1. Renaissance Diner

Cornwall, NY

Jonnie Adair precedes Dean Nelson into the smoke-filled section in the back of the busy restaurant, his gray gaze sweeping the alcove and noticing an odd discrepancy between this and the Renaissance Diner's crammed front room. Apparently the staff's been made aware of the need for privacy for tonight's meeting.

Tonight's meeting. Christ, if only he could have had more time to prepare. Jonnie knows all too well that he's no Robert DeNiro. And the idea of putting on an act in front of a group of criminals, each of whom will gladly kill him even in public without breaking a sweat, fills him with more than a little stage fright. But that's what Nick Nichols has ordered. Jonnie's role -- and Dean's too, but it's Jonnie who has a bigger part in this grim production -- is basically to convince a group of piranhas that despite all their experience, the sharp, deadly hook isn't really out to get them.

If he succeeds, the fish will take the bait. If he fails, they'll go after Jonnie instead, tearing him into unidentifiable shreds.

Jonnie recognizes none of the five men at the round table, never having met any before, but he can guess at their identities. The two no-necked thugs who don't rate chairs are bodyguards. Bald dude in need of some Weight Watcher's meetings is Lloyd Scanlon, a guy who has roughly the same position in the Vaughan organization that Dean has with the Nichols family. Scanlon occupies himself by playing with a matchbook, turning it over in his stubby fingers.

And at the center are Hugh and Taggart Vaughan, father and son leaders of a family that's clashed with the Nicholses for decades. Hugh Vaughan, with straight graying hair cut micro-short, looks every inch the Man in Charge. His charcoal gray suit must've cost over a thousand, easy; quite a contrast to Nick's usual wardrobe of sweaters and comfortable trousers. Though there's some wariness in Vaughan's brown eyes, the older man sits casually with one arm resting against the tall back of the seat beside him. His son Taggart, all golden hair and sharp cheekbones, sits and keeps his dark eyes steadily on Dean.

"Nelson," Vaughan says with a surprisingly pleasant voice. "You came after all."

Dean doesn't return the jovial attitude. "I'm the one who called to request the meeting. Wouldn't make sense if I didn't show."

"Unless you were setting up some sort of trap."

Dean shifts his gaze from Vaughan to Scanlon, who made the remark. "It's no trap. You know damn well it's no trap, or you wouldn't'a let either one of them--" -- he gestures with his head towards Vaughan and his son -- "anywhere near here."

"Yeah, we checked out the place. That's why it's empty."

"No kidding. I figured it's 'cause of that cheap-ass cigar you've got stuffed in your mouth."

Though Lloyd just grimaces, Vaughan smiles at the dig, apparently not minding an insult now and then directed at his right hand man.

While looking at the smile, which bares some of the older man's upper teeth and gums, Jonnie is suddenly transported back to the time he spent as a kid living in the back room of an auto repair shop. Part of his job was opening up the shop, including going out to the fenced-in lot, dragging the boss's guard dog back inside, and locking it away from the customers.

After a night roaming free, the dog resented being leashed up again, and always met Jonnie with a feral snarl that warned of barely restrained mayhem. Every morning Jonnie fully expected the dog to make a leap for him, taking a big chunk out of his throat; sure enough, one day it finally happened.

Hugh Vaughan's expression brings all this back. Oddly enough, though the wounds haven't bothered him in years, Jonnie is abruptly aware that his shirt collar is chafing at the rough scar tissue left over from that old attack. Swallowing, he reaches up to loosen his tie to give his throat a little more room.

The gesture diverts Vaughan's attention to Jonnie, and with a nod the man addresses him. "So, this is the one who's got something to say, huh? What's your name?"

"Jonnie Adair."

"Adair? You're not Irish, are you?"

Frowning, Jonnie glances at Dean before returning to meet Vaughan's examination. "I don't know what I am. Didn't even know Adair's an Irish name."

"It can be. My father's best friend was named Adair ... Kiernan, I think it was. Funny if this was some relative of yours."

Not having expected this turn in the conversation, Jonnie shifts awkwardly. "I've got no relatives that I know about. For all I know, you could be my family."

Dean makes a deep noise in his throat, though whether it's a warning or a chuckle, Jonnie can't tell. Though Vaughan doesn't seem to disapprove of Jonnie's comment, his son's face reveals a less ambiguous reaction.

"Not likely," Taggart Vaughan mutters, his eyes narrowed and glinting. "Our family leaves its trash in the gutter."

His father tilts his head. "Tag."

The young man, who's probably a couple of years younger than Jonnie, rises and rests both hands on the table, leaning forward pugnaciously. "I don't like wasting time with someone Nick Nichols picked up on the street. This whole meeting is a joke."

"Just sit down, all right?"

"Why should we listen to a word out of their mouths when Nichols doesn't bother doing his own dirty work? Of course, I'd never expect the almighty Cameron to show up, but Nicky has some goddamn nerve, thinking he can just order us around without even appearing himself. I told you before that this was a bad --"

"Sit. Down."

Even though the knifelike tone of Vaughan's voice isn't directed at him, Jonnie feels an electric tingle racing down his spine, and his hand twitches with the impulse to go for his gun. He cuts the gesture short, pretending instead to look at his watch. Cool it, he warns himself, shaken by his own edginess. One thing's for sure -- he's not anxious to be on the receiving end of Vaughan's unleashed anger.

Taking his seat once more, Tag flings Jonnie a resentful glance, as if Jonnie's to blame for his father's displeasure. He leans back and crosses his hands over his chest, a sullen expression on his lean, sculpted face.

Though he returns his gaze to Lloyd Scanlon, who's busy telling Dean to take a seat, Jonnie makes sure to keep the younger man in the corner of his eye. Tag Vaughan clearly bears watching.

2. Schuyler Falls Community Hospital

Psychiatry Department, Sixth Floor

Today's strange, mutable weather -- first sunny, now cloudy with raindrops pelting the windows -- reflects the mood of the young woman walking away from Room 604. As soon as she reaches the central reception desk area, Chelsea Stanford dumps the clipboard and notecards from her arms onto the countertop. A petulant frown pushes her lower lip outwards, and she stares dolefully out the windows at the gloomy sky.

"Great, and now I have to go out with no umbrella," she mutters. "This day couldn't possibly get more sucktastic."

"I agree." Kalid Behar's low, musical voice reaches Chelsea from a few yards away, where the tall psychiatrist has exited the stairwell. "Although I believe the correct clinical term is 'craptacular'."

Chelsea turns, eyeing Kalid's attractive face carefully for traces of mockery. But his deep onyx eyes twinkle with amusement despite the weariness betrayed by the darkened circles beneath them. The dark circles aren't unusual. Though Chelsea's only been volunteering in the psychiatry department for a few weeks, she's heard that Kalid has insomnia and often doesn't get nearly enough sleep.

"Your day lousy too, Doc?"

"One frustration after another. Why are you upset, though? Did Mrs. Ogilvy give you trouble?"

With a tilt of her head in the direction of Room 604, Chelsea nods. "I showed her the cards like you asked, but she wouldn't take the test seriously. Maybe I shouldn't be doing stuff like this. I'm not a shrink and she knows it."

"It was a straightforward memory test, and noting her responses requires no medical degree. Ogilvy is being difficult because she's trying to test you."

"Yeah, and I failed with flying colors." Chelsea rolls her shoulders to get some of the tension out of them. "So what about you? What're you doing back here so soon, anyway? I thought you were called for a consult."

"So did I. By the time I got down to Dr. Starr's office, the patient had disappeared." Leaning heavily against the side of the desk, Kalid runs a hand through his curly crop of brown hair. "An interesting case, though. A young woman presents with all the symptoms of pregnancy, coupled with an attendant illness that could create some very serious complications. But according to Starr, the patient refuses to believe the diagnosis."

Chelsea shrugs and pulls out a piece of gum from her jacket pocket, unwrapping it. "Doesn't sound so weird to me." She holds out the gum, mutely offering Kalid half, but he shakes his head. "Y'know, denial, right? Isn't that what happens with serious illnesses?"

"She's not disavowing the illness, just the pregnancy -- despite several tests and a conclusive physical examination. Grew extremely agitated at the suggestion, claiming that she hasn't had sexual relations with anyone for years, and accused the doctor of persecuting her."

"She thinks she's the Virgin Mary? Maybe you can toss Ogilvy outta 604 and put this chick in instead."

Kalid's smile fades. "I don't know if she needs hospitalization. But at any rate, I can only help her if she returns." With a contemplative sigh, he glances at his watch. "Well, I need to get back to my office. Could you do me a favor, Chelsea? I have an appointment with a patient downstairs in a little while, our second meeting, but I forgot to send him down some pamphlets I promised. I'd appreciate it if you'd run down there--"

"But I'm through for the day. I was just leaving."

"I know, but I'd really like him to have a chance to read up on this before we meet again. It's Room 382, you could just stop by on your way out."

"Did you say 382?" Chelsea perks up. "That's Doug White's room, isn't it?"

Kalid nods. "Do you know him?"

"Um, yeah." She chews her gum contemplatively. "Okay, sure. I'll go down to see him."

"Excellent, thank you. Just grab the introductory materials on PTSD -- er, that's post traumatic stress disorder -- from the top drawer of the green filing cabinet. He might not be awake, but if he is, offer him the booklets and see if some relative or friend is available to read them to him."

"You got it. Hey, maybe I'll read them to him myself."

Kalid lifts an eyebrow, clearly surprised at her sudden burst of generosity, but just thanks her again and heads down the corridor. After watching him leave, Chelsea grins and hurries to fetch the pale yellow pamphlets from the cabinet. Greg may not be around, but even so, probably can't hurt to suck up to his brother. Might even be better if Greg hears about this secondhand...

Humming to herself, Chelsea pushes the elevator button and, when the doors open, steps inside. And nearly collides with the tall, lean man waiting for her.

"Damn it!" she cries, startled and annoyed. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Just the lady I'm looking for," Jem Van Doren says, his blue eyes almost devouring her with their desperation. He takes hold of her shoulders and drawers her nearer. "We need to talk."

3. Schuyler Falls Community Hospital

There are so many people in the elevator. They come on, they try not to stare, and then they leave again without a word to the woman hugging herself in a corner of the car.

There's also a crowd in Beth Durand's mind. All of them fighting, all of them struggling to retain control of her weakened body. The strongest, oddly, is one of the youngest -- Bitsy, who has been trying to get off this horrible elevator for twenty minutes now. But none of the others will let her. They don't want her to go. They fear her.

Most afraid of all is Amanda. She has been unable to move since the night of the opera, forced into the room of Oblivion where they all have to stay when not in command of the household. Her twin sister Samantha is in here with her, punished for starting the whole chain of events with Tristan Campbell. But she's not nearly as upset as Amanda. Amanda's had to watch everyone destroy her happiness with the man she loves, and now ... oh God, and now she has to wait while the others decide what to do about her baby.

And this is her baby. Not Samantha's, and certainly not Beth's. No one else has the right to make this decision. They may have taken away her chance with Tristan, but she can't let them do that to this child ...

Amanda shudders. She knows that Bitsy needs to be stopped -- and that means convincing Molly, the caretaker who's locked her in this virtual room, to let Amanda take control.

Please, Molly, she begs, hoping that the old woman will take pity. Please listen to me. This child -- it means everything to me. It could be that way for all of us. I can make sure things go right, I will, if you just let me out!

Molly Durand stands in the doorway of this strange black room, her form soft and pear-shaped but her manner as rigid as a steel girder. This whole mess is your fault, you and Samantha. Neither of you can solve it any more than she can. Her voice darkens as she refers to Beth. You'll only make it worse, and it's already gone too far. And now, with this illness? Even God doesn't want this obscenity to continue.

Amanda feels a sob rising in her throat, but she's strong enough to keep the terror at bay. There's nothing obscene about the child of two people who love each other.

Molly's harsh laughter is like a smack in the face. Tristan Campbell doesn't love you, my girl. He never even met you. All he knows is that you're a liar and a sneak and a whore.

The words leave Amanda in stricken silence. But a soft ripple of laughter emerges from the other young woman in the room, who's been standing and admiring her image in the tall mirror by the dresser. Samantha then turns around.

Not really true, Moll, she says with lips curved in amusement. In all fairness, I was the liar and whore. Amanda was just aiding and abetting. Just like you.

Like me? Molly's wrinkled hand tightens on the doorknob. What are you talking about now?

Samantha twirls her long, curling brown hair around her finger as she walks nearer to Molly. You were with Tristan that last evening at the Lighthouse, remember? Woke up in his arms, those wonderful, strong arms ... She smiles dreamily. You could've told him about my little playacting game right then and there. But you didn't.

That's because it was the wrong time. He wouldn't have understood. You saw how he reacted when he finally figured it out on his own -- the man's sinful, he's capable of anything! I was trying to protect us.

Giggling, Samantha shakes her head. Now who's the liar? Why don't you tell the truth for once?

Molly doesn't back down. What truth?

That you liked being there with him. Old and dried-up as you are, I bet you enjoyed having Tristan beneath you, his arms holding you. Samantha moves in, her movements sinewy and slow, a rattlesnake approaching its transfixed victim. I know Bitsy used to sneak around, spying on me and Amanda whenever we were with him. What about you, Moll? Were you there all those nights too, watching?

Within the dark room Molly's flushed face is visible only in the light slanting in through the slightly opened doorway. Amanda can't see her, but Samantha can, and she smiles at the success of her insinuations. Oh, yes, old woman, you saw us. In bed, on the dock, up against the wall ... you saw every minute of it, I can tell. Not that I blame you, Tristan was spectacular to look at, and powerful ... so very powerful inside me --

You shut your mouth! Molly backs away, revulsion narrowing her eyes. J-just you shut your filthy mouth!

Samantha laughs and goes on as if Molly hasn't spoken. I bet you regret not having that for yourself, don't you? You left so early that night at the Lighthouse, but you could've stayed around and given him a try. That's what you're really angry about, isn't it? Not letting yourself be with him, the way Amanda and I did? She lowers her voice. Never allowing that sinful man to fuck you senseless?

4. Schuyler Falls Community Hospital

The doors close behind Chelsea, but she barely notices them. "I don't have anything to say to you," she says, striding to the far end of the car. "I think we're done talking, buddy."

Jem swivels to face her. "Just listen, all right? Trust me, I wouldn't be here if I had anywhere else to go."

"So you came to the psych department?" She laughs harshly. "Yeah, that's about right. There's a bed opening up soon--"

"Knock it off. This isn't a joke." For once, he seems to be sincere -- the expression on his face is undeniably serious. "I know you're pissed off with me. But I -- I really need a favor, and you're the last chance I've got."

Chelsea rests her arms across her chest. "Um, okay, let's see if I have this right. First you dump me and say you're all about Nurse Tightass, she's the real gal for you. And now you have the nerve to come after me again because you need something from me?"

Jem looks at the floor. "Basically."

"I see. So why aren't you basically begging Rena for whatever-this-favor-is?"

"I can't -- it's not something she can do for me."

"Yeah, well, I already told you she doesn't do anything. But that's too damn bad for you, bub. I'm not gonna be your sex toy while you try to pry her legs open with a crowbar--"

"God damn it!" Jem almost erupts with motion, pushing himself towards her and grabbing her shoulders. "Will you for once just be quiet and let me talk?"

Chelsea finds herself frozen, unaccountably shaken by his proximity. She realizes it's been ages since she's seen him in a suit, his honey-colored hair clean, and his face shaven and back to its unbruised, attractive self for the first time since his mugging.

And his eyes are hypnotic. Their ice blue gaze almost pins her into the wall with its electricity.

"All right," she says hoarsely -- a little resentful that only now, after he's broken things off with her, does he look this good. "Go ahead."

Jem moistens his lips, and for a moment Chelsea is certain he's just as affected as she is. I don't believe it, he still wants me. The son of a bitch still wants me, and he thinks he can just come up to me like nothing's happened...

The funny thing is, Chelsea isn't all that surprised. The real shock to her system is the discovery that she actually wants Jem Van Doren to kiss her. She wants very badly for him to kiss her right now.

But as always, Jem ruins everything by speaking. "I need money."

Chelsea blinks. "You -- you what?"

"I need money. I need a lot of it, and I need you to ask your father for a loan."

The words sink in far too slowly. Finally Chelsea feels her cheeks burn, angry and embarrassed as if he could possibly have known what she was thinking. "You are such an ass."

"Yeah. I know. But I still need you to ask your father--"

"I heard you the first time!" Chelsea shoves her hands into his chest, wanting him to let her go, wanting to slam him into the wall. "Here's a newsflash for you, Mr. Editor-in-Chief. Dad would never give you a nickel! He thinks you're as big an idiot as I do, and I'm not gonna waste my time begging on your behalf--"

Jem claps a hand on her mouth. "I can't waste time either," he says, almost whispering. "I know he wouldn't give me a nickel. I already tried that. I'm talking about him lending you the money. I'm asking for you to ask him for a loan for yourself, and then to give it to me. And I need you to do it today."

Chelsea gapes at him, stunned. When the elevator doors open onto the third floor, she reaches up to rip his fingers off her before stomping out. "You really are crazy!"

He follows her relentlessly. "Chelsea--"

"I mean, like, you are seriously mentally ill!" The notion of asking her father for anything right now, considering the state of their relationship, nearly makes Chelsea choke. "You know how things are between Dad and me. Going to him for a handout ... my God, why would I want to embarrass myself like that for you?"

"Because if you don't --" Jem cuts himself off, and reaches for her. At first it seems as if he's going to cover her mouth again, but to her surprise he only gently brushes her cheek. Then he drops his hand. "Because I don't have anywhere else to go," he finishes at last, looking away.

As she watches him, an unfamiliar sympathy ripples through her. But something -- a hint of avarice in his eyes, a twitch of nervousness from his fingers -- kills the emotion almost as suddenly as it appeared.

"Yeah, you do," she mutters. "You can go straight to hell."

5. Nick and Hannah Nichols' Residence

East Cornwall, NY

The library in Nick Nichols' home is a far cry from its counterpart in High Meadows, the estate belonging to his half-brother. Where Cameron's library consists of dark wood, slate tiles on the floor, expensive velvet furniture, and even more expensive artwork, this room is more of an elaborate playpen for Nick and Hannah's children. The floor is cushioned with durable but comfortable carpeting, and soft low sofas are the only real furniture. Tables would not only be a waste of space, but they could be hazardous to Heather, Justin and Hope, not to mention an obstacle for Hannah's wheelchair.

Nick sits on the floor, his back leaning against one of the sofas. He knows he should be going over some of the numbers from his various bookies and other employees, but right now he's enjoying himself too much. Watching the twins play with their massive new Lego set is pretty damn entertaining.

A knock on the open door gets his attention, and he looks up to find Dean waiting in the hallway.

"Back already, huh?" Nick says, snapping a pair of wheels into the miniature Lego car he's been putting together. "That was fast."

Dean glances emotionlessly at the toys surrounding his boss. "You got time for a report? I don't mean to interrupt or anything."

Ignoring the smartassed remark, Nick tosses the car onto the floor and stands up. He negotiates his way around the kids and their playthings, finally reaching the hallway -- where he discovers that Jonnie is also waiting for him. "Good, you made it, kid." Nick claps him on the shoulder. "That's hurdle number one. Now tell me what went down."

The three men start walking through the corridor. "It went perfect," Dean says. "They didn't believe a word we said."

"Vaughan's an asshole but he's not stupid. What about that son of his?"

"Didn't even wanna meet with us in the first place, and threw his two cents in every goddamn time I opened my mouth. You know what a piece of work he is."

"Yeah. I wouldn't trust Vaughan with a dog I hated, but I'd still trust him farther than his son." Nick looks at Jonnie, who seems even more taciturn than usual. "What did you think of them?"

Swallowing, Jonnie mutters, "Funny you should mention dogs. First time I saw Vaughan smile, he reminded me of a mutt that nearly tore my head off once without blinking an eye. Didn't care if he killed me as long as he got what he wanted."

Nick's lips tighten with an old memory, but then he pushes it away. "Sounds about right," he says flatly. "What happened?"

Dean shrugs. "Nothing's gonna surprise you on our end -- we went by the script. Jonnie gave them the whole story about Granger and his Operation Mousetrap. We had a big laugh about that. Probably the only time all of us were on the same page." Dean gives his version of a smile before continuing. "We warned 'em not to make any shipments in or out of the docks on the fifteenth."

"And when Vaughan asked why we were being so generous with our info, you told him...?"

"That this was a chance for all of us to get the DA's office off our backs. Not to mention the bigger picture, finally ending the bad blood we've got so we can start working together. I told him to think about it before giving an answer."

Nick nods. "You sold it, right?"

"Hell yeah. Adair did a good job, I'll give him that." Dean looks at the young man walking by his side. "Tell him what happened after the meeting."

Jonnie clears his throat. "I left my phone behind, on the table. Made myself look like an idiot --"

"No, like an amateur," Nick murmurs. "That's what we want. Don't worry about it."

"Yeah. When I came back for it about ten minutes later, they were still talking. The son had plenty to say about me leaving the phone behind. Big laughs at my expense. But Vaughan didn't care about that. He tossed the phone to me and said he knew we were trying to get them stung by the feds. He told me -- " Jonnie hesitates slightly. "Uh, he told me to tell you that his answer's no."

Nick stops walking when they reach his office, but he doesn't open the door yet. Instead he turns to get a better look at Jonnie. "What did he say exactly?"

"Nick, just what I told you, it's nothing--"

"I said what did he say?"

Looking down at the floor, Jonnie finally exhales. "He said 'tell that fucking prick Nichols that I'm not getting in bed with him. Tell him if he wants to screw anyone, stick with his frigid wife.'"

A boiling anger clutches at Nick's chest like a tightening fist, and for a frightening second he's certain he's about to have a heart attack. As the initial pain subsides, Nick can't help but marvel almost objectively at the realization that he has the same depth of hatred and disgust towards Vaughan as ever, even though it's been more than two years...

He just nods. "Okay," he says quietly through a clenched jaw. "So part one of the plan went like clockwork. You up for the next step tomorrow, kid?"

Jonnie nods. About to enter his office, Nick suddenly turns to look back at the younger man. "That dog, the one that attacked you," he mutters. "How'd you get out alive?"

"My boss found it tearing me up. He shot it dead."

A grim, satisfied smile twists Nick's lips. Without another word, he leaves the other men in the hall.

6. Schuyler Falls Community Hospital

Shocked by Samantha's vulgar words, Molly reaches out to strike her, but although her hand connects with its target the older woman doesn't have the strength to smack away Samantha's triumphant expression.

You make me sick, the pair of you, Molly spits out. Amanda's living in a dreamland, thinking she'll end up with Prince Charming -- and you're no better than a bitch in heat.

As the two continue to argue, young Bitsy slips away from her position outside the room, walking slowly downstairs to join the smallest member of the household. Lizzie, who's now in control and panicking in her corner of the elevator, has her hands over her ears.

"Stop it," she says aloud, her voice echoing in the now-empty elevator. "Stop it, stop it, stop it! I don't wanna hear any more!"

Shoving her wild, frazzled red-brown hair away from her face, Bitsy stares contemptuously at the younger girl. Why are you even listening to them? They can't help us. And neither can you. I'm the only one who can fix all this, I'm gonna fix everything! Just let me through again.

"Molly said I shouldn't. She said you were gonna do something bad." Lizzie takes a deep breath, concentrating hard. "What Samantha was saying. Did you do what she said you did?"

What?

"Did you ... look at them? Y'know. When they were -- whatever they did with that man."

Bitsy smirks. Yeah. I saw.

"Oh." Lizzie shudders. "That wasn't right. You shouldn't look."

Shouldn't do a lot of things. Neither should they, but they do. Bitsy's small face makes a grimace as she mulls over what she's seen, and then she shakes her head. It's none of your business, Lizzie, you just keep out of that stuff. You're not ready. Not near ready. Anyway, you shouldn't be listening to what Molly says in the first place, that old ugly witch.

"Don't say that. Molly takes care of us."

Yeah, right. Why are you letting her boss you around, keeping you in this rotten elevator? You hate closets and places like this, don't you?

Lizzie nods, her lower lip trembling. The older girl continues mercilessly: We could run out of air, you know. That's how kids die when they get stuck in refrigerators. You remember Mama telling us that? The air gets sucked out and then you can't breathe and then you die.

"Stop!" Lizzie gasps, almost weeping. "Stop it."

Well, that's what's gonna happen to us in here if we don't get out. Bitsy pauses for effect. But if you let me through I can get us home.

Watching the elevator door open, Lizzie looks out onto the hospital's main floor. "You promise you'll take me home?"

Bitsy promises, lying through her teeth but knowing Lizzie will believe anything when she's in a state like this. Without another word the tiny golden-haired girl slips back, letting Bitsy take over and shove herself past the strangers now entering the car. Her body bent low like a quarterback, Bitsy sees no one except a mass of bodies, just obstacles to her destination -- the hospital exit. "Now I can do what I have to," she mutters, echoing in a whisper: "I have to, I have to."

But when she straightens up, something stops her. Bitsy freezes in mid-step, only a few yards away from the elevator. A scent. A very familiar scent. Spicy and sweet. It reminds her of a forest. Of woods, dampness, a cabin by a lake...

Usually Bitsy is a veritable unstoppable force, full of grit and single-minded determination. But now she turns slowly, unsure for the first time in a very, very long while. She's so shaky that she can feel Lizzie's hand slip into hers, more than ready to take over and collapse in hysteria if Bitsy doesn't get control of herself.

The elevator doors are closing. She can only see a crowd of strangers, young people and old ones, and one tall figure in the back who isn't really looking towards her, so she can't quite make out the face before the doors slam shut.

Bitsy breathes shallowly, uncertain as to her next move. Finally she decides. Throwing caution to the wind, she slaps her hand repeatedly against the elevator button.

Because now she has something else to take care of.

7. Schuyler Falls Community Hospital

Third Floor

Chelsea spins around, furious at having felt an ounce of sympathy towards a manipulative jerk like Jem Van Doren. Before she can take a step away, however, Jem takes hold of her elbow.

"You don't understand. I'm not kidding, Chelsea, I need you."

"No! You've been playing me all along. Hiring me, toying around with my career like you gave a damn about my talent, using me for sex --"

"I used you? You remember the night of the Crystal Ball? Jesus, you're the one who practically forced me into--"

"What do you call that stupid deal to get me in bed, knowing all along it was Greg I really wanted--"

"Are you nuts? That was your idea!"

Chelsea's in no mood to nit-pick the details. "Well, but -- but you manipulated me into it!" She steps closer to him, wishing she were two feet taller so she could just bonk her fist onto his obnoxiously rectangular head. "You've been following me around since day one, dying to get your hands on my dad's money ever since I first walked into your office. Admit it!"

Jem sighs. "I really don't have time for this," he repeats in a mutter. "Will you ask Stanford for the loan or not?"

"Will you admit that you've been treating me like some kinda slot machine? Pull the right lever and out comes some money?"

A few people pass by, glancing at the pair of them locked in a battle of angry stares. Jem waits until they're further down the corridor, and then suddenly lunges forward, pulling Chelsea into his arms and turning her so that her back presses against the wall. His head lowers until he's only inches away, his gaze piercing hers and his lips close enough for her to feel the warmth of his breath as he speaks.

"You wanna know why I've been following you, Princess? It's because you're the sexiest goddamn woman I've ever known. You're also the biggest pain I've ever known. You drive me crazy in every way possible, but I keep wanting more." He takes a deep breath. "But yeah, I used to think that if I hired you, maybe your father would invest in the newspaper."

"I knew it! I knew --"

"Lemme finish. Even so, that dumb-ass deal of yours? That had nothing to do with your father, believe me. I agreed to do whatever you wanted because I haven't been able to get you out of my head since you shoved me down on my stairs and jerked my clothes off. Among other things," he adds, chuckling darkly despite the complete lack of humor in his eyes.

Chelsea swallows. Every nerve is afire as she stares up at him. And for the life of her she can't think of a thing to say.

He continues in a murmur. "Your problem, Princess, is that you've been drooling after your rich, white bread Daddy-substitute for so long that you can't even see that I was the best thing that could've happened to you."

Indignation helps Chelsea find her voice. "Not in a million years are you the best I could do. And all of this is a lie, a big fat lie, like everything else out of your mouth. You're still trying to play me, and I -- I don't believe a word you're saying."

Jem looks at her in silence for a few seconds. "Then I'll stop talking," he says grimly, taking her face in his hands and closing the gap between them with a sudden, forceful kiss.

Barely able to move, as crammed up against the wall as she is, Chelsea wouldn't be able to push him away even if her instinct to do so lasted past the first five seconds. Before long she's kissing him back, despite her lingering anger at him. Maybe because of it. Truth is, she's kissed Jem before, numerous times, but there's something different now. The demand of his lips is so hungry that it's as if he's drawing the breath right out of her lungs. Her eyes remain open in disbelief at what she's experiencing with him -- she actually feels lightheaded and dizzy, almost removed from the delicious sensations tingling from her lips and tongue straight down to her --

Ohmygod, she thinks, getting a much-needed douse of ice-cold water when she spies Greg White walking down the hall, visible beyond Jem's shoulder. I can't let him see...

There's only one reaction she can think of, and at once she follows through.

Groaning, Chelsea somehow finds the strength to slam her chest into Jem's, pushing him back and away from her. When Jem tries to recapture Chelsea in another embrace, she reaches out and slaps him, hard.

"Get off me!" she cries, her voice ragged and hoarse -- but still loud enough to carry down the hall. "Get out of here before I call security!"

8. Nick and Hannah Nichols' Residence

East Cornwall, NY

Jonnie watches Nick close the door behind him, a little surprised at the abrupt departure. He glances up at Dean, who doesn't seem fazed in the least. "I shouldn't have told him what Vaughan said about Hannah," Jonnie murmurs. "I wouldn't have, but -- "

"Don't sweat it." Dean starts down the corridor, buttoning his coat "It's good for him to know. Keeps him focused."

The words make no sense to Jonnie, who's never known Nick to lack focus. He follows the older man, shaking his head. "I never saw Nick take things so personal before. Usually he only goes after people who've got some serious debt to pay--"

"No shit, Adair." Dean stops in his tracks. "I know who Nick goes after better than you do. Don't worry, Vaughan's got a debt to pay."

"Well, yeah, I know this guy's a rival, but all this planning and doublecrossing to get him stung by the DA's office ... I don't get it, it doesn't sound like Nick to me."

Dean stares down at Jonnie, pale eyes glittering with something akin to emotion -- the first Jonnie's ever seen from him.

"You're goddamn right you don't get it," he mutters. "Buy a fucking clue, for chrissake. This isn't about being a rival. Vaughan's the guy who put out a hit on Nick a couple years ago. You heard the story, right? With the chauffeur?"

Jonnie blinks in shock, remembering the story all too well. This was the chauffeur who, late one rainy night while driving Nick and Hannah back from some event, stopped the car, pulled out a gun and forced them to walk into a ditch by the side of the road -- where he then planned to assassinate them, starting with Nick.

If Hannah hadn't leapt in front of her husband after the man fired his weapon, giving Nick time to reach for his own gun, both of them would have died that night. Instead, Nick gunned down the man who betrayed them ... but not before Hannah took the bullets meant for Nick. Bullets that tore through blood vessels, nerve endings and bone to destroy her days of walking forever.

The realization that all this is connected with the jovial man Jonnie met today makes Jonnie's head swim. "Christ," he says in a near whisper. "Vaughan's responsible for putting Hannah in that wheelchair. No wonder Nick almost exploded when he heard what that son of a bitch called her--"

"Uh huh. So you see the big picture now?"

"Yeah. I see it all right." He watches Dean open the front door, sending the cold night air blasting through the corridor into his face. Jonnie feels as if he's waking up for the first time today.

His boss isn't just manipulating Jonnie's inside knowledge of the DA's plans in order to secure the arrest of a rival family leader. Nick's goal all along has been to see Hugh Vaughan dead.

Using Jonnie as his weapon.