“Tell me who killed my wife,” Jason Morgan asked the tall and silent blonde woman who sat next to him at the bus stop, her eyes constantly scanning the city scene around them. They’d been walking for hours, Sarah saying very little since they left the diner.

Jason checked his watch. It was almost midnight. He was tired of playing tourist. He wanted, no needed, some answers. And he needed to make sure Emily was all right.

Sarah Webber turned in his general direction, but didn’t look at Morgan directly. Her instincts were kicking up and she had learned over the years to listen to them. They were being watched, dammit. They were being watched and she hadn’t spotted them for at least an hour or so, which meant they knew what they were doing. Which ruled out the morons who worked for Morgan. So who the hell were these guys?

Her voice lowered even as her hand checked her weapon. “I can’t tell you who killed your wife. But I can tell you what killed your wife.”

“Stop playing semantics and explain yourself.”

“The answer is simple Morgan. You killed your wife. The minute you and Corinthos hopped in bed with Kosokov you signed her death warrant.”

Jason shuddered. “Is this what this is about? The deal with Kosokov? Hell I’ll get Sonny to back out of it.”

Sarah lifted an eyebrow and shook her head. “You know for a guy who shows no emotions you have an awfully idealistic view of the world. You don’t back out of a deal with someone like Kosokov. As for Mr. Corinthos, he can’t help you on this one.”

“What the hell did you do to Sonny?”

“Language Mr. Morgan. Please.” Sarah responded casually. “Mr. Corinthos is safe and unharmed. He was just a complication in the deal we are about to set up and the Consortium doesn’t believe in dealing with complications. We either eliminate them or remove them. Be thankful that in Mr. Corinthos case they voted to remove him. I have to tell you that the vote was close. Your Mr. Corinthos has some powerful enemies and it almost swung the other way.” She paused. “Not that I can’t request another vote. Most field operatives don’t have that authority, but then again I’m not most operatives. If I want Corinthos dead, they’ll go along with it.”

“You are one icy bitch.” The words were cold and bitter, and despite the layers of protection on some level they hurt. Sarah averted her eyes. This wasn’t the kind of life she had dreamed about when she was a kid. But it was the life that the fates had handed her. All she was doing was surviving it.

“If it makes you feel better, call me all the names in the book.” The words were toneless, but Jason could have sworn he detected a measure of hurt in them. “Just don’t underestimate me and we’ll get along fine. As for who killed your wife, we’re not the only ones after Kosokov. It could have been one of the groups who want him dead ....”

Her voice trailed off and Jason finished, “But you don’t think so?”

“Sensitivity and intelligence Mr. Morgan?” Sarah quipped sarcastically. “I guess I’ll have to tell our intelligence boys to revise your profile.” She paused. “ There’s a group who want Kosokov to stand trial in international court. So far, he’s managed to avoid standing trial through legal and illegal maneuverings. If they can capture him, bring him back to the Balkans to stand trial for his crimes, they see that as a cause worth dying for.”

“But the people you work for don’t want him to stand trial.”

“Not in a public court of law.” A cold hard look crossed Sarah’s eyes. “The man is a madman. What he did in the Balkans rivals what Hitler did to the Jews. Do you think the Allies would have put Hitler on trial after World War II? Kosokov has enough followers, enough people willing to carry on what he started. He doesn’t need the cameras from every media outlet in the world giving him hours and hours of air time to convert more. Put him on public trial and you create a martyr and then you give him the means to spread his message of hate across the world.”

“So they sent you to kill him instead.”

“I volunteered.” Sarah said simply.

Silence reigned for a few minutes. “What do you want me to do?” Jason asked.

“In two days Kosokov arrives in Port Charles on a private jet. You will meet him as planned and bring him back to your place where your meeting with him will take place.”

“Where you will kill him?”

“No. He’ll be too well guarded.” A secret pain filled her eyes and even Jason heard the slight shakiness in her voice as she continued. “Kosokov comes from the old school. He’ll expect you to “entertain him.” Liquor. Cigars. Women. You’re going to give me to Kosokov for his pleasure. When he takes me back to his hotel room....afterwards I’ll kill him.”

“What?” Jason looked shocked. “No way. Not a chance. If Kosokov is the kind of madman you’ve described him as, I’m not letting you go off with him.”

“Letting me?” Sarah looked at him sharply. “Do I need to remind you of who’s calling the shots here? Who’s in charge?”

“You would let him....” Jason’s voice trailed off.

“I would do whatever it takes to kill him.” Sarah said flatly. “Whatever it takes.”

“Even let him rape you? God you’re a harder bitch than I thought you were. Or maybe you just like it rough.” Jason said coldly, the frustration and the events of the last 24 hours catching up with him as he lashed out.

Even let him rape you? Even let him rape you? ...maybe you just like it rough.. The words echoed crazily through her head, intersecting with memories that cut through her like a knife. She paled and without thinking stood up to walk away, wanting only to escape from herself.

Jason swore as he watched the facade shatter and the pain that filled those blue eyes seemed so great that he swore he could feel it too. Whatever had happened to turn Sarah Webber into this person, somehow his words had touched a nerve.

He thought about what he said and suddenly he instinctively knew. Whatever crimes against humanity Kosokov had committed, he had committed some of them against this women.

He felt a deep shame fill him as he remembered his words. He caught up with her a half a block away and with his hand on his shoulder turned her around to face him.

And for a moment he flinched at the hatred he saw on her face before it was replaced with her usual cool professionalism.

“I shouldn’t have said that....” he began but before he could finish, Sarah interupted him.

“Morgan?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up and get out of the way.” And with one hand Sarah pulled Jason off balanced and with the other her automatic pistol came up and fired, one shot silenced before it hit the night.

“What the hell?” Jason staggered to his feet but Sarah was already running to the body, searching through his pockets.

“What are you doing?”

“Searching for identification.” She found his wallet in his jacket pocket. Then she checked the tips of his fingers and nodded when she saw the fingerprints were burned off. “I thought so.”

“I don’t get it. Why carry ID and burn your fingerprints?”

“The ID’s are fake. Passports, driver’s license, assumed identities. The man’s a professional killer.” She picked up his gun. “Poorly armed. This is last year’s model.”

“Why are you taking his wallet?” Jason asked as she pocketed the wallet. “What does it matter if the ID’s are fake?”

“The PCPD will run the names through the WSB. I’d rather that agency not know this guy was in town. The last thing the Consortium needs is those do gooders in town to bungle things up.” She looked up as the city bus approached from around the corner. “Come on, let’s get out of here before his back up shows up.”

After they were seated on the bus and the bus had pulled away, Jason looked at the enigmatic young women sitting next to him. Giving in to some impulse, he reached over and picked up her hand and examined a finger.

“Finger prints. Why aren’t yours burned off?”

Sarah looked at him steadily. “You burn your fingerprints to avoid being identified if you are caught. I don’t plan on getting caught.” She pulled her hand away.

Jason sighed. “Would it help if I said I was sorry for what I said back there?”

“Not a bit,” Sarah said softly as the bus continued on its way in the dark.

The motel.

Emily’s first realization when she woke up was that her head was feeling better, the pounding ache had shifted into a dull knocking and the dizziness had disappeared. Her second realization was that the room was completely dark except for the muffled light coming through the drapes from the neon motel sign. Her third realization was that not only was she not in the room alone, she wasn’t even in the bed alone. A warm body was next to her and strong arms were across her, holding her gently.

The fourth realization was that she liked waking up like this.

It was that realization that sent her scurrying across the bed to turn on a light.

She blinked as the light momentarily blinded her before she found herself face to face with Jagger.

The same man who wanted to kill you. Don’t forget that Em. Not for a second.

Or at least not again.

She felt a hand grip her wrist.

“Don’t think about leaving.” Jagger’s voice was low and even.

“You can’t control what I think,” Emily shot back deliberately misunderstanding him.

Jagger smiled. “You must be feeling better.”

Smiles like that should be outlawed Emily thought as she looked away.

Jagger slipped out of the bed and put his shoes back on, his back to her. He closed his eyes and remembered what it felt like to lie next to her. He hadn’t slept, opting instead to just hold her and watch her to make sure that she was okay.

This is crazy Cates. You love Karen. If you want a bed mate, you’ve got Sarah. Not this little girl. This little girl only spells trouble.

God, she’s younger than Gina.

That’s it. Focus on her age. Not her looks. Not her courage. None of that. Not the crazy impulse to hold her that filled you when told you about her grandmother dying.

So lost in though was he, that it took him a few seconds to realize she had asked a question and he had to have her repeat it.

“When are you going to let me go?” She asked softly. “Not that I have much of a life at the moment, but what I do have I’d like to get back to.”

“Back to what?”

Emily almost smiled. How many times had she asked herself that question? “Back to school mostly. I have classes to go to you know.”

“Famous model plays at being a college student?”

“You have it wrong. It’s more like college student plays at being a famous model. And then before that it was mixed up teenager plays at being a famous model.”

“So, what are you studying?”

“Journalism.”

He laughed and despite the fact that she knew he was a killer, she gave in to the impulse and threw the pillow from the motel bed at him.

“Don’t laugh. I got so tired of all those stories about me and my family and everything, that I decided to turn the tide so to speak. I want to be a writer. I want to write stories and poems and stuff like that eventually, but in the meantime I might be a journalist. Who knows? If you listen to my grandfather I’ll either be an addict on the streets or CEO of ELQ or following in family traditions by being both.”

He sobered slightly at the seriousness in her voice. “I think you can be whatever you want to be.”

Emily pulled herself away from the sincerity in his eyes. He tried to kill you. You heard what he said to Sarah. He’ll do it again.

“If I live long enough.” she said softly, she sat up on the bed and put her head on her knees.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” He said softly as he walked around the bed to sit in front of her. “Once your brother agrees to our demands, you’ll be free to go.” He placed a hand on hers and the warmth of the contact shot through both of them.

“You don’t understand. Jason....” She tries to keep her voice level but knows she is failing. “Jason hates me. You can use Michael as a bargaining chip, but not me. He won’t care what happens to me. So you’ll end up having to kill me. You or Sarah. It’s the only way to keep your secret. I’m a complication, you know. And I’ve seen enough movies to know what happens to the complications.” Emily frowned. “And it isn’t living happily ever after.”

Jagger almost smiled. “This isn’t a movie. You have to trust me. I’m not a cold blooded killer.”

Emily points to the array of guns on the table.

“I said I’m not a cold blooded killer. I never said I wasn’t a killer.” Despite herself, Emily giggled at the incongruity of that statement and Jagger did smile. “I won’t let anything happen to you.” He repeated softly.

Their eyes met and hold, and despite herself, despite the warning bells sounding loudly in her head, Emily found herself drifting closer to him, to his warmth.

Until a cold voice destroyed the atmosphere in the room.

“How cozy.” A cold mocking voice sounded and Jagger looked up, finding himself staring straight into the barrel of a gun.

He reached for his own gun and realized it sat on the chair on the other side of the bed.

Even as he moved to put himself between Emily and the gun, for the first time in years, Jagger felt what it was like to be helpless.