom. Here…" Dipping into her pocket, she withdrew a couple foil packages and dropped them into the drawer. "Condoms, baby. I'm sure the Boss will have his own, but just in case."

She hadn't thought of that. Things were definitely different these days. She missed being married. "When was the last time you were with a guy, Jules?" Isis asked seriously. Poor Julie didn't have much of her own life. As her best friend and personal assistant, she pretty much just followed Isis around the world on her hectic schedule. Ice frowned into the mirror when Julie grinned secretively. "What? When? Who?" she demanded. The girls lived together. If Jules was getting some, Ice figured she'd be the first to know. At her silence, it came to her in a flash of insight. "Oh my God! Chris Wyatt, Terry's guy? Are you kidding me? When?"

"Shh..." Julie insisted, looking around cautiously. "Quiet, Ice. He could get fired…"

Isis beamed at the news, demanded more. "Is it serious?"

"I don't know," Julie grinned. "I dig him, but no pressure. You don't have to marry every guy you sleep with, you know? You can just date. Doesn't have to be exclusive."

"I just don't get that," Isis said, shaking her head. "Guess I'm just not wired that way. And anyway, who has time for more than one guy?" Isis glanced at her ring again, then hummed knowingly into the mirror. "So…Chris, huh? He's definitely a hottie. How was it?"

"Rocked," Julie said simply. "Just like its going to rock with Terry." Hugging her girlfriend from behind, she put her face close and looked at them together in the mirror. "It's been a long strange trip, Ice, but I've always got your back, you know that, right?"

Isis nodded, moved her girlfriend's long pink hair out of the way, and kissed her cheek. "I know it, honey. Don't know what I'd do without you."

Reaching for Isis' hand, Julie touched the simple gold band on her finger and asked gently, "Are you thinking about taking off your ring?"

Blinking into the mirror, Isis nodded. "Yeah, tonight. After the show."

"Good," Julie breathed, hugged her again. "It's time, honey. Court...he's always with you now. And he'd want you to be happy."

"I know," she smiled, though a tear fell. "But thanks for saying it. Sometimes I feel like I'm the only one who remembers him."

Julie looked hard into her friend's eyes. "No one will ever forget Court Colbert, Ice. He's a legend."

A deep voice with an Aussie accent called from the living area. "Ladies, are you decent?"

Isis dabbed her eyes with a tissue quickly while Julie covered for her. "Just a minute, Terry. We were mud wrestling in the tub." Embarrassed, Ice swatted at the seat of her friend's jeans as she made her way out through the bedroom of the enormous suite.

"Then I'm just in time," he answered dryly.

Julie was nearly floored when she saw Terry standing in the bedroom doorway, dressed in the sweetest tux she'd ever seen on a man, black tie, white shirt. Totally classic. His beard was trimmed neatly, not a hair out of place. Only the tiny white earpiece and wire gave him away for a security officer and not a celebrity in his own right. She couldn't deny it, Terry Thorne was one fine looking man. Isis was in for the night of her life.

"Look at you, Boss. You clean up good," she cooed, touched his tie. Thumbing over her shoulder, she gestured to the bathroom, "Queenie's waiting for you to give her the game plan, but no peeking at the dress. That's a surprise."

"Yes ma'am," Terry answered, and stepped inside.

Isis stood to greet him, breathed a sigh of appreciation for those broad shoulders in that perfectly tailored jacket, tapering to slim hips and mirror bright shoes. Amazing. "James Bond never looked this good," she breathed.

"Neither did Her Majesty," he smiled, and leaned for her kiss. Soft lips plucked eagerly, stealing a bit more than a pleasant hello. "Before I'm completely distracted, let me go over the schedule, yeah?"

Isis nodded, listening intently.

"You have two hours to work your magic, then I'll be back at four to escort you down to the limo. We have six agents to accompany us on the short drive to the Center, then they'll flank to cover the crowd at the red carpet. Fifteen minutes there tops, wave to the fans, pose for the cameras, Bob's your uncle, and we're in our seats. From there on, we're back to the original plan. Sound good?"

"Sounds like a military operation," she marveled.

"Her Majesty's Secret Service," he smiled, waggled his brows playfully.

"And what about later?" she dared, touching his tie.

"Later…" he grinned knowingly. "Chris and Craig will stay with us through the after parties. Then back at the hotel, they'll be in the adjoining suite with their relief agents. I'll stay here with you, love." His head gestured next door. "My things are in the other room."

Isis smiled a little shyly as she took his hand, and Terry noted at the gold ring still adorning her finger. "Isis, about tonight," he began gently. "There's no obligation. It's going to be a long evening. See how you're feeling later. I know it's been a long time for you, and I want it to be…well, I want it to be what you want it to be. Anything you want, nothing you don't, yeah? You're the boss."

Her dark eyes shined up to him. "And what about what you want, Terry?"

Tucking a stray hair back behind her ear, he touched her cheek. "I'm a patient man, love. And you're worth waiting for. If you're happy, I'll have what I want," he grinned. "Well, maybe that and another kiss."

Isis nodded, raised her lips in offering. He took them gratefully, first with light grazing busses, savoring the moment. Then rocking his jaw, he drew her in, kissed her as deeply as he could, made his desire plain. Isis murmured a pleasured purr, pressed herself into his solid body. Pulling at the ties of her white robe, she grinned against his kiss, and let it fall open.

Terry breathed an astonished gasp, drew back to gaze on her body, nude under the robe but for a tiny flesh colored thong. She was beautiful, her natural breasts heavy on her small frame, nipples pink and peaked with excitement. His hand moved instinctively to cup and knead, his thumb lightly grazing a nipple back and forth.

Isis groaned, pressed her body into the warmth of his hand, wanting more. Her fingers played at the base of his neck, couldn't resist the urge to run them through his thick curling hair as her heartbeat quickened. "This is what I want…" she said with heavy breath. "To feel your hands on me."

Leaning to kiss her throat, he nibbled the tender lobe of her ear. "Christ…" Terry breathed heavily. "If we had more time I'd…Christ, Ice." His hand smoothed up her chest to her neck, caressing, delighting in the softness of her skin. With one last longing gaze upon her body, Terry breathed deeply to cool his heating blood, and closed the white spa robe in an affectionate gesture, tied it fast, as if he were wrapping a gift. Kissing her forehead, he promised, "Later, love. Later."

"Later, Boss," she breathed, a naughty smile on her pretty lips.

Terry left the suite before he couldn't; already felt his pulse in his swelling cock. He'd known she'd be beautiful, but this…Christ. It wasn't just Isis Knox's amazing body that had thrilled him, it was her rebellious spirit: daring but sweet, a little bit wicked, but always honest. She hadn't just flashed him, she'd offered herself, body and soul. And in doing so, she'd completely entranced and discombobulated him. He wondered suddenly if he'd be able to handle what he was about to unleash, this powerfully sensual woman, too long held the prisoner of grief. But it was only a moment's hesitation. He felt his confidence recover quickly, turn into bravado, and he felt the comfort of its familiar weight come down upon him like protective armor.

This goddess - rock star, sex symbol, and fantasy of innumerable men around the world - had chosen him. But he knew the young woman behind the image, admired her business acumen and artistic creativity, even the contradictions of her impatience and fiery temper. This intimate knowledge of the real Isis Knox made the offer so much sweeter. Exhaling another long cooling breath, Terry made a new vow under his breath: "I'm going to make this so bloody good for you, love."

The Treo smartphone in his pocket rang, and when he withdrew it, the incoming call screen showed a photo of his son, a remarkably rare sight. "Henry," he breathed, and moved to answer, but thought again. They were on such a tight schedule, he wouldn't be able to give his son his full attention for a chat. And a moment later, he realized he'd turned the wrong way down the hall. The woman's got your head turned around, mate, he thought, and backtracked to the elevator.

Shaking his head, he grimaced with guilt when he touched the ignore button. Ignore, Christ. "Sorry, Son. Too many bloody distractions today." As the elevator doors closed him away alone, Terry Thorne looked himself in the mirrored door and ordered: "Get your head in the game, mate. Show time." Then, before he forgot, he recorded a voice memo, a quick reminder, "Call Henry tomorrow, noon PST."

w

Two hours later, Terry Thorne checked his Omega watch and announced, "Sixteen hundred hours, gentlemen. A-team is in position. B-team en route to intercept. All is go from HQ. Time to pick up the cargo."

Julie grinned as Terry Thorne entered the Presidential Suite of the Beverly Hilton, flanked by Dino and Chris, all dressed in Armani tuxedoes. Some honor guard. Nearly knocked her flat when Chris gave her that secret wink. But her smile only grew when she watched Isis turn, caught the guys' reactions.

Oh yeah, this night is gonna rock, she thought.

Isis' dress wasn't really a dress, more a jeweled pewter breast plate, inlaid with Swarovski crystals that caught the light and dazzled, distracting the eye from the generous flesh that the bodice revealed through its ornate metalwork. The matching skirt in gunmetal grey silk was barely attached at the waist, showed off her tanned belly and back as it flowed to the carpet. Long onyx hair hung freely down her back and shined, while the subtle bands of black hieroglyph tattoos around her muscled biceps adorned the piece more completely than any jewelry ever could.

Julie handed her best friend the matching handbag and swathed her in a cashmere pashmina against the threat of evening chill. Prodding Isis towards the door, she interrupted the hush that had overtaken the room with a bright question. "So guys, what do you think?"

"Everything all right, gentlemen?" came Ian Wyatt's voice from HQ over the men's earpieces. "I can't hear you. Let's keep the chatter going, shall we?"

Dino touched his ear and answered for Terry, momentarily struck dumb. "Papa bear, this is Uptown. We have the cargo and are en route." Then cracked, "Downtown looks a little distracted."

"Bloody hell, woman," Terry breathed, astonished at the transformation from the girl he'd just seen in the spa robe - and out of it - to the glamorous diva before him, looking like some kind of elegant Amazon. Stepping forward, he offered his arm gallantly, and leaned to whisper, "I've just cracked a fat."

She laughed with more than a little relief, the lyrical tones of her voice tinkling like broken glass. "Hungry, or just happy to see me, Mr. Thorne?" Isis wondered, remembering the teasing repartee from their lunch at Spago.

"Both," he answered. "Ready?"

Taking Versace sunglasses from her purse, she nodded. And she needed them. They all did. The moment they stepped out of the lobby onto the covered driveway of the hotel, the group was awash in popping flashes. But these were just the few intrepid paparazzi who had done their homework, determined to get the first shot of Isis Knox's dress. The red carpet, where the rest of the pack had camped since the night before, would be blinding. Throughout it all, the Thorne-McGrath agents had to concentrate despite the distractions and watch the crowd for any and all potential threats. What a circus.

Handing Ice into the long black limousine, Terry marveled at the way she moved. He'd assumed that the jeweled corset was one solid piece, that it would be restricting. But on closer inspection he noted that though holding her breasts firm, it was constructed in separate elastic pieces that allowed her free range of motion. For a moment, he imagined how she'd look dancing in the remarkable costume, then thought better of the idea and focused. Following her inside the limo, he touched his ear and reported to the team. "Secured. On our way."

"We're right behind you, Downtown," came Dino's voice over the radio as he and Chris followed in the black SUV behind bulletproof glass.

Relaxing into the leather seat, Terry allowed himself a moment to drink her in again. "You look incredible, love," he smiled, appreciating the glamorous makeup. She was beautiful without a drop, but now her complexion was glowing and flawless. Isis' dark eyes were enhanced with black kohl and pewter shadow, her lips stained blood red. Gesturing to the jeweled bodice, he said, "This is going to cause quite a stir, Ice."

She shook her head, unsure. "I could end up on either list, best dressed, or what were they thinking. You never can tell. But I like it, so who cares."

"Is it cold?" he asked.

"Was at first," she chuckled a throaty laugh. "But now it's nice and warm. See for yourself," she offered brazenly.

Terry considered it momentarily, felt the sense memory of her breast in his hand, so warm and full, saw every detail of those erect pink nipples fresh in his mind's eye. But he shook his head and smiled, appreciating the anticipation instead. "Sorry, love. I'm on duty. Don't distract me."

She pouted playfully. "I thought this was our first date."

"It will be, once I get you inside safely," he assured her. Still, alone in the limo, he couldn't resist leaning to pluck a kiss from those full red lips. At her mild protest to save her makeup, he leaned for her throat instead, and dropped kisses along her tanned shoulder, perfumed softly.

Isis felt her heartbeat quicken and her body warm with the light intimate touch of Terry's kiss. She licked her own lips, wished the evening was already over and they were back in the suite, imagined the pleasures that awaited her in his strong arms. But her attention was drawn back to the moment when she felt Terry's tongue on her bicep, gasped when she realized he had licked her tattoo.

"Ah," she breathed in surprise. "Naughty boy."

"You have no idea," he grinned. "But you will."

The ride was warm, but relatively short, until they hit traffic outside the Staples Center in downtown Los Angeles. Nearing the red carpet, the line of waiting limousines was long. Though they had anticipated the wait, Terry didn't like the sensation of their exit being blocked. He scanned the crowd through darkened bullet proof glass. And over the earpiece, he heard the news he'd been afraid of.

"Downtown, code red. HC was spotted in the crowd."

"Armed?" Terry demanded.

"Spectators are searched by security to get on the carpet, but this is Excelsior we're talking about. Craig's in route, gonna try to get a better look." A tense moment later, Dino reported, "We have a visual. No weapons that we can see."

Terry breathed a guarded sigh of relief, while Isis listened intently. "Radio LAPD to pick her up. Intercept and hand her over if you have to."

"T…" Dino warned hesitantly. "Technically, she hasn't broken the law yet. The restraining order says 100 yards."

"Bloody hell," Thorn breathed. "All right, hold on."

Isis' eyes were wide and fearful. "She's here?" she demanded.

"Yes, love. But if she's here, that means she's not at home going for Kore, so that's good. As far as we can tell, she's unarmed, just hoping to cause a scene for the cameras, I'll gather."

"Jesus," Isis breathed, as tears welled in her eyes. "It never ends."

Terry went into his pocket for a handkerchief, gave it to her to dab at her eyes and save her makeup. Then focusing, he instructed gently: "Ice, listen. We have two options: A, go around to the back entrance, miss the carpet, and avoid her entirely; or B, walk the carpet, get you within 100 yards of this witch, and fucking push her in that grave she dug for herself. That way, we can have her arrested for breaking the restraining order. Our agents and LAPD are in position to take her in. What do you say?"

"She'll go to jail?"

He nodded, "Yes. Not for long - probably just for tonight - but it will help us build a case against her."

"And piss her off more," she worried. "Terry, I don't know. I have to think of what's best for Kore…"

Terry took her hand, held it tightly. Looking her in the eye, he encouraged, "You have the power here, Ice, not her. All you have to do is get closer than 100 yards. Hold your head high and walk past like you don't even see her. I think this is what's best for Kore: to make sure this woman can never sue for grandparent's rights."

After a long moment of consideration, he saw the determination come into her eyes, the fire. "Helen hurt Court, threatened my daughter," Isis whispered darkly. "I'd like to string her up for what she's done."

"You don't have to, love," Terry grinned confidently. "She's hanging herself, with the rope we've so generously provided. Let's spring the trap."

"Okay," Isis nodded, squeezed his hand. "If you're with me, I can do it."

"Every step of the way," he assured, brought her hand to his lips to kiss. Then into the radio, Terry ordered, "Uptown, initiate alpha one. Let's get her."

They waited until everyone was in position, Dino and Chris flanking Helen Colbert subtly in the crowd with uniformed officers nearby. Then sliding his dark sunglasses on, Terry guided Isis out of the limo. The blinding flash was instantaneous as the pack of tabloid photographers went wild, calling her name in their desperate quest for the best shot. Some yelled angrily at Terry to move out of the way, though he held his ground, covering Isis with his body until he had the picked Colbert's mother out of the crowd and seen for himself that she was unarmed.

Helen Colbert was a tall blonde woman in her early 50s. She'd been attractive once, that was obvious, but time and drug use hadn't been kind. Her deeply lined face was set in a scowl, and Terry watched her green eyes track Isis single mindedly as they approached. He counted their steps, measuring mentally until they were well within the 100 yard restriction.

Touching his ear, Terry gave the order. "Intercept. Go, go, go."

Dino and Chris moved into the crowd with determination, though no one noticed anything out of the ordinary with Isis the center of attention on the red carpet.

"Isis, who are you wearing?" asked a woman with a microphone. "Your dress is stunning."

"Bob Mackie," she smiled for the camera from long practice, though she watched the crowd warily while she clutched Terry's hand like a lifeline.

"And your date? This must be Terry Thorne."

"Yes. Terry is Co-CEO of Thorne-McGrath Risk Management."

Terry's concentrated on the operation, watched Dino and Chris as they flanked. But when asked who he was wearing, he fulfilled his promise to David Goldman and replied correctly, "Armani."

Just before they'd reached her, Helen Colbert's harsh jeers cut through the cheering crowd: "There she is, the merry widow on parade while my son rots in the ground!"

Isis felt like she'd been punched in the gut, the wind knocked out of her. Terry turned her away in a graceful movement, like a dance. Put himself between Isis and her attacker.

The cameras turned just in time to catch the moment Dino and Chris closed in and took the woman by the arms. Helen Colbert fought viciously, though they held her fast while uniformed LAPD officers swooped in. "Arrest her!" she cried, emboldened by the cameras. "That's the woman who killed my son. She killed Court Colbert!"

Terry put a protective arm around Isis' shoulder, tried to draw her away, but she was rooted to the spot. "Ice," he warned quietly. "Come on, love. It's over, we've got her." He realized at that moment that he should have had another agent on Isis herself as he watched her temper flare, thought she might lunge for the woman's throat. He tightened his hold nervously, warned her again. "Don't do this…she's not worth it."

Isis wouldn't come away, though she didn't struggle either, just stood her ground, dark eyes seething. The cameras greedily anticipated an explosion from the volatile star.

"If anyone killed him, it was you, Helen!" she called into the crowd as the officers led her dead husband's mother away. "Court died of a broken heart, had to fill the hole with drugs, because his own mother never loved him. Stay away from my daughter, or so help me God -"

Terry leaned close and cut her off, insisting in a whisper: "No threats, Ice. Don't give her any ammo. It's over. Just breathe. Come with me now, please." When he felt her relent, he guided her down the red carpet; but it had become a gauntlet as rabid reporters shouted questions from every angle. He felt her body begin to shake violently, begin to sag against him, the strength of her anger wilting into fear and sorrow. Afraid she might faint, he held her fast and put every ounce of comfort into his deep voice and continued to whisper encouragements.

"Isis, what do you say to the charges raised by Court Colbert's mother?"

"Isis, what were the threats made against your daughter?"

"Isis, did you kill your husband?"

"Jesus Christ!" Terry exclaimed, incredulous at the lengths these bloodsuckers would go to get a story. But instead of giving in to the urge to berate them further, give them more copy, he turned back to Isis, kept speaking gently into her ear, "Don't listen to them; listen to my voice, Ice. That's it…good girl. You did it, love. You were so brave. We're almost there."

Once inside, Terry radioed that they were safe, then hustled her inside a lounge area, away from prying eyes. And not a moment too soon. Isis clung to him and wept, shaking violently. Terry held her tight, suddenly convinced that he'd made a terrible mistake. He never should have allowed it, should have taken her around the back, and protected her from this abuse. "I'm so sorry, love," he whispered.

"Those bastards," Isis wept. "How could they think I…how could they?"

He took her face gently in his hands and looked deeply into her wet eyes. "Not one tear, Isis. They don't deserve one fucking tear from you. Listen. You're a queen, and they're nothing. The important thing is, we got her. Kore's going to be safe now, love. I promise you that."

In Terry's blue-green eyes, she saw the depth of his commitment. And if he believed it, she knew she could too. Isis nodded, took a deep cleansing breath, and wept again, this time with relief. "Thank you, Terry."

Sighing, he kissed the wet trails on her cheeks, kissed her tears away.