My girl, my girl, don't liet to me ...
Tell me where did you sleep last night?

- Nirvana

Chris and Craig went ahead to check the hallway, then opened the Presidential suite to sweep and secure it. Already after 2:00 am, Terry held Isis' Jimmy Choo's and the lift door of the Beverly Hilton as she leaned against him heavily. Fortunately, she could still walk under her own power if he steadied her.

Entranced with the glittering reflection of her dress in the mirrored walls of the elevator, Isis cooed, "Look Terry, I'm all sparkly."

He couldn't help but smile ruefully. Her reaction to the Ecstasy, the way her mind seemed to open and take everything in as if she was seeing it for the first time, actually reminded him a bit of Kore. "Sure are, love," he breathed, kissing her hair. "The brightest star in the heavens tonight."

Isis' smiled up to him, reached to run a hand over his beard, reveling in its softness. "You're so good to me, Boss. How did I get so lucky?"

He hid his grimace. Lucky is something you haven't been for a long time, love, he thought, but wouldn't say it.

When Chris called the all clear, he prompted brightly, "Here we go, last leg." Collecting her wandering hands, Terry led Isis down the hall into the safety of the large, well-appointed suite. Her dark dilated eyes swept the room dreamily as she wandered inside without a care in the world.

Chris looked on, concerned. "She's really gone, Terry. Are you sure we shouldn't take her to the hospital?"

He reconsidered, but shook his head. "No, I'll watch her, Chris. She'll be coming down before too long, then she'll just crash."

Chris wondered if Terry wasn't taking on too much personal responsibility, but nodded in agreement. "Anyway, call if you need anything. We're right next door."

As Thorne moved to close them away for the night, Craig put a hand out to stop him, interjected, "T, do you think we should keep your firearm, just in case?" Chris looked on curiously, his eyes moving between the two men. "Isis does have a reputation for…well, you know. She can get kinda wild."

Terry's temper flared at the perceived suggestion. He lowered his voice so she wouldn't overhear, "Do you honestly think Isis killed her husband?"

Craig was confused. "No, Sir. That's not what I meant, just that accidents happen. Especially to people on drugs."

Terry considered the suggestion for a moment. He didn't like the idea of being unarmed, then thought better of it. Withdrawing his Glock from his shoulder holster, he checked the safety and handed it to Craig gratefully. "You're right. Good thinking, mate." Secretly, he was concerned that he hadn't thought of it himself.

Inside the suite, Isis let Terry's Armani tuxedo jacket slip off her shoulders carelessly to the floor as she moved towards the wet bar with purpose.

"Ah, ah, ah, love," Terry scolded, his tone playful, while the door closed behind them. "No more for you tonight." Catching her hand, he turned her back into his arms with a salsa spin, making her laugh. "How about something to eat, instead? You must be famished."

"Mmm…" she bit a finger between white teeth at the thought, suddenly ravenous. "Yeah, something sweet and sinful. Will you call room service?"

He knew he was lucky that she was so easily distracted.

"And music, we need some music…" and she was off in search of the audio system. On the drug, Isis' sharp mind flitted from one idea to another like a hummingbird gathering nectar from flowers. As he went to the desk for the menu and the phone, she turned on wide screen television above the gas fireplace instead, tuned to a remastered classic black and white movie with a jazz soundtrack.

"What would you like, Ice? Chocolate, or maybe some fruit and cheese? Bit of protein might set you up."

Sitting on the floor in the glow of the TV, she leaned back dramatically against one of the two facing sofas, arching her elegant neck while she propped her bare feet up on the polished coffee table, showing off long shapely legs "Get me one of everything. We'll have a feast. We're celebrating, right?"

"That's right," he smiled to her in reassurance, then turned and shook his head ruefully. "One big party," Terry breathed, already exhausted. This is going to be one bloody long night. Coffee, you need coffee, mate. When the front desk answered, he ordered a selection from the dessert menu, as well as a fruit tray, a twenty five dollar Kobe beef cheese burger, and a pot of hot coffee. "And some sports drink, if you have it," he thought to add. That might quench her thirst, and head off a killer hangover in the morning.

The late night watch. He'd performed the duty with clients in crisis innumerable times in his career, but never quite like this: ensconced with a sex symbol in the lap of luxury. It certainly beat a foxhole in Chechnya in January. But it wasn't what he'd been looking forward to all night either. Sighing, he retraced Isis' steps and retrieved his designer jacket from the floor, brushed it off, and set it over the upholstered arm chair before the hearth.

Isis' eyes tracked him hungrily. "Will you light the fire, Boss?"

"Cold, love?"

"No," she sighed. "I just want to watch it dance."

The fireplace was gas, and behind a locked glass door, so he indulged her. Just turn the key, strike a match - instant ambience in a place where it rarely ever got cold enough to wear a coat. Of all the things he hated about Los Angeles, the weather wasn't one of them. His thin Aussie blood loved it, so much better than cold wet London.

Leaning against the chenille sofa, Isis stroked her long hair and felt completely at ease, better than she'd felt in a long time. Maybe it was just having Terry Thorne close, but something at the back of her mind told her it was something else as well. Whatever it was, she didn't care. She loved the world at this moment and everyone in it, especially Terry. He was going to make love to her tonight, she knew it, and the knowledge did something to her mind and body: settled the ball of anxiety that had been building in her belly for so long.

She felt the warmth of the fire on her skin, and watched Terry settle into the sofa across from her: a strong arm thrown over its back, legs wide. The picture of a man at rest. God, she'd missed having a man around. Something about his position on the couch, the way his shoulders relaxed as his chest rose and fell with a sigh, reminded her of her husband.

Court loved a strip tease. Back in their first year together, she used to go all out: buy expensive lingerie, put on the music, and really dance for him. But after a few performances, he told her not to waste her money. He didn't care about corsets and garter belts. His favorite outfit was naked, and he just liked to watch her take it off… slowly. She could almost see him now, sitting there on the couch in black jeans and a flannel shirt, a glass in his hand. He was a Jack Daniels man, liked to drink it in Coke. She loved to see his blue eyes peering from behind that dyed blonde hair intent on her body, watch his tongue come out of its own accord and lick hungrily over full lips while she took off her shirt, peeled out of her jeans, teased him with her bra and panties.

When she was finally bare, he loved it when she gave him a lap dance, teased him until he couldn't stand it anymore. Then he'd take her right there, bend her over the back of the couch, and fuck her until she couldn't see straight. Court always made it worth every moment of tortuous anticipation. Isis wanted to tease Terry like that, to please him. He was a man who appreciated anticipation as well.

In her silence, Terry felt anxious. His blood cried out for nicotine, but he refused to open the balcony door to go out and smoke. Didn't want to give Isis any ideas. He could just imagine her thinking she could fly in her drugged haze, and jumping from the balcony. No, coffee would have to do, and where the bloody hell was it?

On the wide screen TV over the hearth, the black and white movie cut to a musical interlude with a jazz singer in a smoky club. Isis stood and began to sway to the music, planning her seduction.

For a moment, Terry thought she'd forgotten he was there, lost in her drugged stupor. But then she caught his eyes in the snare of her gaze, and sang along to the movie's soundtrack. Her voice was low and sultry, performing for an audience of one:

Birds flying high you know how I feel
Sun in the sky you know how I feel
Reeds drifting on by you know how I feel
It's a new dawn it's a new day it's a new life for me
And I'm feeling good…

She was feeling good, flying high, while Terry couldn't remember having been so cruelly disappointed in a very long time. But watching her move in that amazing dress, she danced like a slow flame, burning hot, and he was captivated, drawn in like the proverbial moth. He couldn't look away, though he knew he should. The sight of her shapely hips undulating, her long onyx hair sweeping over the skin of her back, sent shivers down his spine. Christ, he wanted to touch her, hold her, feel her body move against his in that hypnotic fashion. But Jason Montez had buggered that up. Bloody ruined everything.

Stars when you shine you know how I feel
Scent of the pine you know how I feel
Yeah freedom is mine
And you know how I feel
It's a new dawn it's a new day it's a new life for me
And I'm feeling good

Isis held out a beckoning hand, and Terry was tempted to take it, draw her down into the sofa into his arms. Why shouldn't we make love tonight? he wondered. It was something they both wanted, even planned. Christ, had he planned. Knew exactly what he wanted to do to her; every kiss, every bloody stroke. He'd already seen her half naked earlier in this very suite, already made her come in the limo.

Continuing her dance, she turned away from him, and he saw her manicured fingers reach back to unfasten the jeweled bodice's clasp, let the straps that held it to her body fall. He caught his breath when he realized what she was doing.

"Ice…" he warned.

Isis turned to look back at him, capture him with her dark eyes, and the smile on her lips was so seductive, it stopped his tongue. Sweeping her long hair up, she undid the clasp at the back of her neck. For the first time, Terry saw the tattoo below the line of her silk skirt at the base of her spine, a colorful winged Egyptian goddess, imagined it framing her shapely arse perfectly.

"Bloody hell," he breathed to himself.

She let the bodice fall, caught it with a hand to tease him, and let her hair down again. And it was that subtle motion, watching her hair fall to cascade down her beautiful bare back that made his cock move in his black tuxedo pants.

While she hummed a siren's song, her eyes never released his. She turned back to face him, holding the glittering breast plate in place, then stepped forward into the light of the fire. Swaying her hips in time to the music, she finally let it fall away, and Terry felt his head and cock throb in unison. Isis raised her arms then, as if in supplication to the heavens, and let her hands play over her breasts, cupping, kneading, offering herself.

Her voice was a pleasured purr when she said, "Come here, Terry. Make me feel good."

Terry tried to appreciate her beauty dispassionately, like some work of art, but the life in her wouldn't allow it. She beckoned to his mind and body, demanded an answer. Rising to take her outstretched hand, he drew her into his arms, reveled in the warmth of her supple flesh. Just a kiss, he thought, and lowered his mouth to hers. But the way she opened to him so completely, hungry lips on his, it literally made him dizzy. He'd nearly capitulated to his own desire, to hers, when a knock came at the door.

He had to breathe deeply to cool his heating blood. "Ah, there's our feast," he sighed, while he stroked a hand over the soft skin of her back, at once thankful for the interruption, but unwilling to let her go.

Not like this, he reasserted to himself forcefully. Making love to Isis would be so incredible. Will be incredible, he tried to console himself. But he couldn't help feeling so cheated. Fucking Jason Montez with that sarcastic mug, saying, "You should be thanking me." Bollocks. He could kill him.

He felt his own voice shaking with restraint when he whispered, "Why don't you go change into something more comfortable, love. I'll get the door."

Fortunately, she was still easy to distract, and with a nod, she picked up her discarded dress and retreated back into the bedroom of the large suite.

It would have been perfect, and now it won't, Terry mulled morosely as he answered the door. There was no way he could take advantage of Isis in such a state. It was wrong. Who knows what she'd remember when she woke up in the morning, what she might accuse him of doing? No, it wasn't fair. She'd waited so long; she deserved better. They both did. Tonight, he had to think of what was best for his client, and now, that was just seeing her through this, getting her to bed so they could start fresh in the morning. It was best for him as well, and for Thorne-McGrath.

This way, there will be no question as to who wanted what. This way, you're still in control.

While the waiter set the dining table with their late night feast, Terry went for his wallet. If the young man had been eager to lay eyes on a celebrity, he didn't show it. Good help, Terry mused, and gave the handsome young man a generous tip.

When he'd gone, Terry called to Isis, let her know she could come out. She didn't answer, and he wondered if she might have laid down, fallen asleep. Actually, he hoped she had. Giving her another minute, he went back to the bedroom to check. On his way down the hall, Terry noted a glint of gold on a side table. Isis' wedding ring. She must have taken it off and set it down. He picked it up instinctively, put it in his pocket so it wasn't misplaced. And for him, it confirmed that he had made the right decision. He'd never seen Isis without her ring. If she'd been so careless tonight, she was certainly in no frame of mind for making clear decisions. He thought of Court Colbert at that moment, made the man a promise under his breath: "No worries, mate. I've got her."

But before he reached the bedroom, Isis was already in the doorway, wearing the white spa robe she'd worn earlier that day.

"Hungry?" he asked, as he put an arm around her shoulder protectively.

"Starving," she smiled.

Her eyes lit up when she saw the feast laid out in the dining room, and Terry felt grateful for her reaction. Once her belly was full, she'd probably drop off to sleep. And a little bit to eat now would do well to head off a bad hangover in the morning.

"All for me?" she grinned greedily.

"Anything you like, love," he replied. Pouring strong coffee into an elegant china cup, Terry settled into the arm chair at the head of the table. At the first sip of the perfect brew, he went for the cigarettes in his pocket, grumbling, "Fuck it," under his breath. He needed the release. He wouldn't get anything better tonight.

With her mouth half full of Kobe beef cheeseburger, Isis purred in appreciation. "God, that's way better than Jack in the Box tacos after a night of partying. You ever do that when you were a kid?"

Terry drew in deep inhalation of nicotine and felt his tense body relax. "Late night fast food always has its charm."

Isis thought how little she knew about Terry personally. He rarely talked about himself. "Where did you grow up, Boss?"

Thankful that their conversation had moved away from sexual innuendo, he chuckled to himself, thinking that stories of home would be the perfect antidote for the Ecstasy. Bore her to sleep, mate. "Sydney. We lived in a little flat near Darling Harbor, but it was all industrial back then, not the tourist trap it is today. Dad worked the King Street wharf, took a decent wage. Though he liked to bend an elbow. I'm sure half the check went to the pub straightaway. Looking back, I can't imagine how we didn't starve. Mum was quite an economist. Everything I know about business, I learned from her."

"She must be so proud of you," she smiled.

"Calls me a tall poppy these days," he grinned, thinking of Georgie Thorne's no-nonsense demeanor. "Though she still cashes the checks…but she wasn't always so proud. Dad died when I was 12, and after that I was a real handful for her. The bad boy, acting out, I suppose. Got kicked out of Sydney Boys'. But she wouldn't have it. Sent me off to military school, and thank Christ for that. Got me to pull my head out," he chuckled. "Who would have guessed that putting cherry bombs down the toilet would have paid off, hey?"

Isis laughed in appreciation. "When was the last time you were home?"

Terry thought back. Bloody hell, has it really been six years? His stomach twisted with new guilt, thinking of his aging mother living with Aunt Gert in Redfern. His mind envisioned Henry again, and he reminded himself to call his son first thing in the morning. Mum next. "Too long, love."

Isis' attention moved from the cheeseburger to the desserts. She used her fork to taste each one in turn before she decided on the thick New York cheesecake with strawberry sauce and slivered almonds. And her mind seemed to flit from topic to topic in the same way. Terry was going for the cheeseburger she'd discarded, just about to ask her about her childhood, when she said abruptly, "What about your wife?"

He was glad he hadn't taken a bite yet; he might have choked. Terry flicked ashes into the saucer instead, grinning, "You don't muck about, do you, love?"

"I thought we were friends," she pouted playfully.

Yeah, he thought silently, but those are war stories for brothers-in-arms. With any luck, the Ecstasy would make her forget their conversation tonight, so he went ahead regardless of his misgivings.

"Marion and I were young. I'd just joined up and shipped out to London." Drawing a deep inhalation of smoke, Terry asked, "Do you know how an English General's daughter gets back at daddy?"

She shook her head, listening intently, her mouth full of cheesecake.

"She marries an Australian." He laughed at the tired old joke. Rubbing a throbbing temple, he watched smoke curling from his cigarette. "Her father was my CO's CO, so I suppose it was the lure of the forbidden, the challenge, and the threat of imminent destruction. Sure, we were in love - or thought we were - but at that age, no one really knows what they want from life, do they?"

"I did," Isis grinned confidently. "To be a star."

"Careful what you wish for, hey?" he giggled.

She reached a hand out for his and squeezed it, urged him to continue.

"Well, she got pregnant, so we took the plunge and got married. Didn't have much choice. Her father would have killed me otherwise, and rightfully so. But it was a disaster from the start," he sighed heavily. "When I got accepted to the SAS, I was doing missions in the Middle East, Central America - other hot spots I can't talk about. I think the General was trying to get me killed, but I accepted every mission. The sum of it was I was never home. My son grew up without me. Right around his third birthday, I had a letter from Marion saying she'd met another man. Couldn't blame her, I hadn't been faithful. Girl in every port, you know how it is. So we divorced. And the General hated my bloody guts until the day he died."

Isis looked at her half eaten cake, felt sad for him. "All those years, there was never anyone else?"

"Everyone else, love," he corrected, his brows waggling playfully. "But to do this job, you have to take the veil. It's not fair to make someone wait at home when you don't know if you're coming back."

She shook her head in disagreement, watched the smoke curl from his cigarette. "Yeah, but like you said, Terry, no one here gets out alive."

"That was Morrison, love," he said gently. "But I suppose you're right."

With some food in her belly, he noticed that she was becoming more lucid. He was grateful to see her eyelids growing heavy, but worried about the conversation becoming morose.

"I loved being married," she breathed. "But I guess you couldn't call it a normal marriage. My husband was the biggest rock star in the world. Once our careers took off, we were almost always apart, on tour, surrounded by fans. I'm romantic, but I'm not stupid. Court and I, we had an understanding…" Isis grinned a naughty smile. "Blowjobs don't count."

"Yeah?" Terry smiled, impressed. "Sweet deal."

She shook her head, growing thoughtful. "The fairy tales say otherwise, but I don't think you can get everything you need in life from one person. But a good marriage, it can give you a lot; a real foundation, safe harbor. Court and I, we were friends, creative partners. He inspired me. And we were lovers. God."

He watched her eyes go soft in remembrance. "You were a good match, Ice," he said, appreciating her openness. Then asked gently, "Did you have…infidelities?"

"Me? Oh, I flirted plenty. Had a couple crushes, but when it came down to it, I could never go through with it. Just not wired that way, I guess. I'm a one man girl."

"And Court?" he wondered.

She shook her head, "Nothing serious. In the end, his real mistress was the Heroin. She gave him something I couldn't. Took the pain away, for a little while. Then she took it all."

Terry squeezed her hand. They shared a long moment of silence, before she asked suddenly, "What do you want from life, Boss?"

Isis loved the broad smile that crept across his full lips, the way his tongue came out in concentration while he considered the question thoughtfully. It was that smile that changed his features, made him look younger, and lit up his face like a beacon. "I'm a greedy bastard, Ice," he finally confessed. "I want it all. How about you?"

She smiled and nodded knowingly. Rising from her chair, she moved close, reached out to take his face in her hands, and petted his beard. "I want you, Terry. Take me to bed. Make love to me."

Terry Thorne stubbed out his cigarette and stood. Taking her hands, he kissed them lovingly, looked deeply into her eyes, and shook his head, "There's nothing more I'd like in this world Isis, but we can't. You've been drugged. At the party, someone put Ecstasy in your drink."

Watching her dark eyes, he recognized her initial shock as they widened. But then it was as if understanding sank in. Comprehension, and even relief. "I…I think you're right," she breathed finally, her hand at her forehead, rubbing a temple. "Well, that explains a lot."

Terry gathered her into his arms, held her for comfort: hers and his own. "I'm so sorry, love. I hate this."

"Me too," she sighed, and nuzzled into his embrace.

That's it, then, Terry thought. The long night watch is over. "I'll just see you to bed, then. I'll sleep in the other room, no worries."

But she stopped him before he could break their embrace. "I miss sleeping with a man, Terry. Not sex - well, I miss sex too - but I mean, just feeling someone close. Having someone to reach for in the dark." Her voice was so sad when she added, "Do you ever miss that?"

He let his chin rest on the top of her head as he nodded, answered honestly, "Sure, love."

Her dark eyes came up to beg, "Will you lay down with me, just until I fall asleep?"

Terry licked his lips, suddenly dry, but he couldn't deny her. "All right. But have a little mercy. Keep your clothes on for me, mate."

Nodding, she led him by the hand into the bedroom. But once she saw the king sized bed with its luxurious linens turned down for the night, it seemed as if her last ounce of strength had left her. She let the white spa robe fall at the foot of the bed.

"Christ," Terry muttered, as he watched her walk to the bed and climb between the white sheets wearing nothing more than a flesh colored thong. When she was settled, her long black hair flaring out over the white pillow case, she turned to him in the dim light, and held a hand, beckoning.

Sighing, he ran a hand over his face, unsure.

"Terry, please," she breathed.

She sounded so small, so afraid. Finally, he nodded in resignation. Unbuttoning the fine tailored white shirt, he folded it carefully over the chair at the side of the bed. With another moment's hesitation, he did the same with his tuxedo pants. It seemed somehow obscene to be clothed in the presence of her perfect naturalness. Clad only in black boxer briefs, Terry slid between expensive sheets into the luxurious bed, and spooned in behind her.

"Hold me," she begged, but he was already wrapping strong arms around her body. She was cold to the touch. When Isis felt the warmth of his skin on her back, his breath at her ear, tears welled in her eyes.

The sensation of her trembling against his body nearly broke his heart. He held her tighter. "You're all right, love," he whispered. "I've got you."

"God, you feel so good," Isis breathed. "Please, Terry, I miss the weight of a man over me…I need you."

Terry felt the throb between his legs as his cock hardened against her warmth. Taking her hand, he guided it back, pressed it against his groin. In her ear, his breath shuddered when he said, "Do you feel how much I want you, Isis?"

She nodded silently.

"Not like this," he insisted gently. "You've waited so long, you deserve better. We both do. Now, go to sleep, all right, love? Or I'll have to go."

"Okay," she breathed.

When she curled up and cuddled in against him, he couldn't help it, he brought a hand up to cup her perfect breast and kissed her cheek. She murmured a pleasured sound. Terry sighed, and despite a splitting headache and a raging erection, he somehow managed to close his eyes and rest.

w

The clock on the nightstand read 4:35 am. Isis tossed restlessly against the expensive white sheets, wet hair plastered against her heated forehead. Her tongue felt dry, and her heart raced. Every muscle in her body was strung tight. In her aching head, a swirled mix of the night's events and the past played out in a disorienting montage of nightmare.

"There she is, the merry widow on parade while my son rots in the ground!"

"Isis, did you kill your husband?"

"My girl, my girl, don't lie to me…tell me where did you sleep last night?"

Isis moaned, she felt like she was drowning, paralyzed. When she finally struggled up from the depths of sleep, between the heavy strands of her own black hair, she saw the image of Court Colbert sitting in the chair across from the bed. His chin rested on his chest, and his face was curtained with a mass of dyed blonde hair. He could have been sleeping peacefully, his big hands resting gently in his lap. But then she noticed the sleeve of his flannel shirt rolled up, saw the rubber tubing that still tied off his arm. That's when she knew he wasn't asleep.

Her stomach clenched violently with fear. Her head spun, and she thought she might vomit. Tears sprang to her eyes.

"Court?"

It was just like that awful morning more than two years ago. She felt paralyzed in the bed, didn't want to move, but couldn't stop her feet from touching the floor. Isis rushed to her husband's side, knelt before him in the hotel arm chair.

"Oh God, Court, no."

Isis felt transported in time, reliving the worst moment of her life in two places at once. She felt the old shag rug from their Seattle home on her bare knees, smelled the sour sweat on his clothes. And when she pushed his long hair back to touch his face, his skin was cold, just like she knew it would be.

"No baby, please," she sobbed, her face awash in tears. "Not again."

Court's familiar iconic face was white with dark bruise-colored circles under his eyes. His lips were blue; exactly the way he looked when she found him dead in their Seattle home.

But this time, those lifeless eyes shot open. She gasped, stifled a scream as his bloodshot gaze bore into her eyes.

"Hey, Ice. Where's my fucking ring?"

w

For Terry Thorne, it was a short-lived rest. He woke to Isis' screams and the sound of furniture being overturned.

"Oh God, no!"

His heart thundered as his hand groped for his gun instinctively, before he consciously remembered surrendering it to his men. More crashing, unintelligible sobs, and finally shattering glass.

"God, Court, no!"

Groping blindly, he found the lamp and hit the switch. When his eyes adjusted to the painful stab of light, he wasn't sure what he was seeing. Isis was on the bathroom floor, sobbing, covered in blood. Quickly, he steadied his breath and his mind, forced himself to focus. Time seemed to slow. Visually, he swept the bedroom. The nightstand was upended, lamp smashed, but the balcony door was closed, locked. Rushing to the bedroom doorway, he peered into the darkened suite, but saw no disturbance. Hitting the light switch proved that there had been no intruder. The inside latch on the front door was secure.

Next door, he heard the sound of movement. His backup was coming.

Isis' sobs came from the bathroom. "Court, I'm sorry. So sorry."

Terry rushed to the bathroom, stopped at the threshold just in time to avoid walking on shattered glass with bare feet. The big gilt mirror over the sink was destroyed. Isis' wrist was cut, bleeding profusely. Her terrified face was stained with black eyeliner, running down in trails of tears. Suicide attempt, his mind flashed.

"Isis, what happened?" he demanded. Taking a towel from the rack, he tossed it over the glass, fell to his knees at her side. "Did you cut yourself, love?"

Her eyes were dark and vacant. She seemed not to hear him, in some kind of shock.

"Isis!" he shouted for her attention. Pulling another towel from the rack, he pressed it to the deep gash. "It's all right, love. You're all right. But you have to tell me what happened."

From the front door he heard Chris' voice shout, "Downtown, report!"

"Clear!" he called back. "In here."

Her breath shuddered as she sobbed, "My ring…I can't find my ring. Court asked. He was here, and he was dead, and I can't find it. Oh God…"

"Christ," Terry murmured as his stomach clenched. Pressing the towel to her wrist again he ordered, "Hold this, love. Hold it tight."

Isis grasped for the white shower curtain as she wept on the floor, pulled it to cover her nakedness. She could barely open her eyes, her head felt so heavy. So tired and drained. Her stomach lurched and her dizzy head spun when she felt Terry lift her up and carry her to the bed. Chris and Craig waited in the doorway, their weapons drawn.

"What happened?" Chris demanded.

"She must have had a panic attack, a reaction to the drug," Terry answered as he laid her gently in the bed. "She broke the bathroom mirror, lacerated her wrist. Call paramedics."

"Jesus," Craig breathed with wide eyes as he watched the red blood pool on the white shower curtain that covered her naked form.

"Foster, get some pressure on that," Chris ordered as he holstered his weapon and went for his phone. Dialing 911, he turned away and spoke into the handset, "Yes, my name is Chris Wyatt. I have an emergency at the Beverly Hilton, room 1402. A thirty year old female was drugged with Ecstasy at a party. She's cut her wrist on broken glass. The bleeding is arrested, but she'll need stitches, maybe surgery. Yes ma'am, I'm with her, and I'll stay on the line, but hurry. And ma'am, you should know…this is Isis Knox, the singer. I'm her security agent, Chris Wyatt."

While Craig pressed the towel to Isis' wrist, Terry found his tuxedo pants on the chair and groped through the pockets. Chris turned just in time to catch Julie Cruise before she raced past him, wearing nothing but a t-shirt and panties.

"Jesus, Ice! What happened?" Julie demanded.

"She's okay, Jules," he said, restraining her physically with an embrace. "Paramedics are on their way. Go back to the room, baby."

"The hell I will," she shouted, angry and fearful.

"My ring," Isis sobbed, reaching out to Julie in the doorway. "Oh, God, I lost Court's ring, Jules."

"Jesus," she gasped. When Chris released her, Julie climbed into the bed with her best friend. "Get off her!" she shouted to Craig in frustration. When he retreated, she applied pressure to Isis' bleeding wrist and pulled her into her arms protectively.

Finally, Terry found the gold band, produced it for her to see. "Isis, here love, look. I have your ring. You haven't lost it. It's right here."

"You took her ring?" Julie scowled in accusation. "Why?"

"She left it on the table," Terry insisted, wounded. "I put it in my pocket for safekeeping."

Julie snatched the gold band from his hand and screamed, "Get the fuck out! You were supposed to protect her, and look at this!"

Isis sobbed into Julie's t-shirt, staining it with black eyeliner as it ran down her face in trails.

"Isis…" Terry breathed, reaching for her hand. "I'm sorry."

"Get him out of here, Chris," Julie demanded, working to cover Isis' nakedness with the white shower curtain.

"Everyone, relax," Chris ordered. Then quietly, close to his ear, he said, "Terry, come on."

He didn't want to leave her, but Terry collected his clothes and retreated into the darkened suite, followed by his agents. He noted the blood on his bare chest, Isis' blood. "LAPD will want this for evidence," he said, stepping into his pants. "I'll give them the statement, Chris. You can stand down now."

But Chris Wyatt shook his head. He looked into his superior's eyes when he said it, resolute, "Terry, you're too close. You've lost your objectivity. Christ, you were in bed with her." When Terry glared at him angrily, he didn't back down. "No, you called this wrong, T. We should have taken her to the hospital hours ago. Now for everyone's sake - yours especially - stand down and let me handle LAPD."

Terry swallowed hard, shocked by his agent's calm statement of fact. After a moment of denial and struggle, he realized Chris was right. It took the wind out of him, and he had to lean back against the wall before his knees lost their strength.

"Fuck me, Chris," Terry breathed, defeated.

"Sit down, man," Chris reached out to steady his boss and friend. "She's going to be okay."

The paramedics arrived minutes later to take Isis to the hospital. Julie and Craig rode along, but it was well past dawn before Chris and Terry were finished with the LAPD. Dino's department contact, Jack White, had caught the call, so he helped to smooth the process and to keep the incident as quiet as possible. And when Terry asked about Helen Colbert, White agreed to hold her until David Goldman and the lawyer could get downtown to give her the offer.

Once the police had what they needed, they let hotel facilities in to clean up the mess. Taking the phone from his ear, Chris reported. "Cedars-Sinai says they're keeping Isis for a 72 hour hold - its standard procedure in a suspected suicide attempt."

"Not suicide," Terry insisted. "Not Isis. She said she saw Colbert, must have had a nightmare. It was the drugs, Chris."

"Well, whatever it was, the girls are coming down to get her stuff, so we can go."

Terry nodded sadly, stopped Wyatt before he turned to go. "Chris, you were right to relieve me of command tonight. Good job, mate." He offered a hand to shake, and Chris took it gratefully.

"So we're solid?" Chris asked.

"Yeah, mate," he replied. Then, grinning sheepishly, he added, "Can I bum a ride to the hospital?"

"Sorry, T," he said gently. "They said no visitors. But get your stuff, I'll drop you at home." Taking him in, Chris Wyatt realized he'd never seen Terry Thorne looking so unkempt: his white shirt stained with blood, tuxedo rumpled, dark circles under his eyes. "You look like I feel man. Time to get some sleep."

"Might not do that for a while," Terry confessed sadly. "She scared the bloody hell out of me."

w

Though the morning sun shone brightly outside, Terry's condo was closed and dark. He was thankful for the thick blinds today, one of the few accoutrements he'd bothered to put in. With his schedule, he never knew when he'd need to sleep, could be day or night, and the thick blinds allowed for either.

Terry started the shower and dialed voicemail while he undressed. Thankfully, the message from his son was the only one he'd missed. He listened intently while steam filled the Spartan bathroom.

"Hello Dad, it's Henry," he began.

Terry grimaced mildly at his son's familiar formal tone, wondered again at how the voice on the line was a man's now instead of a boy's.

"I suppose I should have called sooner, but Cor…things have been moving fast. I wanted to fly out like you suggested, tell you in person, but that's buggered. Sir…" Henry hesitated, sounded like he didn't know how to put it, then just sallied forth, the good soldier. "The thing is, I've put Uni on hold to join the Army. I wasn't supposed to start training until Fall, but my unit was called up early. I ship out Monday next week. After that, it's probably off to Iraq. I was hoping to see you, Sir - hate to give you such short notice, I know your schedule is tight - but well, there it is. So if I don't hear from you before then, goodbye Dad."

Rubbing his aching head, Terry replayed the message three times before it sank in. Instead of starting college in the fall, his eighteen year old son had joined the British Armed Forces. And Henry was right, with a war on, he'd most likely be shipped out to Iraq as soon as his training was complete. Monday next week? Christ, that was six days from now. Terry felt his sour stomach churn, thought for a moment he might vomit, but with deep breaths, he fought the urge down. Dropping the phone on the bathroom counter, he stepped under the hot spray and changed the tap to cold to battle a similar urge to cry.

Ducking his head under the cold, Terry Thorne tried to wake himself from the ongoing nightmare of this night, but it wouldn't end. Looking down, he noted the water running red against the white tub before it went down the drain. Any evidence of Isis' blood on his chest was already gone, this was his own blood. Upon further inspection, he realized that his knees were cut and clotted with blood. He must have lacerated them on the broken mirror when he knelt to pick her up. Superficial, but they stung. He welcomed the physical pain as a distraction from the overwhelming sensation of defeat and despair that wanted to close over and consume him.

After the short cold shower, Terry dressed for travel. He called the airline first, then a cab; booked on the afternoon flight out to London. While he packed, he dialed Dino's cell. It went straight to voicemail, just as he'd expected. He hadn't noticed Dino's BMW Boxster in front of Rozzie's condo, but he wasn't in the most observant frame of mind either. Must have gone to his place.

Christ, I hope you had a better night than me, mate, he prayed silently. After the tone, he tried to keep to the facts, but it turned into a confessional.

"Dean, it's me. I fucked up, mate. You were right. We should have taken her to the hospital. Isis is at Cedars-Sinai now on a 72 hour hold for suspected suicide. That wasn't it, mate, but you can get the particulars from Chris. He relieved my command, and he was right to do it. Exemplary conduct. Gold stars, mate. Ah, what else? Helen Colbert is still in custody. White said he'd hold her until we can call Goldman in the morning. Christ, it is morning." He sighed, exhausted, before he delivered the real bad news. "Dean, I need to step back. I've had a message from Henry and I need to go to London. I can't bloody believe it, but he's joining up, shipping out next week. They're sending him to Iraq, Dean. I have to go. Christ, I'm sorry…for all of it." He struggled not to let his voice crack and failed. "Tell Isis I'm fucking sorry. I'll call when I can."