Ignoring the look, I happily went about my business, sending the letter away and waiting for a response. I received one, two weeks later. It appeared I had forgotten to put the docket number on the letter and the records could not be found using the case name. After several phone calls, I was able to track down the docket number and so sent another letter. That came back saying I was missing some other important piece of information. And so on and so on, world without end. Amen.

When I finally got a letter off that had all the required information in the required fields with the required names and the required numbers, I received a phone call from a very nice woman who kindly informed me that she had no record of either the case name or the docket number in her files. She then told me that perhaps it was better if I spoke to someone in the Hall of Justice and gave me the name and number of some clerk or other who might be able to help me find what I was looking for.

I would have done my mother proud with my utter politeness, disguising as it was the fits of apoplexy I was undergoing at the time. Back and forth I went, talking to one low-level clerk after another, all without success. Like the Dodo bird, Ice's court transcript seemed to have vanished from the face of the earth.

When a mug of steaming tea was slid in front of my face, I broke out of my frustrated musings, smiling as I breathed in the bracing aroma. Lifting the mug to my lips, I took a grateful swallow, then almost spit it right back up again when the hard burn of a strong liquor hit my stomach. I turned a hard-eyed look at Corinne, who grinned at me, totally unrepentant.

"Don't tell me you're a teetotaler, Angel."

"No. It's not that, really. I just wasn't expecting it." And that was the truth, as far as that went. As for the other, liquor and I usually didn't cross paths. On the few occasions I was allowed it at my parents' table, I hadn't liked the taste very much. Plus, you must remember that I lived with a man for whom liquor was a cruel mistress. Seeing its effect on Peter didn't make me want to run for the bottle any time soon.

"Yes, well I thought you could do with some unwinding." She saluted me with her own mug. "Cheers."

I returned the salute. "Thanks." Taking another, smaller, sip, I was pleased when the warmth of the tea and liquor settled in my stomach pleasantly, loosening some of the tension that had accumulated during a totally fruitless day.

"How goes your own hunt, Angel?" Corinne asked.

"That was the easy part," I responded, continuing to sip my tea. "I won't see the transcripts for at least another four months though."

"Four months?"

"Yeah. Apparently there's a real backlog in the Hall of Records. Something about state cutbacks and the lack of transcriptionists. She offered to put a 'rush' on it, but four months was the earliest she could offer me." I shrugged. "What choice did I have? I took it."

I looked up to find my friend looking speculatively at me. "What?" I asked.

"The fact that you're having trouble finding Ice's records wouldn't have anything to do with this laissez faire attitude you've adopted toward your own, would it?"

Setting my mug down, I narrowed my eyes at her. "One has nothing to do with the other, Corinne. If you remember, I haven't given a thought to my own case since I came here, and that was well before I met Ice."

Corinne must have found what she was searching for as we continued to lock gazes because she finally blinked and looked down, nodding slightly. I won't hesitate to say that I found more than a bit of pride in finally winning a stare-down with the woman. It may have taken almost two years to prove to her that I had some strength of will, but it finally happened, and for that, I congratulated myself with another swig of the potent tea. My limbs tingled pleasingly as my heart pumped the alcohol through my system. The tension started to dissolve away and I could fully understand, at least in part, why the bottle seemed a savior to so many.

The rest of the afternoon passed in pleasant conversation with Corinne and the other visitors to her library home. When I next looked at the clock, it was coming on dinnertime. Dragging myself out of my chair, I extended my good-byes and headed back toward the prison proper, hoping to catch Ice as she made her way back from her day at the auto shop.

I was just about to step into the brightly lit main square from the hallway when an arm wrapped itself around my waist and tugged, pulling me backwards into one of the utility closets that shared hallway space with the library. The liquor I'd drunk dulled my reaction time slightly, but I was able to thrust an elbow back toward my captor, though I managed to hit nothing but the handle of a mop sitting in an old bucket in the corner.

Rubbing my smarting crazybone (and really, is there anything that hurts worse, save for stubbing your toe or getting a paper cut?), I tried to use the rest of my body to struggle against the arm which held me trapped. The grip loosened somewhat and I whirled, teeth bared, ready, willing and able to show my abductor exactly what an Amazon named Angel could do in close quarters.

The skills I wound up using were quite different than the ones I'd intended.

Soft lips covered my own, their taste one with which I was intimately, wonderfully acquainted. Melting into the body of my captor-cum-lover, I returned the kiss with the fervor of new love too long apart. Our deepening breaths seemed to suck up all the air in the small room and all too soon we broke apart, though I continued to caress Ice's body in random patterns, happy again to feel her against me.

She squirmed away, slightly. "Hey! No fair!"

I looked up from my happy task toward her upraised palms. They were black with grease and dirt from her work in the shop. I'm afraid a quite evil grin mirrored my thoughts as I moved back in against her, pulling her zipper down just slightly and feasting on the flesh beneath.

"Angel . . . ."

The moaning, breathless quality of the admonition rendered her attempted warning moot. "Mmmm?" I mumbled around a mouthful of succulent flesh.

"Unless you wanna walk through the prison to the tune of snickering inmates 'cause you have two big black handprints on your ass, I'd suggest you let me take a shower first."

Laughing, I pulled away only slightly, still remaining within striking distance. "I'm only practicing my counter-attack maneuvers, Ice," I said with a voice innocent as a newborn's. "Are they working?"

"Oh yeah."

"Good. I think I'll add them to my repertoire. What do you think?"

"You'd better not."

"Oh? Why is that?"

"Because then you'll have every woman in the prison wanting to 'fight' you."

I laughed again. "And that would be a bad thing . . .how?"

Mirroring my laugh, she leaned down and playfully nipped my nose. "Because they'll have to get through me first, and I have a very strict 'three broken arms a month' policy. You wouldn't want me to have to up my quota on your account, would you?" In the feeble light cast by the hallway, I could see her eyebrow arch as a grin played around her eyes.

Sighing in mock frustration, I pulled further away and obediently returned her zipper to its original position, primly patting her chest after I was done. "I suppose not."

"Good answer."

"I was on my way up to say hello before I was so wonderfully detained." Straightening, I executed a half bow, crooking my arm gallantly. "Would you do me the honor of dining with me at Chez Dump tonight? I've heard a rumor that the mystery meat might even be recognizable this evening."

"Sounds like a plan. Give me some time to grab a shower and I'll meet you outside the cafeteria, alright?"

"Will do." Standing on my toes, I kissed her quickly, then turned and left before that mischievous streak she always seemed to bring out wound up with me needing to change uniforms.

The mystery meat remained a mystery as I finished off the last bite, wincing slightly as it stuck to the inside of my throat, dry as dust. We were sitting at a corner table with Critter who'd just come in, bearing a piece of paper and a big grin. "What's the smile for, Critter?" I asked, taking a big slug of lukewarm milk to wash the rest of the meat down.

"My first parole hearing's next week. Isn't that great?"

Standing up, I hugged my friend, then kissed her cheek. "That's wonderful news! You nervous?"

She shrugged, then nodded. "Yeah, a little," she admitted.

Grinning, I patted her shoulder affectionately. "You'll do great. Don't worry."

Critter had served five years for an 'assault with a deadly weapon' charge, coupled with 'breaking and entering'. The weapon in question was a brick that she'd used to break through the glass door of a local convenience store to grab some liquor. She'd made the mistake of retrieving the brick after she'd made entrance into the darkened store, and the sight of her, 'weapon' in hand, scared the elderly proprietor, who'd just finished closing up, into a massive heart attack. Emergency surgery saved her from a manslaughter rap and the proprietor from a date with a harp and white robe.

From the stories I'd heard, she'd grown up a lot in prison, from a street-smart young punk with a taste for booze into the beautiful and wise young woman that sat grinning across from me.

The rest of what passed for dinner went pleasantly, with Critter and I engaging in spirited conversation and Ice listening and contributing as she desired. Corinne's killer tea was still spreading its warm tendrils through my veins and I suspect I was a bit more animated than usual.

Finally, I wiped my mouth with a cheap paper napkin and looked to Ice, who nodded slightly, then rose and bore our dishes off to be washed by the kitchen help. Critter and I stood up as well and she tipped a wink at me, which in turn caused me to flush furiously. Grinning, she clapped my shoulder, waved, and left the cafeteria, humming off key to herself.

Ice returned, cocking an eyebrow at my slowly retreating color.

"It's . . .um . . .nothing."

She let it go. "Where to now?"

"How about a walk? Whatever we just ate has transformed itself into a ball in my stomach."

"A walk it is. Shall we?"

"Let's."

I rested my head on the flat plane of Ice's lower abdomen, savoring the taste of her on my lips as my fingers traced idle patterns on one muscled thigh. Her hand released its death grip on my hair as she relaxed, stretching slightly.

After a moment, her husky voice filtered down to my ears. "Well, you're certainly in a good mood this evening."

"Mmmm," I agreed, kissing the sweat-salty skin beneath my lips. "Just being near you, especially in my current position, does that to me." I grinned. "Of course, Corinne's magic elixir didn't hurt any."

Ice's hand returned to my hair, tugging to bend my reluctant neck up to meet her gaze. "'Magic elixir'?"

"Yup. Two-hundred proof and good to the last drop." I licked my lips. "Sorta like you."

Releasing my hair, Ice groaned and flopped back onto the pillow once again. "And why did Corinne feel the need to get you drunk?"

"She wasn't trying to get me drunk. Just . . .relaxed."

"And why did you need relaxing?"

I sighed. "Another fruitless round of 'find the transcript'."

"Well, I won't say I told you so," she replied drolly.

"How very big of you."

"I do try."

"Hmmmph."

A very comfortable, warm silence settled over us as my drowsy eyes idly scanned the room, not remembering quite how my jumpsuit managed to get tossed across the room to land, one sleeve draped over an outstretched limb of the Freedom of Power bonsai. I squinted as my eyes alit on something, like my uniform, that hadn't been there the last time I'd been in Ice's cell. Sitting against one of the other trees was the photograph I'd looked at when Ice had been in the hole.

This, most definitely, was an opportunity too big to pass up. Problem was how to introduce the topic without letting on that I'd already seen the picture in question. With the coming on of fall, I decided to go with the football analogy of an 'end around'. "Ice, what is that?"

Her body shifted slightly as she looked around the room. "What is what?"

"That," I pointed, "the picture near your bonsai. Is that your family?"

I could feel her body stiffen beneath me and I held my breath, hoping I hadn't again pushed things too far. After a long moment, she finally relaxed and I started breathing again in relief. "Yeah," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "That's my mother, father, and Boomer."

I snorted against her belly. "Boomer?"

And received a light slap on the head for my sacrilege. "I was five at the time, if you must know."

"Oh I must. I must."

That earned me a hair ruffle, which I leaned into with pleasure. After a moment, I decided to push a little further. "Do you mind if I get a closer look?"

"You will anyway, so go ahead."

Grinning at her tone of melodramatic long-suffering, I slipped out of the bed, wrapping the sheet around my naked body and leaving Ice to lounge in nude splendor on the bottom sheet as I walked over to the table and picked up the photograph. As I turned back, the sight of her long, tan, gloriously naked body sprawled out on the white sheet, her dark hair fanned out on the pillow and her normally pale eyes darkened with residual eroticism, made my body hum again with need.

Unwrapping the sheet from around my body, I climbed on the bed to straddle her waist, then allowed the cloth to drape, tent-like, over my shoulders, shrouding us both in a field of white. "The interrogation can wait," I growled, leaning down to capture her lips in a fierce kiss which sparked the burning embers of my passion into a roaring bonfire once again.

Some time later, I sat, once again wrapped in the sheet, leaning against Ice's shoulder as I looked down at the black and white photograph now laying in my lap. "Tell me about them?"

Her breath tickled the hair at my ear as she turned her head to look down at the picture. "Nothing much to tell, really. Alexander, my father, was a chemical engineer at DuPont. My mother was a mezzo-soprano with the Baltimore Opera Company."

I turned wide eyes to her. "Your mother was an opera singer? I love opera!"

Ice shrugged. "Yeah. She was pretty good."

I snorted. "'Pretty good' she says. Forgive me for saying so, but you're probably the type who looks at a Picasso and shudders, aren't you."

"What can I say? I'm not exactly the artistic type."