John felt like he was just waking up from some horribly vivid nightmare, as he watched Tom's battered body slump lifelessly to the floor, leaving a bright red trail of blood along the way. "Oh, god! What have I done?!" he panicked as he felt for Tom's pulse. It was weak, but still there. He ran to the locked door and began pounding on it with his fists. "Get medical help in here now!" he screamed at the top of his lungs.
John could hear the sound of hurried footsteps racing toward the room, and then the sound of the key turning in the lock, as he knelt back by Tom's limp body. Tom's breathing was shallow and there was a gurgling sound coming from his throat, as John gingerly checked for broken bones and then moved him so that he was on his side, his head hyperextended so that his airway was less obstructed.
He heard the heavy, metal door behind him swing open and the guard let out an anguished gasp: "Jesus, John! What happened here?! He was your partner -- I thought you just wanted to talk to him in private -- not kill him! Both of our butts are gonna be in a sling for this one!"
"Just shut up and call 9-1-1 now!" John yelled.
"Procedure is that I call the infirmary--" the guard started to say, pulling out his cell phone.
"Screw procedure, Mark! He needs a hospital and doctors, not the damn infirmary and some med tech!" John screamed, as the guard nodded and then hastily dialed the number.
John looked back at Tom, who lay on the floor; his face bloodied and nearly unrecognizable from the swelling and the discoloration, and prayed softly as he watched his friend struggle to breathe. "Hang in there, Tom…hang in there…" he softly prayed as he rocked slowly back and forth on his haunches, wondering how and when both he and Tom had lost control of their lives, and when -- if ever -- sanity would once again be restored in their universe.
Dr. Jim Mooney settled back in one of the recliners in the staff lounge at the Carlisle Urgent Care Center, and sighed, popping two aspirin and a slug of water into his mouth in an attempt to head off the tension headache that was beginning to build behind both temples. It had been a long day, and it promised to be an even longer night. He rarely worked such grueling hours by taking on extra shifts here at the clinic any longer, since he'd gotten his recent windfall, but he was working this shift as a favor to Dr. Stencil, whose youngest daughter was having a ballet recital tonight. Dr. Stencil had a houseful of kids -- seven, at last count -- so he told everyone he needed to work so many extra shifts at the clinic just to make ends meet. More likely he works so much just to escape the mayhem of living in that household, Jim thought, as he picked up a newspaper that had been left by a previous staffer.
He opened it and saw that it was the National Inquisitor, and his eyes brightened. He had never liked this rag much in the past, but it was definitely playing a major role in his future, he grinned, as he thought of the thousands of reasons why he now liked this tabloid. Correction -- make that tens of thousands of reasons why he liked it, he chuckled to himself, as he thought about the hefty check he'd just received from them for his tidbits of information about Angel Langan AKA Brenda Barrett.
He began reading, but his face fell the further he got into the article. This article was a true hatchet job on both Ms. Barrett and Mr. Jacks, and that had not been his intention when he had called The Inquisitor with his hot scoop about Ms. Barrett being alive and well and pregnant, to boot. His only intention was to get some big money and fast to help him get out from under some of this phenomenal debt load that he had accumulated, and The Inquisitor had come through for him in that regard. But they had twisted all the information that he had given them about both Angel Langan AKA Brenda Barrett and Tom Langan, the FBI agent who was her protector, and whom The Inquisitor had painted as her paramour. He had no idea where they had come up with their other "facts" about her possibly faking her death to escape another boyfriend with ties to the mob, nor did he really want to know. He just hoped that the Jacks family never caught wind of what had been printed and would never put pressure on the paper to reveal its source for this story.
The tabloid had promised him complete anonymity, but the way the article was worded, especially about the "details" of Ms. Barrett's pregnancy and her alliance with the FBI agent, could easily lead a competent investigator hired by a powerful person, such as Jasper Jacks, straight back to him -- and lead him straight to a medical ethics board, where he could lose his medical license forever! And he doubted that when push came to shove that the fine, upstanding "journalists" at The Inquisitor would really go to the mat to protect him as their source. Suddenly he wasn't so thrilled with the tens of thousands of dollars he had earned by revealing his information to the tabloid. He realized that he might have lessened his debt load, but he'd brought a truckload of something far more worrisome than money problems down on himself, and that could mean the end of his medical career completely. Suddenly, he realized that it was going to take more than a couple of aspirin to ward off the headaches he could be facing in the near future, and that thought scared him more than anything else he'd ever faced in his life, including that debt load he'd viewed as insurmountable just a few days before.
Marco Leone sat in his luxurious suite in the casino resort owned by Sonny Corinthos on a small, private island just off the coast of Venezuela, sipping a brandy and rolling a casino chip around in his hand, as he carefully mulled over the information he had just been given. He had just learned that his two top men, Dan Wilkerson and Tony Richards, were both being held at a federal facility in Queens. Danny was still in the infirmary there, recovering from the gunshot wound to his thigh, and Tony was being held in isolation, since he had made a deal with the feds to tell all about his involvement in Marco's organization in exchange for government protection.
Marco smirked at that last bit -- government protection. It seemed an oxymoron in his book. Even the U.S. government was not beyond his considerable reach. There was little that the feds knew and did that he couldn't eventually find out. It might take a little while, but eventually, if one planted enough money around, something always sprouted and came to fruition. Marco had been playing this game far longer than most of the FBI agents had been, and he knew ALL the ins and the outs of the game. He had survived countless local, state, and federal administrative changes, and he had gotten stronger with each successive regime. He had learned many valuable things at Johnny Rinaldi's feet, but perhaps the most valuable lesson he had learned was that greed crosses all party and socioeconomic lines -- Republican, Democrat, Independent, rich, poor, or in-between -- it didn't matter. Whoever had said that love makes the world go 'round, was sadly mistaken. Marco knew better. It was greed that made the world go 'round -- greed for both money and power. And Marco knew all too well that one eventually led to the other. The meek might eventually inherit the earth, but the rich and the powerful get everything that is truly worth owning, Marco mused, taking another sip of his brandy.
He thought about his considerable reach and those on whom he counted for inside information. He had not heard from David Sikes recently, but he was not worried. Sikes was not his only connection within the FBI, and Sikes was naïve if he thought that he was. This latest info had come from a source that had proved nearly as useful to him in recent weeks as Sikes had, although this contact could never have provided such a perfect frame of the hapless agent, Tom Langan, who had taken the fall for being the leak to his organization. But now this contact had just informed him that Agent Langan was in the same federal facility in Queens that held Danny and Tony. How fortuitous, Marco thought as he continued to sip his brandy and stare out the windows at the moonlight reflecting off the warm waters of the Caribbean that lapped at the shore just below. He could handle all three of his problems at once, and all with the help of the same contact. He liked that. He liked order and succinctness in his life, which is why he had hated the mess that the Jacks family had brought down upon him.
His eyes narrowed as he thought about the Jacks family. Their virtual destruction was the one thing that was driving Marco these days. He wanted to see them pay for their duplicity of him, and he wanted them to pay dearly. Their relationship had been mutually beneficial until recently, and now it seemed that he was the only one who was truly paying for their association. His sources had informed him that the deal the government had given John Jacks and his family allowed John and Jerry to remain out of prison, although unable to deal in securities for a period of ten years. It dismantled J&J Jacks of Alaska, and it stripped them of their financial holdings and all real estate, except for the family homestead in Alaska, which itself was valued at a cool $5 million. The deal also allowed young Jax to basically retain everything that he had amassed on his own, which was a considerable fortune, including real estate holdings around the world, a yacht, and one of his Lear jets. The government had done little to punish them, concentrating instead on trying to bring him down. But he would show them all, and beat them all in the end. And along the way he planned to torment the entire Jacks clan in every conceivable way.
That brought his mind back to Sonny Corinthos and where he fit into his plan for sweet revenge on the Jackses. Corinthos had been champing at the bit to return to Port Charles, ever since he had learned that Brenda Barrett was alive and well and back with her fiancé, Jax. Marco had figured that Sonny would be the perfect tool to use to strike discord in that happy, little family, but he had had no idea as to the depth of Corinthos's animosity for Jax.
A cruel smile swept across Marco's face as he realized the intense satisfaction that the fulfillment of this plan would bring him, not to mention the lush, tropical hideaway that would soon be his as well. He planned to take out Corinthos as soon as he had served his purpose, and then usurp all of the wealth that Corinthos had accumulated. To the victor go the spoils, Marco laughed to himself, and there would be quite a lot of satisfying bounty to be reaped -- both from the Jackses, as well as from Corinthos -- when this little victory was accomplished.
But first he had to keep Corinthos's eyes on the prize, long-term. Sonny Corinthos was not a patient man, and Marco knew that patience was the one thing that Corinthos would have to learn if this plan for the total destruction of the Jacks family were to work. He had to "convince" Corinthos of the sweeter rewards of the job that is well done over an extended period of time, rather than the quick compensation of merely barreling ahead to the final goal.
To Marco, doing "business" was not unlike having sex -- one could take their time and savor every satisfying step that leads up to the ultimate act of intense pleasure, or one could merely rush through, looking only for that sweet release at the end. He got the impression that Corinthos rushed both his business dealings and his sexual encounters, but Marco was determined to at least change the way Corinthos did business. Somehow, he got the distinct impression that sex for Corinthos was more about conquest than pleasure anyway, and that would most likely never change.
But in Marco's experience, conquest and pleasure had equal importance in every aspect of his life, which is what had carried him so far in his lifetime -- that and his uncanny ability to read people and situations. If he read Corinthos correctly -- and he had no doubt that he had -- then he could convince him that the only way to win back Ms. Barrett was by convincing her and the town of Port Charles that he was a cool-headed businessman now and not a hot-headed mobster. He had to point out to Corinthos that in order beat Jax at his own game -- including getting the woman -- he would have to "become" Jax, emulating and even outstripping Jax, move for smooth move.
And that meant planning and strategizing every possible move on both of their parts, and that would take a few weeks of preparation time, which was what was truly upsetting Corinthos. He wanted to return to "his" Brenda immediately, snatching her from Jax's clutches the minute he hit town.
"I wonder how he'll feel once he learns she carrying Jax's child?" Marco pondered as he tipped the snifter to allow himself access to the last of the sweet nectar that remained there. "Will it make him more intent on destroying Jax because of his jealousy -- or less intent because of his love for Ms. Barrett?" Marco wondered aloud. "I'm willing to bet that his hatred of Jax will far outstrip his love for the beautiful Ms. Barrett, and Corinthos won't hesitate to kill him after he's destroyed the family… And I'm rarely wrong when I bet…" he chuckled, as he flipped the casino chip onto the table and poured himself another snifter of brandy, suddenly relishing the task ahead more acutely than he had ever savored anything in his life…
David Sikes wearily hung up the phone and slowly reached for his glass of whiskey once again. He downed it quickly, pouring himself another glass and then headed back to the sanctuary of his couch, where he had been resting before he had been interrupted by the call from Agent Patrick Kincaid, informing him of the latest wrinkle in this whole, never-ending Marco Leone situation.
Agent Kincaid reported that he and Michaels had apprehended Langan without any difficulty, finding him in Port Charles at Brenda Barrett's home. Langan had not resisted arrest, although he had appeared stunned by the charges that had been brought against him. He had protested his innocence continuously from Port Charles to Queens, but no one who had seen the evidence had believed him, least of all John Michaels. Michaels had been withdrawn and uncommunicative on the entire assignment, and had tried to avoid any contact with Langan once they had gotten to the jail in Queens, where Langan was to be processed and then held until his arraignment, which was scheduled for 10:00 a.m. today in the Fifth District Court. But it seemed that instead of being in court to be formally charged, Langan was now in St. Mary's Hospital, after Michaels had pummeled him mercilessly.
According to Kincaid, Michaels had gone to Langan's cell after Langan had repeatedly asked to see him, and he had dismissed the guard, asking for privacy. Since Michaels was an agent and Langan's partner, the guard had complied and did not return to his station until he had heard Michaels pounding on the door and yelling for medical help. When the guard arrived back at the cell, Langan was lying on the floor, barely alive. Langan had been taken immediately to St. Mary's, where his condition was listed as serious but stable, and Michaels had surrendered his gun and his badge and was being held at the facility in Queens now.
David tossed back the rest of his drink, set the empty glass on the coffee table, and listened as the grandfather clock in the hall struck 12:15. Exhausted, he rubbed his hands across his tired eyes, wishing that he could just fall asleep and wake up and everything would be back to normal once again. Gwen would be healthy and happy, and her body would be whole once again -- and cancer would be something that only afflicted someone else's loved ones. He would not be a puppet of Marco Leone, and Tom Langan and John Michaels would still be agents with spotless records and a bright future in front of them both. But that was never going to happen. Whether he slept or not, Gwen as still in that hospital fighting valiantly to stay alive; Tom Langan was still unconscious and also fighting for his life in another hospital; John Michaels was still in jail on charges of assault, and possibly even manslaughter charges; and most of all he was still very much a puppet of Marco Leone -- and of his own stupidity.
David leaned back on the couch and thought about the events in his life in the past few months and the decisions he had made concerning his life -- and how those decisions went on to affect the lives of so many more than just him and Gwen. He had stupidly entered into his alliance with Marco Leone thinking only of one thing -- getting the money to save Gwen's life. But it wasn't until he was in too deeply involved to extricate himself that he realized the mistake he had made. The money was a literal lifesaver for Gwen, but he had sacrificed his career and his integrity to get it. It was then that he had known that in order to enjoy Gwen's new lease on life with her that he'd need to find someone to take the fall for his crimes.
He had not gone looking to frame Tom Langan; he had merely fallen into his lap. Langan's blatant interest in the Jacks/Leone case -- while on vacation, no less -- had caused many of the higher-ups in the bureau to question his motives, so David had just built on that. It had been incredibly easy, especially once he learned that Langan had saved the fiancée of Jasper Jacks, subsequently falling in love with her and then helping the Jacks family hide her from Leone. Tampering with computer records of both Langan's bank transactions and his phone usage had been relatively easy, as well. A competent investigator could eventually unravel the lie that he had expertly woven, but it would take weeks -- perhaps even months -- and by then, both he and Gwen would be long gone and far beyond the reach of U.S. jurisdiction.
He had just applied for early retirement and he would be leaving the agency in another 3 weeks -- just about the time Gwen should also be leaving the hospital after her transplant. His superiors had understood his desire to want to spend as much time as possible with Gwen after the transplant, and his request for early retirement had been easily approved. They also understood his desire to move to a far warmer climate, although they assumed he was moving to somewhere warmer in the U.S. Whereas, David had already arranged for housing and medical care far south of the border -- and in a country with no extradition treaty with the U.S. -- and far enough away that he wouldn't have to hear about Tom Langan's case as it was played out on the front pages of all the papers and as the lead story on the nightly news.
The words that Kincaid had used to describe Tom Langan's condition continued to play over and over in his head, and he could picture Langan's battered and bloodied body as the medical team worked to save him. David shook his head, trying to clear that image from his mind. His mind wandered back to earlier in the day when Michaels had been leaving his office. The look on his face should have been David's clue that he was a loaded gun just waiting to go off, but David had pushed him to go anyway. "I never meant for this to happen…" he whispered to the empty room, tears filling the corners of his eyes.
He stood up, picking up his empty glass as he did, and walked over to the nearly empty bottle of Jim Beam that he'd opened just hours before, sighing as he poured himself yet another glass of the amber liquid. He downed the pungent liquid in one gulp and then poured himself another one, downing it just as quickly. He knew well from recent experience that if he drank enough then his sense of remorse would be dulled and he could finally get some rest, but he also knew that if he kept this up for much longer, that it would be the death of him. "It's only a few more weeks," he told himself, as he poured the last of the whiskey into his glass. "Only a few more weeks…"
"Okay, Michaels, you know the drill. You've got one phone call… I suggest you use it wisely," Agent Patrick Kincaid said as he pushed the phone over in front of John, and then left him alone in the interrogation room, locking the door behind him.
"I will," John murmured, as he lay the slip of paper with a number on it down by the phone. He slowly dialed and waited for someone to answer on the other end.
"You have reached the answering service for Kennedy, Marshall, and McBride. Which attorney are you trying to reach, and what is your message, please?" a nasally female voice intoned.
"This is for Daniel Kennedy, please," John began, speaking slowly and succinctly. "Tell him that Tom Langan has been taken to St. Mary's Hospital in Queens, and that Mr. Kennedy is needed there as soon as possible…" John paused momentarily, then took a deep breath and continued, "Did you understand that? It's very important that Mr. Kennedy get this message immediately!"
"Yes, I'll make sure Mr. Kennedy is informed immediately," the voice replied. "May I ask who's call -- "
But John hung up the phone before she could finish her request…
"Excuse me," David Kennedy approached the ward clerk who was seated at the desk of the ER at St. Mary's Hospital in Queens, "I received a call that you're treating a Tom Langan here? Could you tell me where I might find him?"
The clerk looked up and was startled to be face-to-handsome-face with a bona fide celebrity such as Daniel Kennedy, recognizing him from all the times he'd appeared on the evening news recently, in connection with that uptown murder case. She caught her breath at how extremely handsome he was. Even in blue jeans and a worn leather jacket, Daniel cut a dashing figure for a man of his age. "Umm… Mr. Kennedy," the ward clerk, whose name tag indicated her name was Angie Shapiro, stammered, "I'm sorry. Mr. Langan is in the process of being transferred up to ICU now, and they will only allow family to visit up there."
Daniel took a deep breath and counted to ten. It was the middle of the night and he was tired, but he knew that blowing his stack with this person was not going to help anything, and certainly would not be good for his image. Daniel flashed her his most beguiling smile and took on an apologetic tone. "I'm sorry, Ms. Shapiro…" he began, glancing down at her nametag, "Mr. Langan is a client of mine, and someone called my service, requesting that I come down immediately. Now, I understand that Mr. Langan was in no condition to call me, so could you please tell me if any of his family members are here with whom I might speak?" He watched as his patented courtroom persona melted the woman in front of him.
"No problem, Mr. Kennedy… I think that Mr. Langan's family is still in the waiting room, just beyond those doors," Angie smiled, pointing to the double doors just to the left of the desk.
"Thank you, Ms. Shapiro," Daniel said, flashing her another bright smile, as he turned to walk in the direction of the ER waiting room.
"Oh… and Mr. Kennedy," Angie called after him, "please call me Angie, and if you need anything else while you're here at St. Mary's, please don't hesitate to ask me."
Angie gave Daniel a starry-eyed look that almost made him burst out laughing, but he contained himself. "Thank you, Angie, for your kindness," he replied simply, then hurried on to find the person who might have called him.
The ER waiting area was bright, but austere, with pale ivory walls and ecru chairs here and there, a matching couch against one of the walls, and a couple of tables holding faux brass lamps and numerous, outdated magazines. Whoever designed this area did not have the comfort of distraught family members in mind, Daniel thought as he glanced around the room, hoping to be able to pick out Langan's family. His task was made easier by the fact that there was only a handful of people in the area, and only three of them were conversing in English.
"Excuse me," he said as he approached the English-speaking trio, a man and a woman, both fortyish, and an older woman "but are you here for Tom Langan, by any chance?"
"Yes, we are," the younger woman said, standing as soon as Daniel had spoken Tom's name. Daniel noted that she was attractive, with auburn hair and very fair skin, and she spoke with a distinct Brooklyn accent -- something that Tom had either worked to lose or had never had in the first place, Daniel thought. "I'm Kate Moherman, Tom's sister," she said, extending her right hand out to him, "and you are…?"
"This is Daniel Kennedy, of Kennedy, Marshall, and McBride," the man seated there broke in excitedly, grabbing Daniel's hand from the younger woman's grasp and pumping it profusely. He had a thick shock of red hair and his face was round and ruddy, and when he stood, Daniel noticed he wasn't much taller than his wife. He, too, had a thick Brooklyn accent. "I'm Andy Moherman. I'm Kate's husband and Tom's brother-in-law, and I'm an attorney in Brooklyn -- civil litigation mainly -- nothing big and certainly no high-profile cases like you handle. This is such an honor to meet you, sir. I've followed all of your cases, and I must say, I'm surprised that Tom was able to attract the talent of someone like you."
Daniel listened in amazement as the man managed to say all of that without taking a single breath.
The older woman stood then and offered her hands to Daniel. "I'm Sarah Langan. I'm Tom's mother. We appreciate your taking an interest in Tom and for coming down here like this. I have to say that I never thought big attorneys like you would come out in the middle-of-the-night like this without being asked," Mrs. Langan said -- also with a definite accent -- grasping his hand warmly between hers. She looked like she was in her mid-to-late sixties, and she had snow-white hair and a fair complexion. Her lined face showed the stress that the day's events had had on her, and her red, puffy eyes indicated that she had been recently crying.
"It's nice to meet all of you," Daniel said as he moved to sit in one of the chairs near where the trio had been seated. "I'm just sorry that it has to be under these circumstances," he added, leaning forward slightly in his chair, so he could speak more quietly and still be heard by them. "Any details on what happened to Tom? The message you left only said he'd been injured and brought here to St. Mary's and asked that I come immediately."
"We didn't call you," Andy said, a puzzled look clouding his face. "We just found out a little while ago that you were even representing him."
"Hmmm… that's strange," Daniel murmured. "I wonder who left the message on my service then? …" His brows knit together as he tried to sort everything out. "It doesn't matter really, I guess… How is Tom, and what exactly happened?"
"We're not sure of the details…" Kate began, as her mother began to cry again, "but it seems that Tom was badly beaten…"
"Beaten? How can that be?" Daniel erupted. "They were supposed to keep him isolated from the general population!" Then suddenly it hit him -- the inmates hadn't beaten him; his fellow law officers had.
"No idea how it happened. It just did," Andy added, putting his arm around his wife, who also looked on the verge of tears. "It's pretty serious from what I understand. He has a fractured skull and a dislocated shoulder. His trachea was nearly crushed, but he's breathing okay now. The doctor said he's unconscious, but not comatose, whatever that means…" his voice trailed off as he looked back toward the doors that led to the ER. "I think we've got the basis for a pretty hefty civil suit here, don't you think?" he added as an afterthought.
"Yes, we very well could have that," Daniel nodded absently, as he pondered whether to tell the family of his suspicions about who had most likely beaten Tom so severely. He looked at their anxious faces, and he decided to keep his suspicions to himself for the time being. "Did any of you talk with the agents who brought him in?" he asked.
"No," Kate answered, shaking her head. "No one from the agency has talked to us at all. We thought maybe John -- that's John Michaels, Tom's partner and best friend -- might be here, but he isn't… I guess he doesn't know what happened to Tommy yet…"
John nodded again. "Well, I plan to talk to the agents who are here and then call the bureau for details." He pulled a small, leather-bound notebook from the inside pocket of his leather coat. "Have any of you called Mr. Jacks yet to let him know about Tom's condition?"
"Mr. Jacks?" Andy asked, bewildered by Daniel's question. "The man whose fiancée Tom is accused of helping to kidnap? Why on earth would we call him?"
"Because…" Daniel said, as he flipped open his electronic organizer and then began dialing a number on his cell phone, "Mr. Jacks and his fiancée, Ms. Barrett, are the ones who hired me to defend Tom in the first place."
Jax quietly picked the phone off its cradle in the bedroom, and made sure the ringer was off for the night. He had just done the same with the phone in Brenda's little office across the hall and both phones downstairs. It was late -- 12:18 a.m. by the clock on the bedside table -- and he didn't want any calls disturbing him or Brenda for the rest of the night. He had turned the answering machine on downstairs for any emergency calls, but he couldn't imagine what emergencies there would be now. The only thing that could constitute an emergency in his book these days would concern Brenda and the baby, and Brenda was right here, sleeping peacefully in their bed.
He climbed quietly into bed, trying to gently move Brenda to her side of the bed without awakening her. Brenda had the habit of gravitating to his side of the bed and hugging his pillow whenever she was in the bed without him. He had chided her about it once early in their relationship, and she had told him it was because it made her feel closer to him. He smiled at that as he slowly edged her over into the middle of the bed -- not too far away from where she had been sleeping -- but allowing him enough room to slide his body in next to hers. Jax lay on his right side, spooning his body around hers, and she sighed softly, settling her backside more fully into his front. He kissed her head softly then moved his left hand down to settle over her slightly rounded tummy, caressing it gently under the long tee shirt she had worn to bed.
"Mmm…" she murmured, as his tender touch brought her out of her sleeping state. She slowly put her hand over his that was caressing her abdomen. "What time is it?" she asked sleepily, opening one eye and glancing warily at the clock.
"It's late, sweetie -- go back to sleep. I didn't mean to disturb you when I got into bed," Jax whispered to her as she turned in the bed to face him.
Brenda smiled dreamily at him and then kissed him softly on the lips. "You didn't disturb me. I was just dreaming about you and then you were here. I'd much rather have my real Jax than a mere dream lover," she said as she snuggled closer to him, her head buried in his chest. "So, what have I missed since I came to bed? Have you heard back from that law firm Alexis recommended?"
Jax pulled her to him. "Yeah, the founding partner of Kennedy, Marshall, and McBride, Daniel Kennedy himself, is handling Tom's case. He visited with Tom at the jail and he got a preliminary look at the charges that are being leveled against him. He said that Tom seems to be in good spirits, and they are keeping him in an isolated area away from the other prisoners for his own safety."
Jax heard Brenda inhale sharply, and he knew that she was going to want more details, so he cut her off with a kiss. "Why don't we talk about this in the morning? You need your rest right now. Tom's safe, and there's not much more we can do for him at this very minute that we haven't already done for him… Besides, I'm a little tired myself…"
"Okay," she smiled as she kissed him again, moving to settle back into his arms, but then something occurred to her. "What about Charlie? Did you let him out before you came up to bed? And where is he now?"
"Charlie's set for the night, and now he's most likely sleeping just outside our closed door there," Jax laughed softly. "He was determined to come in here -- to sleep by your side of the bed, I imagine -- but I cut him off at the pass. I just couldn't bring myself to allow another male to sleep so closely to you," he added, grinning.
"Don't tell me you're jealous of Charlie!" Brenda giggled, punching him softly in the arm.
Jax pretended to ward off her assault and laughed, "Well, you have to admit that he is very protective of you and seems to want to be near you all the time … Not unlike his owner," Jax added quietly, as he lifted his head to see Brenda's reaction. He could just make out her features in the waning moonlight that was streaming in through the windows, but he could see that her face sobered immediately.
"You know I had no idea how Tom felt about me, Jax," she began. "He was just so sweet and kind -- and he reminded me of you. Even when I couldn't remember you, I think I felt so comfortable with him because his essence was like yours and a part of me knew that…" She paused for a moment and then continued, "And maybe I unintentionally led him on in some way, I don't know…" She raised herself on one arm to look directly into Jax's eyes. "But there was never anything that happened between us, Jax -- I swear!"
Jax smiled and brushed her hair back away from her face. "I know, sweetie… I know on two levels -- first of all, I trust you and I know the depth of your love for me, and secondly, Tom told me that nothing ever happened between the two of you."
Brenda's face wrinkled with puzzlement. "Tom 'told' you that nothing happened between us? When exactly did he have time to tell you that -- before or after he was arrested by his own agency on bogus charges? Do all of you guys have some secret code that we women aren't privy to, and that's how he was able to tell you all of this downstairs today without my knowing about it?"
Jax chuckled and tweaked her nose. "No, silly, there is no secret code. Tom told me that nothing had happened between the two of you the day he brought you back to me."
"And why on earth would he tell you that?" Brenda asked, sitting upright in the bed so that she could see Jax's face more clearly.
"Because I asked him," Jax said, matter-of-factly.
"You asked him?" Brenda asked incredulously. "Why would you ask him something like that?"
"Because I knew how he felt about you… Tom and I met in Brighton just a couple of days before you regained your memory and returned home," Jax began.
"How…? And what were you doing in Brighton, of all places?" Brenda asked, now wide-awake and intrigued by all of this.
Jax sat up in the bed, facing Brenda, and took a deep breath and then related the entire story -- of how he had felt the need to visit the site where her car had plunged off the cliff and into the water; of something stopping him from driving his motorcycle off the same cliff; of his road trip south, and his subsequent, unexplained breakdown just outside of Brighton; and of his chance meeting with Tom at the service station. He told her about his immediate feeling of kinship with Tom, and of Tom's offer to take him to the motel/restaurant when it was apparent that Jax's bike couldn't be looked at until the next morning. And he told her about seeing Tom's gifts for her for that night and of hearing from Tom's own lips about his hopes for the night, and of Jax's feelings of jealousy, and his subsequent, unsettling dream in which he saw Tom replacing him in Brenda and the baby's life. At that time he had no idea that Tom's love and his love was one-in-the-same, which made it seem all the more coincidental, now that he looked back at it all.
"You really dreamed about Tom and me being together?" Brenda asked, startled that Jax had subconsciously associated her with Tom in any way.
"Yes," Jax nodded, "and it was that dream that spurred me to find out where Tom was staying with his mystery lady, and that's why I made a trip to the cabin as soon as I got my bike back."
"You were at the cabin?" Brenda was dumbfounded.
"Yeah, it was the morning after Tom rushed you to the clinic. I was worried that something had happened to Tom and his lady friend because there was food on the floor and the front door wasn't even shut. I was just looking for someone, other than Charlie, when Addie called me to tell me about the FBI confiscating everything that I had back here. Otherwise I would have been there when you and Tom returned from the clinic," Jax explained.
"You had been at the cabin while we were gone," Brenda repeated slowly, and then suddenly things began to click for her. "I found that little bear wrapped in tissue paper on the floor near the table when we returned from Carlisle. I just assumed Tom had gotten it for the baby, but now that I think about it, he looked very puzzled when I thanked him for the bear… Is that because he had never seen it before? Did you leave that?"
"Yeah, I'd stopped at a little drug store in Brighton, and I saw that bear and was drawn to buy it for the baby. I must have dropped it out of my jacket when I unzipped it to answer the phone when Addie called. I remember bending down to pick up a rose on the floor as I was pulling out my phone, and I don't remember the bear after that," he explained quietly.
"Jax, this is so amazing!" she said excitedly, launching herself into Jax's arms. "Don't you see -- it was like some divine force was directing you to me and the baby that night. Even though you had no idea that we were both still alive, something brought you to Brighton and intervened so that you and Tom would meet. It made you dream about the baby and me with Tom, and it made you buy the little angel bear for the baby, Jax. It even took you to the cabin where I had been living for two weeks. Some one or some thing -- call it fate or divine providence or the angels -- knows that we belong together, Jax, and it was determined that we be reunited, no matter what!"
Jax smiled as he pulled her back to a reclining position on the bed and lay down beside her. "Well, I've always felt that it was written in the heavens that we were meant to be together for all eternity. I think a part of me has known that since the moment I first laid eyes on you in my penthouse, nearly three years ago."
"Awww, really?" Brenda grinned, running her hand slowly across his cheek, and then down his chest. "That is so sweet. You're beginning to sound just like my dream lover…"
Brenda kissed him deeply and then snuggled closer to him, stirring up those feelings in him that had yet to be released from earlier in the day.
"So, what was this you were saying about a dream lover…?" he asked as he felt his body start to tingle once again.
Brenda smiled and pushed him flat on his back, and then knelt over him. "Well, in my dream, my lover had just thoroughly satisfied my every need, and I was just about to reciprocate, when I woke up... I could tell you what I had planned to do to my dream lover, but how about if I stop talking, and just show you instead?" she purred seductively, as she left a trail of butterfly kisses down his chest. "I know you've always preferred actions over words…" she whispered, as her tongue flicked in and out of his navel on its way to its ultimate goal.
"Mmm…" was all he was able to moan, as Brenda's actions had already spoken far more succinctly than any words ever could, and she'd only just begun. Jax smiled as Brenda took him to heaven, secure in knowing that nothing and no one was going to interrupt this moment of pleasure for the two of them this time.
In the meantime, the answering machine downstairs was blinking wildly, as Daniel Kennedy left message after message for Jax to call him immediately concerning an emergency with Tom Langan…