Chuckling softly, she grabbed my hand and gave it a pat. Reaching out with her free hand, she again plucked at the long-sleeved black shirt I wore, rubbing the fabric between her fingers. "So...how was she?"

"Corinne!" My shock was, of course, feigned. This was Corinne, after all.

"Now whose mind is in the gutter, hmmm?" Her grin was merciless. "I simply wish to know how she's doing, Angel. Not what she's like in bed. I have a pretty good idea of that already."

Moaning, I covered my face with my hands, feeling the heat of embarrassment warm the skin of my palms. "Is tonight 'Kill the Blonde' night and someone forgot to mention it to me?" As plaintive wails went, it was a pretty good one, if I do say so myself.

She laughed, then ruffled her fingers through my hair. "So?"

"She's... good. I think those months in jail affected her more than she's willing to let on-she's lost a bit of weight-but otherwise, she's doing alright."

"Now tell me something I don't know," she teased.

Pulling my hands away from my face, I sighed. So much for snuggling down under the covers and letting the memories of the wonderful night I had just spent with Ice lull me to sleep. Rolling over to my side, I tried a diversionary tactic. "We really didn't spend that much time talking, Corinne."

"Nice parry, Angel. And I just might be willing to buy that load of fertilizer you're trying to sell. If it was coming from anyone else. Now spill it."

"Can't it wait until tomorrow? Please? I'm exhausted." Maybe the old 'end around' would work.

"I'll just bet you are, my dear." Nope. Didn't work.

"Fine," I said, rolling back onto my back. "What is it you want to know."

"Everything you do, of course."

Chuckling, I shook my head, eyeing her. "Is that all?"

"Pretty much, yes."

And so I told her everything I knew, which wasn't, of course, very much at all. I explained to her how, by Ice's telling, Cavallo was a small cog in a very big wheel. The spokes of that wheel were made up of bribery, kickback schemes, money laundering, jury tampering and other like crimes all situated within the judicial arm of the state government. Not only was Cavallo himself participating in many, if not all, of the criminal activities taking place, he was also, it was believed, in possession of a very important list. A list which contained the names of many of his co-conspirators, some of which he was also practicing his own extortion schemes on in return for his silence in those matters.

A very special, very secret probe, made up of members of the Commonwealth bureaucracy, was very interested in what Cavallo knew. Very interested. And they figured that if they could just get a hold of him, they could make him crack.

"That doesn't sound very plausible. They already had their chance at him. He didn't crack."

"Oh, but he did, Corinne. Ice said he sang like a canary."

"Then why... ?"

"He was under the influence of narcotics at the time. They'd just finished plucking eight bullets out of him, remember?"

"Ahh yes, now that you mention it."

"So, his statements were inadmissible as evidence, and by the time they got around to trying again, his lawyer had him trussed up and gagged and that was the end of that."

"Well, if they want him so badly, why don't they just get off of their fat posteriors and hunt him down themselves?"

"Believe me, Corinne, I asked that question a time or ten myself."

"And?"

I shrugged. "Ice guesses it's because they don't know who the good guys are anymore. That's not the reason they've given her, but it's the one she thinks is the truth."

"They don't even trust their own?" Corinne's eyes were round with disbelief behind her glasses.

"Makes you think, doesn't it."

She shook her head. "And they call us criminals."

I laughed softly, though in truth, the situation was as far from amusing as it was possible to get.

"So, they offer Ice a deal she can't refuse and set her up as a tasty little sacrificial lamb."

"That's about the gist of it, yeah."

"And if she should fail..."

A leaden ball settled itself into my stomach. Failing was definitely number one on my list of things not to even consider.

Corinne gazed at me with eyes filled with compassion. "Forget I said that."

Nodding, I gave her a grateful smile, shoving the notion to the deepest recesses of my mind, where it would linger and, I was sure, come out in nightmares, each worse than the last until a cold sweat would become my nightly companion.

Giving my hand a final squeeze, Corinne stood up and smiled down at me. "Thank you for indulging my rampant curiosity, Angel. I'll leave you to your dreams. May they be sweet ones."

"Thanks, Corinne. Yours too."

Her gentle smile became a leering grin. "Living in a house surrounded by a bevy of naked bathing beauties? How could they be anything but?"

As she gently closed the door on my laughter, I dragged myself up from the bed and walked to the window, pulling the heavy blinds aside just enough to look out into the dark desert night. "Thanks," I whispered before turning away slipping under the covers, allowing the scent of my lover still clinging to the shirt I wore to lull me into the place dreams were born.

And they were sweet.

PART 4.

THE NEXT SEVERAL days passed quickly and, I'll be the first to admit, almost without notice, wrapped up as I was in a haze of sweet memories. After learning of Montana's decision to allow Rio to stay on, albeit without her membership in the Amazons, part of me wanted very much to finally clear the air with my one-time nemesis. Every time I thought to approach her, however, Pony or Critter would sweep down and give the poor woman yet another back-breaking chore to accomplish.

Still, on the few occasions our eyes chanced to meet, her expression was one of such supreme sorrow and regret that I felt my heart going out to her in a way it had never done for the people who had tormented me in the past. So I made myself a firm promise that we would get together and talk. Soon.

Early one afternoon, as I was making my way from the house to the stables, a bit of commotion stirred the women walking the grounds, and when I turned around to look, a dusty pickup was pulling the last several yards into the driveway.

As soon as it stopped, an attractive young woman-blonde, with a California tan and a beaming smile-hopped down from the cab. Seemingly from nowhere, Cowgirl blew by me and, with a loud whoop of joy, leapt into the woman's arms, pinning her against the truck and melding their lips together in a kiss which sent the already warm temperature up another ten degrees.

"Cheeto," came Montana's voice from behind my right shoulder.

Turning my head, I looked at her, a question in my eyes.

"Don't ask," she replied, smirking.

"Probably best that I don't," I agreed.

After a very long, heated moment, the strangely-named Amazon-at least I assumed she was an Amazon, though her parents could well have been flower children with a fondness for Frito-Lay products for all I knew-released Cowgirl, grinned broadly, and waved to the rest of us.

Then, walking over to the passenger's side of the truck, Cheeto opened the door and helped a young woman exit the cab, holding the woman's arm until her feet gingerly came into contact with the ground.

A gasp went through the small crowd of onlookers as the young woman looked up, tucking a length of light brown hair behind one ear and smiling shyly at the gathered women.

I heard my own gasp join the rest as I saw the tragically marred beauty of the woman before me. Dark eyes peered out through swollen, blackened flesh. Her cheeks were puffed out to what I believed to be at least twice their normal size, the left one sporting a knot the size of a cue ball. Ugly black bruising stained the skin of her jaws and neck, where it disappeared beneath the collar of her shirt.

"Bastard." The snarled epithet came from somewhere behind me, and I could feel the crowd's anger radiate through the yard.

The young woman dropped her gaze, her hand wandering, birdlike, to her throat. If it weren't for the horrific bruising which covered her face like some demon's patchwork quilt, I'm sure her blush would have been readily seen.

From beside me, a woman stepped forward, taking the stranger into a tender embrace. As if breaking a dam, others came forward, and still others, until the woman was surrounded by a circle of support.

"Her name is Nia," Montana explained, low voiced, as I looked on, my jaw hanging agape. "Unfortunately, she's an all too frequent visitor to Akalan."

"Who did this to her?"

"Her husband."

"Oh no," I half-moaned, half-whispered as my mind was suddenly deluged with scenes I spent long years trying to forget. Scenes of Peter standing over me, teeth clenched in an animal's snarl, eyes bulging, hands tightly fisted-waiting to lash out... waiting... waiting... waiting.

I closed my eyes against the strength of those images, then opened them quickly when the small group of women brushed by me, Nia safely ensconced between them.

"Are you alright, Angel?" Montana's voice was soft with concern.

I turned a weak smile toward her. "Yeah. Just dealing with some memories."

She nodded sagely, but remained quiet.

"You said she's been here before?"

"Many times, yes." Now her voice held a note of deep sadness.

"The same man... ?"

"Yes."

"So why does..." But I trailed off, the question unfinished. It was the same question I'd asked myself a million or more times in my own life, and one for which there was no ready answer. Did she feel trapped, as I had, with nowhere to turn? Did she feel somehow deserving of his fists, his fury? Did she believe his tearful recriminations, his promises to do better, his pleas for just one more chance to show his love?

I'd believed each and every one of those things in my own marriage. And though it shames me now to admit such things, back then, it seemed my only chance for survival. The woman I am now would never, I hope, accept the lies nor cower before the cruelties, but the woman I was then felt she had no choice in the matter.

Hindsight is, as is often said, viewed through perfect vision.

After a brief squeeze to my shoulder, Montana left me alone with my thoughts.

Nighttime came quickly and, as I was settling down for some well-earned rest, a soft knock came to my door. "C'mon in."

The door opened slowly, and Nia peeked in, freezing as soon as she saw me. "Oh. I'm sorry. You're getting ready to sleep. I'll just..."

"No, that's alright," I replied, hastening to sit up. "Please. Come in."

"Are you sure?"

My heart breaking at her timidity, I gave her my brightest smile. "Sure I'm sure." Pulling my arm from beneath the blankets, I patted the bed. "Make yourself comfortable."

"I... um... just came to see if I could borrow some toothpaste. I... don't have any and I... kinda saw your light on under the door."

"Help yourself," I replied, gesturing to my toiletries laid out neatly on the dresser-top.

With the bearing of a beaten dog, she made her way over to the dresser, retrieved the requested item, and after looking at me for another long, assessing moment, finally sat down gingerly on the bed, as if expecting me to kick her off at any second..

"I don't think we've been properly introduced. I'm Angel."

Keeping my smile as bright and friendly as possible, I slowly extended my hand, watching as wary eyes took the gesture in. After a moment, she wiped her own hand off on her pants and extended it to meet mine. I began to clasp it gently, then stopped, looking down.

Only by the grace of some beneficent god was I able to keep the gasp in my throat. Though a woman I knew to be younger than myself by at least two years, her hand had the look of a crippled octogenarian beset with a horrible case of arthritis.

I knew without asking, however, that no disease laid its touch on those once supple fingers. Rather, they were deliberately broken and then refused treatment, left to heal as best they could. The end result was a crooked tangle of swollen joints only vaguely resembling the hand it used to be.

Noticing my stare-how could she not?-Nia smiled hesitantly, and retrieved her hand. "I... got it stuck in a..."

"Don't," I whispered, on the verge of tears. "Please."

"Don't what?" she asked, her expression the very picture of innocence. An innocence I wasn't even close to buying.

"Don't lie. Not here. Not to me. Please."

"But, I'm..."