“God, I’m tired,” Declan said with an expansive yawn. He had spent the entire evening sitting with Emmy while Sey supported Sasha through the family strategy session. He’d offered to give Sey a break by switching places, but Sey turned him down flat, claiming that Sasha needed him there.

What Sey didn’t mention was the way Declan’s name came up as a potential substitute for Michael.

“Yeah, me, too,” Sey said quietly. Maybe too quietly.

Declan frowned. With a couple of long strides, he was at Sey’s side. He slid his hand along the back of Sey’s neck, only to have Sey scrunch up his shoulders. “Don’t.”

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing. I’m just—tired.”

“Emmy finally fell asleep.”

“Good. She was so up-upset.”

Sey began picking up clothing that had been lying on the bed, folding it almost absently. “I didn’t m-mean to leave this stuff here. I thought I’d be back here earlier than I was.”

Declan didn’t say a word, but he’d noticed the slight stammer. That, together with Sey’s unnatural pallor, made him think that maybe Sey wasn’t handling things as well as he thought.

“How’s Sasha holding up?” Declan asked, knowing that to question Sey directly rarely worked.

“He’s great.” Sey almost smiled. “He’s such a good kid, Dec,” he whispered, his voice trailing off to nothing.

“He’s okay alone?”

“I think so. Why don’t you get some rest, Dec? You must be exhausted.”

“Okay. Come to bed then, acushla.”

Sey rubbed his eyes and sighed. “I think I’m going to take a shower first.”

“Won’t a shower wake you up, baby?”

Declan meant his question to be solicitous. He cared so deeply for Sey. They’d been too close for too long for Declan not to sense that something was wrong.

“Look, I’m not a fucking baby, okay? I managed to function pretty well the whole damn day without you hanging over my shoulder so just—back off.”

“Sey,” Declan said, a world of hurt in that one word.

Sey laughed, but it was a bitter, unpleasant noise. “I’m sorry, Dec. I’m f-fine. R-really.”

Against his better judgment, Declan did as Sey asked. He retreated, preoccupying himself with getting ready for bed. When he was undressed, he slid under the covers and folded his arms behind his head, settling in to watch Sey.

Sey went into the bathroom and closed the door quietly behind him. Declan listened hard, trying to determine if Sey had engaged the lock. Declan’s whole body tensed, ready to force the door open if it came to that. But as far as he could tell, the door remained unlocked.

Either Sey really was all right. Or he was smart enough to realize that locking the door would alarm Declan.

When he heard the shower start, Declan relaxed somewhat. Unfortunately, he couldn’t hear a thing over the thunderous sound of the water, but he told himself that he would know if Sey were in trouble. He would *feel* it.

*****

Sey stepped into the shower, hoping against hope that the force of the spray would wash away his fear and his anxiety. Lack of sleep was exaggerating both those feelings, and he was afraid of going under. He hadn’t lied to Declan. He *had* been holding himself *and* Sasha together all day long without any support from anyone.

But now, when it was close to midnight, when there was still no word on what happened to Chris, when there was nowhere for his terrified mind to go with thoughts of losing Declan, he found himself in a dark place of his own creation. He was on the verge of panic. Some still-rational part of him knew that.

He pushed his face under the water, its rhythmic pulsations strangely erotic. He couldn’t let go. He couldn’t ever let go. Suddenly the fear and the anxiety were all that he had, all he could feel, and still he couldn’t let go.

He gasped as shock poured through his system, completely unaware that tears streamed down his face. How long he stood there, he would never know. The water grew cold, and he shivered, fine tremors mingling with harsh sobs.

Sey’s lips began to turn blue as his eyelids fluttered, masking a state somewhere between sleep and waking.

*****

Declan had drifted into an uneasy doze, his senses still cranked up to what some might call “mission levels”. Suddenly he was wide awake. “Sey?”

He didn’t know what compelled him, but he lost no time in getting into the bathroom. With a shout, he pulled back the shower curtain, grimacing at the temperature of the water. “Sey! Sey! Dammit, Sey, don’t do this to me!”

“Dec-lan?”

That was all Sey managed to say before he passed out.

Declan bundled his lover into an oversized terrycloth robe and grabbed every towel he could lay his hands on. Sey came to a minute later, smiling at the brisk way Declan was rubbing the towels over his body. “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself.” Declan was too relieved to be angry.

“That feels good,” Sey admitted, his speech slightly slurred.

“I can imagine it does. You’re out on your feet, acushla.”

Tears filled Sey’s dark brown eyes. “I didn’t mean to hurt you before, Dec,” he whispered. Reaction was starting to set in. Sey was remembering, and most of those memories weren’t good.

“You didn’t hurt me, Sey. I understand,” Declan said, willing his heart to accept what his mind knew.

Declan pulled Sey into his arms, his nose buried in his lover’s wet hair. “I love you.”

As Declan rocked Sey back and forth, Sey’s robe fell open, allowing their bodies to touch more intimately. Bare skin to bare skin. Sey started to kiss Declan, voracious, all-consuming kisses that burned everywhere they touched. When Declan tried to slow things down, however, Sey became almost frantic. “Don’t you want me?”

Sey dragged air into his lungs with great effort, feeling his chest tightening as he recalled the images of Declan dead or dying. “Please.”

As one, they moved to the bed, Declan’s breath catching in his throat when he slipped the robe off Sey’s shoulders. He was still so pale. But he was beautiful.

Reality loomed over them like a great hulking monster that had been led out of the shadows and into the light. But instead of dissipating, the beast gained strength. Sey closed his eyes, silvery tears squeezing out from under his eyelids. “I don’t want to lose you,” he murmured.

“You won’t,” Declan reassured him.

Sey opened his eyes again, ravaged by the shadow-creature that stood upon what was left of his heart. “They want you to go in Michael’s place, you know.”

“Is that what you—“ Declan didn’t need to finish that sentence. He understood now.

“Maybe I won’t go,” Declan surprised himself by saying.

Sey huffed. “You have to. Declan, how can you not? Chris is out there, somewhere, with some madman. You—“

Sey shook his head. “You have to go. Just like I have to stay.”

“You need to protect the kids, acushla.”

“But who’ll protect *you*? I don’t want to live without you, Declan. I don’t even think I can.”

Slowly Declan pushed Sey down until he was lying on his back on the bed. Equally slowly, Declan covered his lover’s body with his own. Sey’s half-hard erection throbbed against his thigh, and Declan could feel his own response springing to life between their bodies.

“This could be…the last time,” Sey choked out.

Declan kissed him. There was no longer any power to the words, though, as always, they hung in the air between them like a shining silver thread that could never be broken. Declan’s strength flowed into Sey, even as his tongue entered his mouth. Grasping two handfuls of dark wet hair, Declan continued to kiss Sey, his mouth warm and open and tender in its hunger. “I’m alive, baby. Feel me.”

Sey whimpered under the sensual onslaught that was Declan’s doing. “I love you.”

“I know.”

Reluctantly leaving Sey’s mouth, Declan palmed both nipples, feeling the hardened peaks quivering beneath his hands. He licked a path to his lover’s groin, his tongue fervently applying itself to the task of stroking him to full arousal. Sey moved restlessly under his ministrations. “Don’t. I’m too close. I’ll come.”

“I want you to come.”

Sey’s chest heaved, but with excitement, not anxiety. “Not in your mouth. I want to come inside you.”

Declan drew back slightly. Sey knew what he was asking. It was the ultimate act of trust. To allow himself to be taken.

“Can I? Please?” Sey whispered.

By way of answer, Declan nudged his lips apart with his tongue, inviting Sey to taste himself. Sey groaned, his sensual mouth parting, his dark eyes flashing with need. His fingers sliding down Declan’s shadowy cleft, Sey caressed the opening without pressing his way inside.

Sey coated his fingers generously with lube, finally daring to breach his lover’s center. One finger, two, then three, all combining to make sure that Declan was as relaxed as possible. When Declan was fully stretched, he guided Sey inside, lowering himself gently.

When he was well and truly seated atop his lover, Declan smiled, leaning forward to kiss Sey. His long curls draped Sey’s shoulders and tickled his mouth. Sey chuckled. Declan groaned. “Oh, baby, do that again.”

The vibration of Sey’s laughter made Declan hard. He bent his head and licked Sey’s left cheek. When Sey giggled, Declan did the same to his right cheek. Declan moved experimentally, provoking an intense look from his partner. “Oh, God, you are so hot.”

Declan framed Sey’s face with both hands and kissed him, his body thrusting in time with his lover’s. Slow, gentle thrusts that made him ache and yearn for completion. Sey began to pant, harsh breaths transforming him into an angel of desire.

“Ohh, you’re going to come. I can feel it, baby.”

Even as Declan’s motions became faster and more erratic, Sey reached between them, pulling and pushing and stroking Declan until he fell over the edge with him. They came together, a spattering of come on Sey’s stomach the only visible sign that they made love.

“Mmm, I love you, Declan.”

“I love you, too, acushla.” Declan rolled slowly onto his side, feeling Sey withdrawing from his body.

With Sey’s arms wrapped around his waist, Declan felt invincible. Suddenly it didn’t matter how wet and sticky they both were. All that mattered was the love. That would survive anything. Perhaps even death.

But just to be on the safe side, Declan planned to come back.

“Can I have a drink of water?”

“You’re a real pain in the butt, kid. Anyone ever tell you that?” Lisette grumbled.

“All the time,” Chris replied smoothly. Never mind that it was a lie. Chris had decided that Lisette only heard what she wanted to hear.

She left him alone for several minutes while she got the water. Her mother was late. Lisa Fanning had told her daughter that she would come to the hotel first thing in the morning, but she was already hours overdue.

Lisette wasn’t worried. If there was one thing that her mother knew how to do, it was land on her feet. So any delay was bound to be deliberate, not accidental, and undoubtedly the result of meeting someone more interesting than her daughter.

Which was practically everyone.

Lisa Fanning was not an ideal mother. She wasn’t even an ideal *person*. She was well used to luxury and just because she’d kidnapped someone didn’t mean she was about to suffer. The hotel was first class, posh by anyone’s standards, and situated in the heart of Paris.

As hiding places went, it was an excellent choice. No one would think of looking for the Samuelle boy here. That was a life lesson that she could thank Michael for—the best place to hide was in plain sight.

Little did she know that Chris was fluent in French and had a working knowledge of the city, despite the brevity of his previous visit. In fact, if Chris knew what hotel he was in, he was fairly certain that he could find a way to get back home. But that wouldn’t solve the problem of Lisa Fanning and her daughter.

If she escaped, she would vanish into the woodwork, never to be seen again…until the next time. She was dangerous, and he for one had no intention of living his life under that particular threat.

While Lisette was gone, Chris took his time to study the hotel suite. There was no phone in the room he was in. Lisette wasn’t brilliant, but she *did* remember to unplug the phone.

Chris played with the strap of Emmy’s fanny pack. He didn’t know why he was clinging to it like a lifeline. It wasn’t. It was a constant reminder of the fact that he was *here* and she was *there*.

“Oh, Soleil,” he murmured to himself, “I hope you’re all right.”

He unzipped the pack and looked inside. Just about what he’d expected. A comb, a brush, a couple of sticks of gum, her wallet and her cell phone. Chris was halfway through zipping it closed before he registered what he’d just seen. Her cell phone! God, why didn’t he think to look inside it before?

Almost beside himself with excitement, he realized that he had to hurry or Lisette would see the phone and confiscate it. He pressed the “on” button. Thank God, the battery was still charged. He had no idea what numbers Emmy had on her speed-dial, but any number that reached the chateau would do. Any one at all.

He pressed the number “1” and held his breath.

*****

Declan lay sprawled across his lover, sleeping the sleep of the just. His breath huffed gently on the back of Sey’s neck as his fingers snagged restively on Sey’s long dark hair. By rights, he and Sey should have been awake as close to dawn as possible. But both of them were emotionally wrung-out, not to mention physically exhausted.

But Declan could no more turn off his Section-honed skills than fly. Hopelessly trapped in mission mode, he stirred as his subconscious heard the high-pitched trilling of his cell phone.

Coming awake with a startled jerk, he managed to wake Sey as well. “What the devil--?”

He rolled over onto his side with an ease that could only have come from practice and snatched the phone off the night table. “Hello?” he inquired, trying to focus his bleary eyes.

“Uncle Dec?”

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Declan jackknifed into a sitting position, his eyes wide open now.

Alarmed by the tone of Declan’s voice, not to mention the way he swore, Sey scrambled to sit up. “What? What is it?”

“Chris! Where are you?”

“I’m not sure. A hotel. A big one. Really deluxe. Definitely the city. Probably Paris. That’d be my guess.”

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. Is Emmy okay?”

“She’s okay, just worried about you.”

“Tell her and Dad not to worry. I think I can get myself out of here.”

“No! Stay where you are. We’ll come get you.”

“How? I don’t even know where I am.”

“I’ll find you.”

“Uh-oh, she’s coming. I gotta go.”

“Chris? Chris!”

The line went dead. Declan cursed and threw the phone down. It bounced off the mattress and onto the carpet, surviving miraculously unscathed.

“Is Chris okay?” Sey asked.

“Oh, *he’s* great. Thinks he’s fucking Houdini. He’s going to try to escape on his own.”

“Who’s got him?”

“I don’t know.”

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know.”

“Jesus, Declan, you didn’t find out very much! How are we supposed to rescue him if we don’t even have a fucking clue where he is?”

Declan’s silvery eyes narrowed, his face taking on an expression that Sey now recognized as his Section look. “Don’t fuck with me, baby. I’m not in the mood.”

Sey met his gaze evenly, with no trace of the vulnerability that hampered him the night before. “I’m ready to kick ass if you are, Dec.”

Declan nodded. “Remind me to tell you something when this is all over.”

Sey raised an eyebrow in a curiously imperious manner, not unlike Declan himself. “Tell me now.”

Declan bent his head and kissed him hard. “You are too fucking hot for words when you tell me what to do.”

Sey gave his lover a slow, sultry smile. “Then I’ll have to think up something for you to do, won’t I?”

Declan pulled a T-shirt over his head, his back muscles rippling sinuously as his arms worked. He reached under his collar to grab hold of his hair, only to find someone else’s hands there first. “Hey—“

“Let me,” said Sey.

“What are you doing? We don’t have time for that, baby—“

Sey laughed. “I love how your mind works, Dec. As flattering as it is to be a sex object for a change, I was merely trying to braid your hair. That’ll keep it out of your way when we go out.”

“*We*?” Declan tried to look over his shoulder at his lover, but Sey pushed his fingers gently into his cheek, warning him not to move.

“We,” Sey said firmly. “Did you think I was going to let you go alone?”

“I thought that Michael would—“

“Well, sure, but couldn’t you use someone with *my* experience, too?”

“Sey, I don’t even know what I’m looking for. I have no idea if you can help.”

“I hate when you’re in this mood. Y’know, if you’re going to go all mission on me, you could at least acknowledge my particular talents.”

“Mmm, I want your particular talents to sit right there on that bed and wait for me till I get back.” Declan turned and kissed Sey, his half-plaited hair hanging down the middle of his back.

“Just cause you kiss like nobody’s business doesn’t mean you can patronize me, Dec.”

Declan knew when to give in gracefully. Besides, he wanted Sey’s ass exactly where he could see it. So to speak.

Sey finished braiding Declan’s hair and stepped back to admire his work. “There you go. Now you look ready to rock.”

Declan raised an eyebrow at that. “You’ve been watching MTV with Sasha again, haven’t you?”

“Just for that, *I* get to tell Michael that Chris is okay,” Sey said with a grin.

“Christ, he’s going to whoop for joy when he hears the good news,” Declan mused.

Sey started to shake his head, unable to prevent helpless tears of laughter from trickling down his cheeks. “*Michael*? *Our* Michael?”

“That’s enough out of you, Shorty.”

Sey snickered gleefully. “That’s not what you said a few hours ago.”

“You’re damn lucky I’m in a hurry.”

*****

“He’s safe?” That was all Michael said to Birkoff. But he closed his eyes as though he were thankful.

He couldn’t wait to tell Nikita, and predictably she was driven to tears, her nerves only slightly recovered from the previous day.

“Where is he?” she asked eagerly, only to be met by a wall of silence.

“Well, that’s the thing, y’see,” Sey started to explain.

Declan wasn’t about to let his lover take the blame for something he did. Or didn’t do, as it happened. “I couldn’t find out for sure, Michael. Sorry.”

Sey, ever the optimist lately, chirped cheerfully, “But he thinks he was in Paris.”

Michael’s face remained impassive, but his eyes looked troubled. “Do you know how big Paris is?” Translation: Do you realize how easy it is to make someone disappear there?

*****

Chris stared at Lisette without fear. “Who did you call? Your parents?” she sneered.

“No,” Chris could say in all honesty.

That did not please Lisette. “You little liar! You’re going to get it when Mama finds out! Just see if you don’t!”

“Gimme that phone!” Lisette shouted, making a grab for it.

It landed on the floor with a loud crack, but it didn’t break, cushioned by its leather pouch. Lisette grabbed the cell phone and brandished it high above her head, exclaiming triumphantly, “Gotcha!”

That’s what you think, Chris thought. At a speed that was almost frightening, he “swept” Lisette, his right foot hooking her left leg behind the knee and shifting her so far off-balance, she crumpled into a heap on the hardwood floor.

Stopping only to collect the cell phone, he literally hit the ground running. When he got to the door of the suite, he didn’t even look back.

*****

Chris paused in front of the elevators. Should he or shouldn’t he? He hadn’t really disabled Lisette. She would either pursue him by reading the floors displayed over the elevators, or she would wait until her mother arrived. Given what he’d heard transpire between Lisette and Lisa Fanning, that didn’t seem like a viable option. In fact, Lisette might decide to keep on running rather than face her mother’s certain wrath.

Chris bolted down the stairwell, snapping Emmy’s fanny pack around his waist on the way. His athletic shoes made almost no sound as he moved, which was lucky, since he was concentrating more on speed than stealth right now.

When he reached the lobby, he was at a loss. It would be easy to leave the hotel, but what security would he find on the street? He needed to stop Lisette, even if it was only temporary, and he needed to contact his family again.

In the end, the solution was simple. Straightening to his full height, he combed his fingers through his thick blond hair, glad that he was wearing relatively decent clothes. Approaching the concierge, he inquired about getting a car to take him to the airport. In impeccable French.

However, that fluency didn’t preclude the middle-aged man from scrutinizing the teenager. “Where are your parents?”

Affecting a bored yawn, Chris said that his father had already checked out, expecting him to follow with his sister and their luggage. “But,” Chris said in a conspiratorial tone that invited confidences, “my sister’s a little, que veut dire, crazy. She keeps acting like I’m her *prisoner* instead of her *brother*. Can you help me duck out before she gets down here?”

Suddenly Chris was rewarded for his sincerity and clean-cut good looks with a sympathetic smile from the concierge. “Do you promise to go directly to the airport?

“Bien sur. As soon as I meet up with my father, I’m sure he’ll want to give you something for your trouble.”

To his amazement, the concierge demurred. “Mais non, it is my pleasure to serve you in the best way possible. If you would, just remember the hotel to your friends.” Your well-appointed, living life to the fullest friends, Chris imagined the concierge thinking.

“Uh-oh, here she comes now,” Chris said, having absolutely no trouble conjuring up the right emotions, which were somewhere between fear and total panic.

“Depend on me, mon garcon,” the concierge assured him. With one finger, he pushed a button, opening a small locked door behind him. Gesturing to Chris, he indicated that the teenage should hide inside the luggage storage area.

When Chris was completely hidden, the concierge pushed the button again. The door slid shut automatically. At once, Chris began to feel vaguely claustrophobic. But he refused to let his mind betray his body. “I’m okay. I can do this,” he muttered under his breath.

*****

“Did you see a blond kid, about 13, run by here?”

“Non, mademoiselle,” the concierge said flatly, not encouraging her to ask more questions.

“Are you sure?” Lisette asked sharply.

“Does mademoiselle think I am not telling the truth?” he demanded, lifting a thick eyebrow in a manner befitting royalty, indicating exactly what he thought of *that* notion.

“No, it’s just—it’s important I find him.”

“May one ask why?”

“He’s a-a-a pathological liar. He tells wild, wild stories about, well, practically everything, and he, uh, he needs his pills. Otherwise, he could be dangerous.”

The concierge gave Lisette a bored look that said “pull the other one, honey.” “Sorry, mademoiselle, but I have not seen him.”

Lisette frowned. She was going to be in deep trouble with her mother.

*****

When Lisette had gone back upstairs, the concierge opened the door to reveal a very hot but very relieved teenaged boy. “Thanks.”

“Not at all. Don’t forget now. The airport.”

Chris nodded. But he had no intention of going anywhere near the airport. For one thing, it was the first place Lisette and her mother would look for him. For another, he needed to buy time until he could contact his father. So one bit of misdirection was as good as another.

“Merci, monsieur.”

The concierge saluted Chris. He was obviously from a very refined background. “Mon plaisir.”

Chris waited impatiently for the car to arrive, hiding in the shadows until he could see it coming. When the expensive late-model automobile pulled up, Chris ran for the door, not stopping to think that someone might already be inside, someone who needed to get out before Chris could get in.

Suddenly his hand froze on the door handle.

Clad in the most exclusive French fashion, the beautiful blonde accepted the doorman’s aid in getting out of the car. A moment later, she dropped an appropriate tip into that doorman’s hand.

“Merci, Madame Fanning.”

Chris looked deep into the sunglass-covered eyes of Lisa Fanning and prayed that she had no idea what Michael’s son looked like.

But he’d forgotten. There was someone else Lisa Fanning hated with a passion that ate at her soul.

*Nikita*.

Thinking quickly, Chris let his mouth fall open, as if in complete awe of the woman before him. Adopting the most obsequious tone possible, he began to fawn all over her. “Oh, you are by far the most beautiful lady I’ve ever seen,” he said, roughening his accent slightly. He wanted her to think he was a street kid. He only hoped that he could pull it off.

Holding out his hand, he peeked innocently through thick blond hair, which he’d conveniently managed to muss, at least enough to cover his distinctive light blue eyes. “Could you spare some change, kind lady?”

Initially flattered by the teenager’s compliment, his subsequent request led her to give him a small moue of distaste. She hated being accosted on the street by beggars. These days everyone thought she owed them something. Well, too bad. Making a shooing motion with her elegantly manicured hands, she said frostily, “Be gone, boy.”

“Please? So I can get somethin’ to eat, Madame?”

Chris was afraid that he might be laying it on too thick by detouring into Oliver Twist territory, but he couldn’t give up too soon or it wouldn’t be credible.

Lisa’s cool eyes flickered over him again, dismissing him as too young to be of any use to her. Handsome boys were a dime a dozen, and she frequently found them mildly interesting. But even someone like her drew the line at jailbait. “Leave me alone,” she commanded haughtily.

With a slight bow to her, Chris backed away, hardly able to believe his luck. He would find another car. Somewhere.

He started walking. Rapidly. Resisting the urge to break into a run. That would call undue attention to him. Which was a bad idea. Besides, he didn’t really have any idea where he was. Yet. He just needed to get his bearings. He was sure to recognize a landmark soon.

When he was safely away from the hotel and Lisa Fanning, Chris slowed his pace. He was hungry. He wasn’t sure when he’d eaten last. Lisette hadn’t been particularly concerned with feeding him.

Only problem was, he needed to find a safe place to stop. So he could call his family. His stomach growled. Well, maybe hunger came first.

*****

Chris ducked into a small café, taking a seat outside, where he could see anyone untoward approaching long before they could see him. He ordered café latte and a sweet roll, waiting until the waiter left before he pulled out the cell phone. Pushing the speed-dial like before, he tapped his feet impatiently while the phone took its time making the connection.

Suddenly it went through, and Declan’s soft Irish accent filled his ear. “Hello?”

“Uncle Dec?”

“Chris! Where are you?”

“Paris. In a café. Near…” Chris peered at the nearest street sign. “Looks like Rue Navarre.”

“Stay put. We’re coming to get you.”

“But that could take hours. It might not be safe to stay here.”

“What do you mean? You got away, didn’t you?”

“And ran right into Lisette’s mother. Lisa Fanning.”

Declan sharply inhaled. “How do you know that name?”

“Lisette wasn’t very good at keeping secrets, Uncle Dec. I don’t think her mother treats her very well.”

“That doesn’t excuse what she did to you, kiddo.”

“I know. But I’d hate to see something bad happen to her.” Declan could hear the unasked question in Chris’ voice. He knew his father would seek vengeance on his behalf. He wanted to know if Declan could stop Michael from killing Lisette or her mother.

Unfortunately, Declan couldn’t promise anything. His own emotions were hopelessly tied up with his daughter’s fear and genuine distress at Chris being held captive. He wasn’t sure how *he* would react coming face to face with Lisa, much less how Michael would cope with the situation.

But Chris seemed aware that *something* had to be done to eliminate the threat to the family. Lisa Fanning couldn’t be allowed to continue making her outrageous demands on any of them.

“I dunno how to answer that one, Chris,” Declan settled for saying, wishing he had something more definitive in mind.

“I understand,” Chris replied, his voice sounding more mature than Declan recalled.

“Take care of yourself, kiddo. Just do whatever you have to do. We’ll find you.” Somehow, Declan thought. I don’t know how, but we *will* find you.

“I believe in you and Dad, Uncle Dec,” Chris declared, now supremely confident that his family would protect him. Even from afar.

“I have a bad feeling about this, Michael. What if Chris can’t stay where he is? We won’t know where he’s gone to…or even where to look.”

Michael’s slate-grey eyes looked troubled. “Are you trying to scare me, Declan? Because you’re doing a damn good job of it.”

“You? Scared? Michael—“ Declan was immediately contrite. It was easy to forget that Michael *had* feelings. He was so good at concealing them, his face rarely gave him away.

“I can’t talk to Kita about this. She’s convinced that Chris is coming back. But what if he doesn’t, Declan? What if he doesn’t?” Michael’s face remained impassive, but his voice reflected every bit of the torture being inflicted upon him.

“We’ll find him, Michael,” Declan declared. “I swear we will.” Michael looked as if he could use some support himself, but Declan was afraid that it wouldn’t take more than a hug to completely unravel the older man’s stranglehold on his emotions.

“Thank you,” Michael said tersely, silently acknowledging what Declan would have offered, if he only could.

Turning his attention to his absent lover, Declan called out, “We’re leaving, Sey. With or without you.”

Sey clattered down the staircase with a terrible noise, followed by Sasha. “Dec!” Sey cried. “You’ve got to hear this!”

“We don’t have time for—“

“Sasha, tell Da what you just told me.”

“Da! I found a way to track Chris!”

Declan glanced at Michael, who blinked without apparent reaction. “How?”

“Up till now, he’s been calling you. But you can call him, too.”

“So? What if he—“ Declan caught himself before he said what he was thinking *out loud*. The thought of Chris not being able to answer the cell phone terrified him. He couldn’t even imagine what it would do to Michael.

Sasha looked sharply at his father, reading what was left unsaid in his eyes. “Call him and tell him to leave the phone on.”

“That’ll run the battery down. What if he needs it and he can’t—“ Damn! It was nearly impossible not to think of what *could* happen. None of it good.

“Just do it,” Sasha directed, his dark eyes pleading with his father. Trust me, Da, trust me on this. Please.

“And then what?”

“I modified one of Dad’s computer programs to track Chris’ cell phone.”

“There are only so many frequencies, Sasha. No one can track one particular cell phone.”

“I can,” Sasha said confidently.

“Listen to him, Dec. Michael, you know how good I am with computers.” Michael nodded without speaking. “Well, Sasha is better than me. *Much* better than me.”

“You believe he can do this?” Michael finally asked, his voice sounding rusty from disuse.

“Yes.”

Michael looked as though he were weighing their alternatives. Even if it didn’t, couldn’t work, it was always better to have *more* information than less. “Okay, let’s go.”

*****

Lisa was furious. “You let him escape?” she shrieked, her demeanor no longer ladylike *or* beautiful.

“He overpowered me, Mama!”

Lisa drew back her hand to slap Lisette, but a voice from the hallway made her freeze. “You always were a bitch, Lisa.”

She gasped and whirled to face the now-open door to the suite. “How did *you* get in here?”

“Tsk, tsk, Lisa. Wouldn’t a better question be what am I doing here?”

“All right. What *are* you doing here?”

“Blood calls to blood, Lisa. You know that. Did you think I wouldn’t know?”

Lisette turned pale. “Is-is *he* my real father, Mama?”

Lisa’s nostrils flared as if she smelled something bad. “That man is no more your father than—“

Lisette screamed. Both adults stared at her. “You told me that *Michael Samuelle* was my father!”

“Lisette—“ Lisa tried to interject.

“You wanted me to sleep with *Adam*! My own *brother*!”

“It would have been the perfect humiliation for a man as supposedly honorable as Michael,” Lisa said cuttingly. “Instead you tried to seduce that *boy*.”

“*Anything* was better than what you wanted me to do, Mama!”

Lisa laughed hysterically. “Suddenly you’ve discovered scruples, Lisette? Well, you didn’t get them from me!”

“Must have been *David’s* side of the family, Lisa.”

“You leave him out of this, Kyle! He’s dead and I want him to stay that way!”

Kyle Fanning, the man who looked enough like David to be his identical twin instead of his younger brother, looked intently into the face of his niece. “Your mother killed your real father, Lisette.”

Lisette turned her furious gaze upon her mother. “Is that true, Mama?”

“Yes, but—Lisette, he abused me! For years, he abused me and—“

“Like you abuse me, Mama?” Lisette had the fragile look of someone who was about to crack open and splinter into thousands of brittle, unfathomable pieces.

Kyle smiled, but it was a chilling thing to see. “Looks like a classic case of what goes around comes around, Lisa.”

“I could kill you for what you’ve done,” said Lisette, her hands visibly trembling as she lifted them to her face.

Lisa recovered quickly. “Not if I kill you first.”