Jem Van Doren's Residence

Seven River Drive

Though the townhouse foyer is very narrow, its design offers a high ceiling, one that provides a view of the entire stairwell and the first floor landing. Rena Carlson hasn't noticed this tower-like design before, but now -- as she stares at the two taller men in front of her -- she suddenly feels uncomfortably dwarfed by her surroundings.

Jem Van Doren raises a hand in the direction of the man cast in shadow behind him, who had started towards Rena the minute she entered the house. "Hold on," he says hoarsely. "Just wait a second."

"I -- I'm sorry, I thought you were alone." Rena steps back, looking at Jem for an explanation. "I wouldn't have barged in if I knew I was interrupting something. Why did you tell me no one was--"

"It's none of your business, that's why. I told you I wanted to be alone, and that should've been enough!"

Rena shakes her head. "It's not. Not after last night. I needed to make sure you were okay."

"So you're my nanny now, is that it? Sue me, I got drunk after hearing my building's practically destroyed."

The man behind Jem makes an annoyed sound in his throat. "Can I get a word in here?" His sarcastic voice sounds vaguely familiar to Rena, and she wishes Jem would step aside so she can get a better look. "I'd like to hear what she wanted to talk to you about."

"She doesn't wanna talk about anything. Nothing important."

"It sounded important to me."

"It is," Rena agrees, but adds firmly: "But it's also private."

The man moves forward again, the thin shaft of sunlight from the door's small window striking his face. And though his clothing is far more elegant and upscale than she's ever seen him wear before, Rena instantly recognizes his gold-brown hair and disconcerting silver eyes. "Jonnie Adair?"

Jem stares at her. "How the hell do you know him?"

Rena doesn't give the answer that pops into her head -- her having treated him for months following his infection with a deadly blood disease. Instead, she comes up with another true explanation. "From Boondoggles. I used to see him there all the time."

For his part, Jonnie doesn't seem pleased to recognize Rena. His mouth tightens with something that approaches dismay. "Small world."

Jem says something, but Rena can barely pay attention. She's busy trying to figure out what Jem and Jonnie could possibly have in common -- and can't think of a thing. Whatever business they have with one another, it's making Jem extremely nervous.

"Feel free to talk," Jonnie says, interrupting her thoughts. He glances at Jem for a second or two. "He has no secrets from me."

Rena shakes her head. "No, thanks," she says stiffly. "I -- I guess I'll have to come back later."

Jonnie's compact body moves between her and the door. He's not very tall, and the distance between him and Rena isn't as great as it is with most men she knows. But the sense of tightly controlled strength exuding from him is very intimidating, and she shrinks back a little.

"No," he murmurs. It doesn't sound like an order or a threat -- more like a gentle recommendation. "You should stay."

"That's all right, I -- "

"You said you needed to talk to him. So talk."

"Damn it!" Jem limps closer to Rena and turns, facing the other man. "Knock it off, all right? She's got nothing to do with anything."

"Yeah? That's not what it sounded like before." Jonnie shifts to look up at Jem. "I'm just doing my job, and that means getting the information I came for. If you won't give it to me, maybe the nurse here can."

Rena catches the faint menace in his tone, and her breathing quickens. Jem moves a little in front of her with an unexpected display of protectiveness. "Trust me, she can't. There's nothing to say, so go and tell --" Jem hesitates, flicking a wary look at Rena before continuing. "Go and tell your boss that he's barking up the wrong tree. Tell him our business'll be, uh, transacted in a couple of weeks. And tell him after that, the whole thing'll be done."

Rena remains silent, confused but unwilling to speak in front of Jonnie. After a pause Jonnie shakes his head slightly, a tight smile on his face. "Yeah, well, I don't think I'll be telling him that. Things are done when he says they are. It's not up to me ... and it's sure as hell not up to you either. "

He swings the door open and starts to leave. But as he crosses the threshold, he darts a final glance at Rena. Beneath the piercing intensity of his gaze, Rena feels like a butterfly pinned to a piece of cardboard.

"See you around," he says quietly. Almost regretfully.

When the door closes behind him, Jem rakes his hands through his hair and exhales. Rena tries to shake off the fear that Jonnie's parting words instilled in her, reaching a hand out to Jem's arm.

Jem turns to her. The expression in his hooded blue eyes is somehow both resentful and embarrassed. "I told you to leave."

"I can't leave now, not after all that. Please tell me what's going on. Is it related to the fire?"

"Nothing's going on. I'm handling everything, it's all gonna be fine. Life's a goddamned cabaret."

"Is Jonnie or someone else threatening you?"

"Don't be ridiculous. You've got a hell of an imagination for a down-to-earth nurse."

"Are you in danger?"

"I -- no! For God's sake, can't you just--"

"Jem!" She pulls at his sleeve, forcing him to look straight at her. "Am I in danger?"

Jem hesitates for a fraction of a second. "Of course not," he mutters. "Now will you go?"

Pulling her coat more closely around her, Rena shakes her head. "I have one more question," she says slowly. "It's the reason I came here, and I'm not leaving until you answer."

A long silence follows. Finally Jem turns away towards the living room. "Then welcome to your new home, Nurse," he mutters with a bitter smile. "Because that's a question I'm not gonna be answering."

Schuyler Falls Police Station

Mike Fiore hangs up the phone, tapping the receiver thoughtfully with his fingers. He looks down at his notes, freshly scribbled in his longhand, and lets himself digest the contents for a minute or so. Then, wiping a hand over his mouth to hide a yawn, he stands up from his desk.

"Frank, you want some lunch?"

With a grunt, Frank Gabriel finishes typing a word before looking up at his partner. "Only if you're ordering in. What the hell did you guys do while I was away, pretend that paperwork didn't exist? I've had to deal with some things that should've been handled a month ago."

Mike chuckles and ambles across the bullpen to peer over Frank's broad shoulder. "That's sure not from a month ago."

"No. The newspaper fire's the only current thing I've got, though."

"Don't complain. Could be a pretty big case."

"I'm not sure there is a case." Frank's gaze narrows as he reads his own notes. "According to the prelim report from the fire investigators on scene, so far there's no proof of anything suspicious."

"Do they know how the fire started? Or even where?"

"Where is pretty much a given -- in the basement near the oil burner. As far as how, they've got plenty of possibilities. The room was supposedly used for storage, and there were plenty of painting supplies, rags, newspapers -- you name it, it was flammable."

"Not to mention the burner itself."

Frank shrugs. "That's where the explosion came from, yeah."

Mike leans against his desk. "So it could be an accident. You look disappointed."

"I'm not." After a pause, Frank grins wryly. "Okay, maybe I am. I've been out so long I'm dying for something to sink my teeth into. Look at you, running around with two murders to clear. I should be working those with you, not typing out yellow sheets."

"Believe me, I wish you were riding with me too. The Kessleman case is dead in the water until I get some from our hospitalized victim. I can't get a thing out of her -- and I bet you could."

Frank raises an eyebrow at his friend. "Why?"

"You've always had a better bedside manner than me. Look how well you handled Olivia." Mike grins slowly. "Not that you'd necessarily want to repeat the same strategy."

"Very funny."

"You guys left the opera awfully early. Didn't get a chance to say hello."

"I wasn't feeling so great, and Olivia decided to leave." Clearing his throat, Frank shifts in his chair to make his bandaged leg more comfortable. "Anyway, let's get back to you and your workload."

"Well, since I'm stuck on Kessleman, I'm focusing more on the Reilly case. And I'm not liking where that's headed."

"Why not?"

Mike glances back at his desk, and the notes he just took from his last conversation. "I just got finished talking to the lab. Reilly was definitely killed outside the house, we already knew that. But when they went over the scene with Luminol they found traces of Reilly's blood in the kitchen sink. Which is where we found Durand's fingerprints."

"You said he admitted he went into the kitchen the day after Reilly died, right? To feed the dog?"

"Yeah. Is that something an average person would do for a stranger he hardly knew?"

"Actually I would."

Mike gives him a crooked smile. "You think everyone's as nuts about dogs as you are?"

"Uh, I'll take the Fifth on that. Were there prints on the dog dish or not?"

"Yeah. And the can opener. But most of 'em were on the sink and the countertop. And according to the CS guys, it looks like there was some kind of scuffle between him and someone else."

Frank's jaw tightens. "Was it David Reilly?"

"That can't be confirmed. Reilly's prints are naturally all over his own house. There are some other unidentified partials scattered around, but they're pretty much unusable."

"Jesus. This is hard to swallow, Mike." Frank rubs his neatly clipped beard, thinking. "Durand's worked closely with the department for years. He's a pathologist, for God's sake. Wouldn't he know better than to leave a trail like that?"

"Hell, every layperson and his mother knows we look for prints, but we still find lots of 'em anyway." Mike sighs heavily. "I'm not saying I'm focusing only on him. I'm still trying to track down this mystery guy, the boyfriend nobody's seen -- and whose name only Durand knows."

"No proof of his existence in the house?"

"Not unless he left some of those unidentified partials. David Reilly lived alone, that's definite. The parents say they talked to him a lot, and he hasn't mentioned a boyfriend."

Shrugging, Frank lifts a hand to massage his sore neck. "Wouldn't be the first guy to hide a relationship from his parents, especially if he's gay. Maybe he hid that from them too."

"Not his style. The father told me they've known about all that since he was twelve."

"Twelve? Damn. Isn't that a little early?"

"I dunno, how old were you when you first played doctor with a girl?"

A slow smile crosses Frank's lips. "I'm gonna have to take the Fifth again. I was kind of a child prodigy. So ... getting back to the Kessleman case. Tell me, has the DA's office gotten involved with this yet?"

"Actually, yeah. Granger showed up at the hospital the morning it happened, but I wasn't sure why. He doesn't usually join in so early..." Mike's forehead wrinkles with his frown. "How'd you know they'd be interested?"

"I know Kessleman's history. I arrested him, remember?"

"But the charges didn't stick. Or was there more to it than that?"

Frank hesitates. "Did Granger say there was more to it?"

"No. Why aren't you answering my questions directly?" Mike shakes his head, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. "What the hell's going on, Frank?"

"Look ... I'll explain more when I can, okay? I just need to clear it with Cahill and Granger."

Staring down at his partner, Mike grimaces. "I don't believe this bull. I'm being kept in the dark about my own case? Am I suddenly a bad security risk or something?"

"No!" Frank sighs. "It's just that ... there's a big picture here. Until I get the okay, my hands are tied."

"Yeah. So are mine, apparently." Mike looks at the large white plastic clock over the sign-in board. "All right, I'd better get going if I wanna grab a sandwich. You sure you don't wanna come with me? I don't mind slowing down for a gimp like you."

"Thanks, but I'd better wait here. I'm expecting a call from the Record's janitor."

Hesitating on his way to the door, Mike turns back to Frank. "For what?"

"Just clarification. Maybe he'll be able to tell me if they always stored so many flammables in such close quarters."

Cliffside Cavern

Alex Eckhert's Suite

A trail of clothing hastily discarded onto the cream-colored carpet runs from the doorway to the living room. The afternoon sun slants in through the picture windows, falling onto the half-naked figures twisted together on the floor.

Both Alex and Danielle are still wearing their shirts -- Alex's is half-unbuttoned, though Danielle's falls open on either side of her bare breasts. His fingers grab onto the carpet fibers as he lunges into her, practically snarling. She, as usual, doesn't see him -- her eyes are closed, and though her legs wrap around his waist to draw him further into her, she seems to feel nothing.

"Are you almost done?" she murmurs.

"Bitch," he grunts, thrusting harder. "Show me something, you cold bitch!"

Danielle opens her eyes, which sparkle in the sunlight. "I'm sorry, are -- are you talking to me?" she whispers with difficulty, wincing a little in pain. "I didn't think you knew I was in the room."

At this Alex finally slams himself forward, crushing his mouth onto Danielle's lips as he groans with his release. After a frozen moment, he sighs and relaxes on top of her. His hand clutches her breast in a rough caress.

Eventually he rolls to one side, eyeing her perfect ivory profile. "What did you mean by that?"

She pushes her fingers through her copper hair. "By what, precisely?"

"Saying I didn't know you were in the room."

Her mouth curls into a sideways smile. "You weren't thinking about me when you ripped my skirt off and shoved me to the floor." Danielle sits up slightly, leaning on her elbow to look down at him. "You were punishing that woman from last night, weren't you?"

Alex stares at her, the perspiration covering his body suddenly feeling ice cold. "That's ludicrous."

"What was her name again? Martina?" Danielle shrugs off her silk blouse and pushes herself to her feet. "You never did tell me how you recognized her. But I'm not as unobservant as you seem to think I am, Alex."

"And -- and what exactly did you observe?"

She heads off to the bathroom, presumably to take a shower, and glances back at Alex over her shoulder. "I saw your reaction to her finding us together. That wasn't just dismay that we'd been discovered. You were upset that we were discovered by her."

Watching the door close behind Danielle, Alex waits a moment to collect his thoughts. Then he gets up and heads into the bathroom as well, tossing his own shirt aside.

She's wrapped a towel around her hair, not wanting to get it wet, and is busy soaping herself up in the steaming shower. Alex watches her, normally expecting to feel aroused by the sight of a wet, sudsy Danielle. But instead he focuses on the topic at hand.

"I told you last night that I can handle her," he says loudly over the water.

"So you did. I hope this wasn't what you meant. Handling her by proxy." Danielle closes her eyes, letting the water stream down her body to rinse off the soap. "When did you start seeing her?"

Alex scowls and steps into the water beside her. "Give me some credit, Danny. Why would I bother with someone like her when I have you?"

She laughs. "You don't 'have' me. Maybe that's exactly why you've turned to her."

"You have no idea what you're talking about. I admit I was angry that she was the one to discover us, but not for that reason."

"Then explain."

With a deep breath, Alex runs his hands through his now-damp hair. "She holds a grudge against me. That's why she's the worst possible person to have found us, aside from your husband -- or your mother-in-law. She would love for a chance to hurt me, after what happened between us."

"What did happen between you?"

"It was a very long time ago. We were engaged -- I know, it's laughable, but I suppose I was rebelling against my upbringing. Besides, I thought I could turn her into the perfect politician's wife." Alex grimaces, trying not to invoke the memories of his time with Martina. "I was wrong. When I saw how wrong I was, I took the advice of my parents and broke things off. She was bitter, furious ... I suspect she saw marrying me as an easy way out of the shabby law office job her father planned for her. And ever since, she's missed few opportunities to make outrageous claims about my supposed mistreatment of her."

Danielle takes a step backwards, examining him through heavy-lidded eyes. "I see," she says slowly. "I understand why you'd be worried about her finding us. You think she's a serious threat?"

Alex hesitates before shaking his head. "I'll be able to keep her quiet."

"Are you sure? I can make sure she's quiet myself, if you'd like."

Narrowing his eyes, Alex tries to read her meaning. "Danielle ... you aren't serious."

"I haven't been married to Cameron for sixteen years without making a few contacts of my own." Danielle smiles at his apparent concern. "Think of it as a form of pre-emptive self-defense. After all, Cameron is willing to kill you if he learns what we've been doing."

Alex takes a ragged breath. "No," he says again forcefully. "I'll take care of Martina. She'll do whatever I say once I explain certain things to her."

"As you wish. And I hope this is the last time you'll be preoccupied while making love to me."

"Preoccupation is your department. I'm always very aware of who I'm with."

She runs her fingers through his wet, curling hair. "Don't get me wrong, I don't mind your sleeping with another woman. But when you and I are together, I will not be used as a substitute punching bag. If you want to punish her, then go find her and do it. But don't you dare use me like that again."

Danielle steps forward, letting her slick skin slide against him, and licks his ear before whispering: "Because if you do, Alex, I might have to tell Cameron about you myself."

Her threat both frightens him and makes him ache for her. Leaning into her, he presses her into the shower wall, moving his hand between her legs. "It won't happen again," he promises, slowly teasing her into readiness. This time, when they make love, Alex's mind and body focus only on Danielle.

But later, when she's left for her luncheon appointment, and Alex is dressing to return to work, his thoughts churn with plans about how best to deal with the Martina situation.

Red Flame Diner

Parking Lot

Sitting in his car, Ross Granger sips his coffee, watching the steam fog up the window in front of him. A figure approaches the passenger's side door, and a quick glance confirms that it's the young man Ross has been expecting. He unlocks the door to let Jonnie in.

"I'm glad you could make it," Ross says dryly, watching Jonnie sit down beside him. "A half-hour late. Any particular reason you didn't call to let me know you'd be delayed?"

"Who are you, my mother? I'm here, that's what counts."

Ross shifts in his seat to get a good look at Jonnie's face. "You look terrible."

"Yeah, happy New Year to you too. Can we cut to the chase, already? What do you want?"

"I told you on the phone what we want. Proof that you're getting somewhere with your investigation."

Jonnie's lips tighten in disdain. "Proof. I'd'a thought Kessleman getting whacked would've been proof enough. Why aren't you guys doing something about that?"

"First, there's no evidence linking anyone in the Nichols organization to Mr. Kessleman's death."

"No evidence? Dean as good as told me he popped the guy!"

"That's hardly enough to bring to a grand jury. And besides ..." Ross slowly replaces the cap on his Styrofoam coffee cup. "I'm afraid that arresting Dean Nelson for this murder isn't a high priority at the moment."

"Murder isn't a high priority? That's some justice system you've got there."

With a quick shake of his head, Ross puts the coffee down in the car's cup holder. "I said this murder. If we manage to take Nick down, or better yet, his brother, we'd be able to stop many, many more deaths."

"So one lousy bookie isn't worth your time, huh? Even though you put him in front of that bullet yourself?"

Ross's dark eyes flash with anger. "Don't give me that. Kessleman made his choice of career long before I ever offered him a deal. And as long as we're talking about guilt, Jonnie ... I'm curious to know why he's dead and you're still alive. If they knew he was talking to us, they must have guessed your role as well."

Looking out at the parking lot, Jonnie doesn't respond right away. "I sold 'em a story, that's all."

"Which was what?"

"I switched things around. Made it seem like Kessleman came to me with an offer after I was already working for Nick. And I told 'em I said no, obviously."

"I see." Ross pauses. "You told them all this after Kessleman was killed, I presume?"

Jonnie glances back at him. "Yeah," he says evenly. "After he was killed."

"And they believed you?"

"Eventually. But I'm not exactly flavor of the month. It's gonna take some time for me to build up some trust again."

"Well, we don't have that much time. As I said, Mr. Mitchell wants us to hurry things along."

Bristling, Jonnie laughs harshly. "Yeah? Then why don't you tell him to put his ass in danger every day?"

"He's not the one who has a deal to fulfill," Ross snaps. "You do." After a few seconds of silence, he sighs. "Listen, Jonnie ... I understand your concerns, but--"

"'Concerns'! Yeah, that's what keeps me up nights with the cold sweats, 'concerns'."

"-- But the truth is, we need to speed things up, like it or not. And I've worked out a plan with Mitchell and a few others in my department that should help us a great deal."

Jonnie exhales. "I bet I'm not included in that 'us,' am I?"

"Actually, I think you are. The sooner this is over with, the sooner you'll be out of danger, right?"

"Yeah. Right. So what is this plan?"

Ross leans over to his briefcase, pulling out a folder. "Here," he says, smiling coolly as he hands Jonnie the folder. "Welcome to Operation Mousetrap."

Schuyler Falls Community Hospital

Room 520

For the second time today, Daphne White enters the room where her father lies, his damaged body hooked up to a variety of machines that seem even more numerous than when Daphne last visited.

Moving closer to the bed, she stares up at the heart monitor, as if needing confirmation that he's really alive. Then, finally, she forces herself to look at his sickly face.

Behind her, her uncle Greg tightens his grip on her trembling shoulder. "Are you all right?"

Daphne takes a shallow breath, the best she can do at the moment. "Don't worry," she says weakly. "I'm not gonna run away again. Could I -- could I be alone with him for a minute?"

"You sure?" Greg bends and kisses the top of her head, then points with his thumb in the direction of the hallway. "I'll be right outside."

"Okay." Daphne glances over her shoulder at him. "Thanks, Greg."

He smiles and leaves the room. The machines seem louder now that Daphne's by herself, and she takes a moment to look at them, even though she has no idea what most of them are for. At last she drags her gaze back to Doug.

Much of his lower face is obscured by the respirator tube. But the rest of him is all too easy to see -- the bruises, the ashy complexion, the day's growth of beard.

Daphne reaches out, brushing her fingertips against his cheek to feel the sandpaper-like stubble. She remembers when she was very young -- before things got really bad with her parents -- her father used to come home from the hospital unshaven. They'd joke about his five o'clock shadow, and Daphne would squeal as he rubbed his rough cheek against hers. Then, only after he shaved again, Daphne would nod her approval so he could kiss her goodnight.

"Why did you change?" she croaks now, her throat thick and sore. "I know you never wanted me, you told that to Mom. But you used to be able to pretend. You used to at least try."

Daphne's hand retreats from Doug's face, and she grasps the cold metal railing of his bed. "I hate you for not trying. You gave up on me, and I was only a kid, I didn't deserve it. It wasn't my fault you didn't want to be married. It wasn't my fault that I ruined your life. I hate you for thinking I did. And I hate you for not being able to hide it!"

She ignores the tears falling down her cheeks as she stares down at him. "That's not how I want to feel. I wish I could look at you now and think how much I love you -- how much I'd miss you if you didn't wake up. And I -- I don't know if I would. I already miss the Dad you used to be. But he's been dead a long time, and even if you wake up, he'll still be dead."

Doug just lies there, immobile, and Daphne closes her eyes in agonized shame. "I shouldn't say this stuff. I know I shouldn't, but Daddy, I can't help it," she cries, breaking down. "I'm just so confused, and I--"

A piercing electronic tone interrupts Daphne's words. As she jerks her head up in the direction of the noise, her attention is grabbed by a monitor's glaring red alarm light.

"Oh God, no," she whispers, paralyzed at the realization that something is very, very wrong. "No!".