1. Cameron and Danielle Nichols' Residence

East Cornwall, NY

Walking along the marble tiled floor that leads to the dining room, Danielle Nichols hesitates before entering so she can glance at her image in the gilded mirror nearby. Her red hair remains loose today, not in its usual low chignon, and its deep, shining color is a perfect compliment to the bronze silk sweater.

Satisfied, she's about to continue on her way when she overhears the unmistakable sound of her mother-in-law's smooth voice.

"-- so perhaps we can continue our chat from the other day before you head off to school?"

"If you want to, fine." Becca Nichols' tone is wary, a justifiable reaction to being questioned by Adele. Danielle tilts her head, interested in learning what her daughter and Adele could possibly have to say to one another.

"Well, my dear, I am only trying to help. If you really don't want to--"

"Right, Nana. Like you'd give me a real choice in the matter?" Becca chuckles, softening the words.

"Very well. You'd just finished telling me that you've set your sights on a boy who's not your type." Adele hesitates, possibly taking a sip of tea. "That's not exactly an unusual circumstance."

"I didn't say it was. Sorry if I'm not unique enough for you, Nana!"

Danielle smiles in motherly approval. Only one of Adele's grandchildren could get away with that tone.

"I didn't say that. I'm just trying to assure you that your problem is eminently solvable. Although I doubt it's really much of a problem. Surely most of the young men in your school are infatuated with you already?"

"I guess. All the ones who count, anyway."

"And this one doesn't count?" Adele cocks her head in curiosity. "Tell me about him. If he's wrong for you, why are you going after him? Is he very handsome?"

"God, no. I mean ... he could be, maybe. If he wasn't dressed like Greg Brady."

"Is he athletic?"

"Too geeky for that, I think."

"Wealthy?"

"Oh please, Nana."

Adele exhales audibly. "Heaven forbid you look to someone of your own class. All right, then, is his personality something remarkable?"

"All I know is, he's like a choir boy."

"So far I'm not seeing the great attraction. Unless ... it's simply a matter of conquest?"

Becca makes a groaning noise. "Okay, can I just say how bizarre it is to have this kind of conversation with you?"

"I'm not all business, despite what your father may say." Danielle can hear Adele setting down a china cup on its saucer. "Come on, my dear, you can be honest with me. I understand much more than you think I do. Is it just the thrill of the chase?"

Danielle decides to take this opportunity to interrupt the conversation, saving her daughter from further embarrassment. When she enters the dining room, she sees Becca lifting her head up and pulling away from Adele, who has been leaning forward conspiratorially.

"Good morning, Becca. Adele." Danielle murmurs, pouring herself some juice from a large crystal pitcher at the center of the table. "So, did I hear correctly? Is that how you succeeded in romance, Adele? Hunting your men like prey?"

Adele's golden-brown gaze is as hard as flint. "You can think of it that way, yes."

"I thought as much." Danielle sits down across from her daughter. "You see, Becca, there are many types of hunters. Some allow their prey a chase. Others wait for their victims to walk unsuspectingly into a secret trap. Which do you prefer, Adele?"

2. Schuyler Falls Community Hospital

Psychiatry Department, Sixth Floor

The hospital room is quiet, except for the ticking of the watch on the nearby nightstand. Beth Durand sits on the edge of the bed and frowns. The time can't be correct. Eight o'clock? How could the sky be light at eight o'clock in the evening?

Or maybe it really is the morning already. She remembers only bits and snatches of events since her ob-gyn appointment, and receiving the diagnosis that even now is unfathomable to her. At some point she must have lost consciousness, or maybe they drugged her, because five minutes ago she woke to find herself lying on a bed being spoken to by a gentle-voiced doctor with black curling hair. He acted as if she'd been deep in conversation with him, and didn't even introduce himself. Then he left to retrieve some file or something.

But she saw his nametag. Kalid Behar. A name she recognizes from discussions with Chelsea Stanford -- he's a psychiatrist.

Beth covers her eyes with her cold, numb hands. So many years of fearing this, and now it's happened.

"Did your headache return?"

She lifts her head with a sharp intake of breath. It's the doctor again, standing by the open door with a polite smile and a concerned expression in his warm, molasses-colored eyes. Pulling the covers over herself, she nods and tries to appear calm. "No. I'm just tired, Doctor."

Kalid walks closer to the bed, pulling over a padded stool and sitting down in front of her. "Do you mind if I ask a few more questions?"

Beth can't help tightening her jaw muscles. I have to do anything, agree to anything, just make him let me out of here! All she says is, "All right."

Glancing at his file folder, Kalid nods. "Before I forget, I did respect your wishes, and did not inform your brother of your status here. As you requested, Chelsea called and told him you were staying with her."

"Chelsea? How did --" Beth swallows the question, aghast to hear that Chelsea somehow knows about this. Judging from the doctor's tone, this is something she's supposed to accept and, in fact, be grateful for. "I mean, thank you."

"You don't remember asking her to make that call for you last night?"

"No, I do. I just forgot for a second."

"It would be understandable if you didn't, you know. You were extremely overwrought yesterday, and a lot happened."

"But I do remember. I didn't want Clark to worry about me," Beth says, improvising. "He's got his mother to worry about, he doesn't need to deal with this too."

"His mother? Not yours?"

Beth pauses. "Yes, mine too. Please don't try to trap me."

"Yesterday you accused me of trapping you, of being wicked and wanting to do you harm." Kalid's voice is low and unrushed. "Do you still feel that way?"

Wicked. It's a word her grandmother used -- uses -- a lot. Beth hastily looks down at her hands, afraid to give anything away to this still, watchful man. "No. I'm sure you're just trying to help me."

"That is true. But there's a limit to how much I can do, if you're not forthright in response to--"

"When can I go home?"

Kalid turns the cap on his pen. "You may go home now, if you wish. We don't keep people against their will, and I only kept you overnight for observation. But your behavior yesterday concerns me. You were hysterical, unreachable through your fear and distress."

"It was just a panic attack. I get them sometimes, everyone does."

"Not everyone, and not like that. Not to that extent. Who is Bitsy?"

Beth's lungs freeze in the act of taking a breath.

3. Red Apple Diner

The clatter of breakfast dishes competes with the din of the churning coffee grinder for Most Annoying Background Sound for those seated in the booths near the counter. Clark Durand tries to ignore the noise and just stirs his black coffee, letting the Equal dissolve as he contemplates the face of the woman opposite him.

"So I don't know what to believe, and at this point I'm hard-pressed to care. Her life is her own. I just..."

When he doesn't continue, Rena Carlson makes a little rolling gesture with her hand. "You just what?" At his shrug, Rena sets down her muffin. "You just worry about her, that's what. I understand that, honey, but you're going overboard with the protective brother thing."

"Overboard? What would you think if someone like Chelsea Stanford called you up, out of the blue, and said she was out on the town with your sister, but sorry, your sister's not available to talk right now? You'd freak out, worse than I am."

"Apples and oranges. First, Jordan is only twenty-one, and second ... well, you know I have ... um ... issues with Chelsea." Rena looks away for a few seconds, then shrugs. "Why would she lie to you?"

"Aren't you the one who told me that Mike said she was kinda loose with the truth now and then?"

"Clark. Mike is a sweet, wonderful guy, but come on. He's her ex-boyfriend. That doesn't make him the world's least biased person on the subject! Besides, what I meant was, I don't know why Chelsea would lie about something like this."

Sitting back against the cushioned booth, Clark sighs. "I guess I don't either. I just ... I don't trust her."

"Well, if Beth wasn't with her, where do you think she was?"

Clark lifts his cup, using it as a convenient way to put a pause in the conversation. He's fairly certain that even if he were to tell Rena about his disturbing conversation with Tristan Campbell last weekend, she wouldn't believe him. Tristan remains the one subject that they've never come close to agreeing upon, and Clark senses that despite her obvious feelings for Greg White, Rena stills holds her old college friend in a very special place in her heart -- a pristine, not-to-be-touched glass box labeled 'My First Love'.

Clark's seen her reactions to Tristan's past relationships, and he's not in a hurry to cause her any pain right now by revealing that Tristan seems to have formed one of his unhealthy attachments -- this time, to Beth.

"No clue," he says after a long sip of coffee. "I suppose you're right. If even you think that Chelsea's trustworthy about this, I might as well put aside my prejudices."

"Even me," Rena echoes, raising an eyebrow and staring into her own coffee mug. "You make it sound like I'm Chelsea's enemy or something. I don't even know her that well."

"Right. You just know that she's trying to edge you out of Greg's life."

"I never said that."

"She told you that she and Greg have been, uh, what was the word you used? 'Intimate'?" Clark makes little quote marks with his fingers. "And then she tried to skeeve you out by implying that you might be the third leg of a menage a trois? Something that I highly doubt Greg would be interested in."

"Why? I thought it was every man's fantasy to see two women ... you know. Being with each other." Rena flushes and looks away. "God, listen to me. I don't believe I'm talking about this at this hour in the morning..."

"It may be every man's fantasy, at least for those not queeristically inclined. But somehow I suspect Greg's too egocentric to want a woman's attention distracted from him even for a moment."

"Clark!" Rena laughs despite her disapproval.

"I calls 'em as I sees 'em. Anyway, moving on. Chelsea also made you feel like an awkward twit at the opera--"

"I made me feel like an awkward twit. She didn't force me to spill water all over the table, I did that all by myself."

"Did she, or did she not, manipulate you into going on some mission of mercy trip to that schmuck Van Doren's house, just so she could hang out and offer comfort to Greg?"

Rena hesitates. "He's not a schmuck. And I'd have gone anyway. He needed someone, and I was worried about him. I'm -- I'm still--"

"Don't make me nauseous. More worried about him than Greg? Not to mention me?"

"No!" Rena leans forward, cupping his hand with hers. "You mean the world to me, Clark."

"Good. 'Cause I was about to tell you to go dunk your muffin at Van Doren's place, if you'd rather--"

"Shut up! You have no idea how glad I am to have one of our old breakfasts again. I just wish..."

Clark imitates her earlier rolling hand gesture, encouraging her to continue. "Go on?"

"I just wish you'd tell me what's really going on with you. Other than your mom and Beth and work and the play."

"Which reminds me, are you still going to accompany me to the rehearsal tonight?"

Rena nods. "Yes. Just remember to pick me up at my parents' place. I'm having dinner at the Inn."

"How are things going for your parents? Did the Inn have a good holiday season?"

"Well, not really. Things are slow all over, and there wasn't much of a tourist trade -- " She stops short, then flings a packet of sugar at him. "You did it again, Clark Jonathan Durand! Stop changing the subject!"

Sighing, Clark picks the packet off his shoulder and tosses it on the table. "And what was that again?"

"You. Your life. So are you still being hassled by the police? Have they found the hit-and-run driver yet? What about David's boyfriend, have you seen him again? Is he--"

"I don't want to think about it. I swear, Rena, for one brief moment on this sunny morning I would like to stop dwelling on all the misery and angst in my life."

A shadow falls over his face -- literally -- when a figure suddenly appears in front of the table and blocks out the daylight shining through the diner windows.

"Couldn't help overhearing." Tom Fiore says, giving him a crooked smile. "You still have angst in your life, Clark? I thought pushing me away was supposed to make things hunky-dory for you?"

4. Ross Granger's Office

Municipal Building

Mason Street

The ringing phone greets Ross Granger the minute he opens his office door. Setting down the piping hot cup of cappuccino on his desk, the assistant district attorney expertly tosses his coat onto the antique tiered ebony coat rack -- an 'office-warming' present from his mother -- and heads over to the phone. "Ross Granger."

"I know it is. I'd recognize that sexy voice anywhere."

With a grin, Ross sits down in his leather chair. "Why, thank you. Now who may I ask is calling?"

Lynn Wallis's chuckle tickles his ear. "The woman you left high and dry last night, and who deserves much better than to be fobbed off with a peck on the cheek."

"I told you, I don't feel comfortable in front of Norman--"

"Norman Mitchell's been DA since before I was born, practically. I'm sure he's seen much raunchier things than a committed, mature lust-bunny kissing his girlfriend good night at a restaurant."

"Nevertheless. He's my boss, and I just don't feel able to give you the rapturous --" Ross hesitates, his lips curling in amusement. "Lust-bunny? Is that how you see me?"

"Not if you keep doing your imitation of Mister Prude."

Shaking his head, Ross pulls the cap off his coffee. "Prudence isn't a bad thing in my profession. But I like the title of 'lust-bunny' too much to risk losing it."

"Then you'd better start showing me some more action, L.B. Whatcha got in mind?"

"Tonight, in front of the entire Law Enforcement Workers Association of New York, I will debauch you on the main gala dinner table. How does that sound?"

"Hmm. You're a few years too late on the debauching thing, but otherwise..." Lynn gives a sound like a purr. "I'm up for it. Is the governor gonna be there?"

"Uh, that's a rather disturbing non-sequiter. At least, I hope it's a non-sequiter."

"Trust me, it is."

"Good. Yes, Pataki wouldn't miss an opp like this. Any sane New York politician who can walk or crawl into the Plaza will be there with bells on, soaking up the good press."

"Ooh, even Hillary?"

"Well, the Senate's in session, but it's possible."

"Very cool. Okay, that is worth Ryan being pissed off at me for missing the rehearsal." Lynn pauses. "And if Bill's there, honey, he can do the debauching too."

Ross grimaces. "Guess now I know who my competition is. But seriously, Lynn, was Ryan upset with you? He was okay about my missing the rehearsal--"

"That's 'cause you're expendable. I mean, it was just a matter of revising the scene schedule so they focus on everything that happens after you bite the bullet. I'm the stage manager." Lynn laughs. "Actually no, it wasn't that big a deal. Ryan's pretty flexible. I just feel guilty, 'cause it's our first rehearsal in a week with Clark there."

"I know. I'm glad he's still taking part in it, considering..." Ross spies a familiar figure outside the frosted glass window of his door, and gives a shrug. "Um, I've got to go. Duty calls. We need to leave early tonight, I don't want to get stuck in traffic -- can you make it here by four o'clock?"

"With bells on, L.B. And I'm not even a New York politician."

"Thank God for that." A knock on his door precedes its opening, and as Ross hangs up the phone Alex Eckhert pokes his head in.

"Got a moment?"

"I do now."

Alex enters, shutting the door behind him and heading to the squat wooden chair in front of Ross's desk. His dark eyes look Ross up and down. "You're not going in that, are you?"

"No, I'm picking up my suit at the cleaners'. I didn't realize you were our resident clothes expert."

"If I were, I'd have some remarks about that tie clashing pretty hideously with your shirt."

Ross takes a sip from his cup and gazes without emotion at the older man. "Are you here just to brighten my day, or did you have something you wanted to discuss?"

Nodding, Alex rubs his finger along the edge of the desk, as if testing for splinters. "I've heard some interesting things from Mitch about the investigation into the Nichols family. So how is your own private little project going?"

You wish you had such a little project on your plate. Ross just smiles. "It's going. What have you heard?"

"That you have some kind of particular scheme planned, but you're keeping it extraordinarily quiet to avoid leakage. Is it a sting, I take it?"

Raising an eyebrow, Ross doesn't nod or shake his head. "Presumably you know the definition of 'keeping it extraordinarily quiet.'"

Alex smiles. "But surely not from your colleague. We're on the same side here, Ross."

"Sorry. Orders are orders. Did Mitch give you any details?"

"No."

"Well, then. There you go. When he tells me to unlock, I'll unlock." Ross watches Alex's long, lean face fall into an expression of grim frustration, and for a moment he feels sorry for him. "Look, I know how you feel. I've been on the outside looking in before myself, and it's damn hard to stomach. The whole Campbell trial--"

"Yes, yes, I know you still resent me for that, and that's why you're practically turning somersaults over my being out in the cold now!" Alex stands up, shoving the chair away hard. "You can hardly keep from laughing in my face, can you?"

"I won't lie to you. At one time I enjoyed it ... just as you enjoyed it when you were the man of the hour."

"I knew it. That smug, satisfied expression I see every time you and Mitch have one of your cozy little meetings--"

"Stop taking this so damn personally. It isn't personal. It's not even really about you or me, don't you see that?"

There's no immediate response from Alex, who is still pacing the room like a caged lion. Ross can't believe how stressed the man is, and feels a secret, base pleasure at realizing that he's not the only insecure ADA around here.

He stands up, leaning on his desk blotter, and keeps his voice low as he continues. "You know this is how Mitch operates, Alex. He loves this competitive garbage, keeping us at each other's throats. It's a power play. The more inadequate we feel, the less likely we are to get it into our heads to run for office. You really want to buy into that?"

Alex finally comes to a halt by the bookcase, looking at his reflection in the glass protecting Ross's books. "No," he says quietly. "I will be running for office, no matter what Mitch wants. My father didn't raise me to be second or third best."

"There you go," Ross says dryly. "That's the old Machiavellian Alex Eckhert spirit."

Nodding, Alex thanks Ross and moves to the door. Ross interrupts him before he can leave. "What time are you leaving for Manhattan tonight?"

"Oh ... didn't Mitch tell you?" Alex's fingers clasp the doorknob. "I'm not going to the benefit."

"You're kidding me. I thought he wanted all of us to go, on pain of death! He practically blackmailed the SFPD into sending a representative--"

"Yes, well. That just shows you where I stand in the current scheme of things." Despite his icy words, Alex grins a little more fully this time, and opens the door. "At any rate, I'm all right with it. I told him I didn't want to go anyway."

Ross can't help but laugh at the absurdity of Alex's comment. "Pride is pride, Alex, but even you have to admit that you're dying to go to the lawmakers' affair of the year."

"I have other things to think about. My own little affair, so to speak."

With a final sliver of a smile, Alex leaves Ross alone.

5. Cameron and Danielle Nichols' House

East Cornwall, NY

Rolling her eyes, Becca pushes herself away from the table. "The intensity is way too much for me," she says sarcastically, dropping her napkin on the chair. "I'll figure this out on my own, thanks, Nana. Simon wouldn't want me talking to you anyway."

"Why? What does your brother have to do with it?"

Becca hesitates only slightly before bending down to kiss Adele's powdered cheek. "Um, it's just a joke. Forget it. See you after school."

"I may not see you then, actually," Danielle says as she reaches for a scone off the large, filigreed silver platter nearby. "I have plans tonight."

With a shrug, Becca leaves the room, but Adele doesn't take the words nearly as lightly. "So you're not joining Cameron in Atlantic City?"

"Why should I? The place bores me. Besides, he and Nick are seeing various business partners tonight. He doesn't need me yawning my way through the casinos."

Her mother-in-law tears at her own pastry, like a falcon ripping into its helpless trapped victim. "Then at least you can make yourself useful. Laurie and her fiancé have invited themselves over to talk about the wedding. I would like you to join us."

Danielle laughs. "You must be joking. Why on earth would I do that?"

"I really don't know, Danielle. Perhaps you could warn Laurie what can happen with a bad marriage."

Glaring at the older woman, Danielle drops the scone on the plate in front of her. "Your sense of humor doesn't play very well this early in the morning," she murmurs coolly. "But seriously. Why do you want me there? We despise each other."

"Yes, but Hannah can't come, and I need someone to distract Victor so I can talk to Laurie in private."

"Why must you do this tonight?"

"Because that ungrateful creature is refusing to talk to me." Adele practically grimaces, something her calm face rarely does. "Can you imagine? Trying to avoid me?"

Danielle smiles without pleasure. "Certainly not. It's as hopeless as trying to avoid death or taxes. At any rate, Adele, I'm afraid I have to decline. I've already accepted another invitation."

"With whom?"

"Someone you don't know."

Adele tilts her head. "You might be surprised how many people I know, Danielle. Who is it?"

"Very well, if you insist. Mina and Arthur Townsend," Danielle says casually. "They're having dinner on their boat and invited me to join them. It would be extremely rude to turn them down now, don't you think?"

Brushing an infinitesimal crumb from her blouse, Adele just gazes speculatively at her before getting up from her chair. Danielle starts spreading some marmalade onto her scone at leisure, in no apparent hurry, and finally Adele bids her good day prior to leaving the dining room.

Only when she's heard Adele's heels clicking their way down the corridor does Danielle pull out her tiny cell phone from the pocket of her wool slacks. One quickly dialed number later, she smiles.

"Mina, darling, it's Danny ... Of course, I know it's been far too long. Listen, I'm afraid I only have a moment right now, but I was hoping you might do me a little favor? I doubt it will come up, but there's a slight possibility that someone might call you tonight and ask for me ... Yes, exactly. I'll certainly return the favor when necessary ..."

A few moments later, she shuts the phone, lips curved into a slight, satisfied smile.

6. Schuyler Falls Community Hospital

Psychiatry Department, Sixth Floor

Taken aback by the change of subject, Beth is almost stunned at Kalid's use of her old childhood nickname. "Wh-what?"

"Bitsy." Kalid glances back down at the file in his hands. "You mentioned her when you were crying yesterday. You said she lied to you."

"I -- that doesn't make any sense. No, I couldn't have said that. I don't use that..." Even as Beth speaks, somewhere in the recesses of her mind, a soft, gentle voice from the past croons:

Bitsy, Bitsy, sweet and nice,

My little bit of sugar-spice...

Beth closes her eyes at the memory and shakes her head firmly. "No," she insists again. "You must have heard wrong. I must -- I must've been talking about Dr. Starr."

"Why do you say that?"

"Well, I -- I was upset. Surprised. Dr. Starr told me something that didn't make sense, and I guess I just overreacted."

"I see. I think we need to talk about this now, Beth. You refused to discuss it yesterday ... " Kalid shrugs apologetically. "You told Dr. Starr that you didn't believe her diagnosis. But I have seen the results of your tests, and they are unmistakable. You are definitely pregnant."

Every instinct screams for her to deny his words, but instead she just whispers: "If that's what the tests say."

"But you still think it's impossible."

I won't let him provoke me. "It must be possible. It's true."

"I see. Well, it is good that you accept the diagnosis now. Do you mind if I ask a further question?"

"I ... I don't know. I guess not."

Kalid clasps his hands together and leans forward, looking at her closely. "Do you know who the father is?"

Digging her nails into the palms of her hands, Beth waits a few seconds before she responds to Kalid's question. "That's not -- I'm sorry, but I don't think it's any of your business. Why do you need to know about the father?"

"I don't, really ... and you don't need to tell me his name. I'm just asking if you know."

"Do you think I'm some kind of -- prostitute? Of course I know!"

"I apologize, Beth, I didn't mean to insult you. May I ask, why did you tell Dr. Starr that you hadn't been with anyone for three years?"

"Because ... " She thinks wildly, trying to come up with an explanation. "I forgot. There was one man, but I forgot about him."

"You forgot? One person in three years and you forget?"

"I just spaced out when she told me. It's not a big deal, it happens."

"I see." Kalid tilts his head to the right, peering at her. "Tell me, would you say you often have trouble remembering things?"

Beth's throat feels painfully constricted, as if a noose has just jerked itself taut against her jugular. "Please stop badgering me! I want to leave now! You said I could leave, didn't you?"

After a slight pause, Kalid returns the cap to his pen. "Yes. However, I would like to schedule another appointment as a follow-up."

"I don't think I need that. I'm fine."

"Well, just humor me." He smiles, standing up from the stool. "I need to meet my patient quota this month."

Afraid that he'll keep at her if she doesn't agree, Beth nods. He leaves to allow her privacy to get dressed, but hesitates before closing the door behind him. "I'll speak with you outside about setting up an appointment. And by the way, Chelsea is here again. She stopped by before work ... perhaps you'll let her drive you home?"

Beth clutches the bed covers with her fists. Bad enough that Chelsea was here last night, but now the other woman will see her being treated like an invalid ... "Thanks, but I don't live that far from here. I can walk."

"I think it would be better if she drove you. We like to make sure that patients are accompanied home whenever possible."

Another weak nod later, Beth is finally left alone.