The not-good-enough answer paled, though, in comparison to the question I hesitated to ask.

"Yes," Donita said, answering it anyway. "She'll be there."

"Then so will I."

Reaching out, she gave my hands a squeeze before standing up and gathering her briefcase once again. "Thank you, Angel. I'll see you tomorrow then. Goodbye for now. Goodbye, Corinne."

She had gotten three steps away, maybe five, when I found myself bolting to my feet. "Donita!"

"Yes?" she asked, turning partway around.

"Tell her... would you tell her that I love her?"

Her smile was almost sad as she nodded. "I will."

"Thanks."

"Goodbye, Angel."

"Bye," I whispered as she turned away.

I looked up as Corinne's warm hand landed softly on my shoulder. "C'mon," she said, jerking her head to the left, "let's get out of this miserable waste of prime real estate before the birds start mistaking us for lawn ornaments needing to be decorated."

Smiling a little, I squeezed her hand. "If you don't mind, I think I'll stay here for a little while. You go on ahead. I'll grab a taxi and meet you back at the hotel."

"Are you sure? I could stay, if you like."

I nodded. "I'm sure. I'll be back in a little while."

"Alright then." Her sachet filled my senses again as she leaned down and gave me a gentle kiss on the cheek. "Stay strong, Angel. This is happening for a reason. Tomorrow, you'll find out what it is."

"I hope you're right, Corinne."

"I'm always right, Angel."

I watched her as she walked across the lawn and stepped into a waiting taxi. Only when the bright yellow car pulled away did I rest my head down on the cool table, closing my eyes and summoning up the image of my lover as I remembered her; free and beautiful, her eyes filled with love.

"God, Ice," I whispered, "I miss you."

The clock struck the quarter-hour as I was led into the chambers of one Judge Judith Allyson Baumgarten-Bernstein, a name longer than she was tall, and that by a long, tongue-twisting mile and a half.

Since my only previous exposure to judges' chambers came from the television show Night Court, I didn't know exactly what to expect as I stepped through the massive oaken door which guarded her inner sanctum sanctorum like a blind sphinx guarding the secrets of Egyptian tombs.

Night Court must have had some legal advisor, I thought as I took a quick, and not very subtle, look around after first assuring myself that I was the first to arrive. Either that or a guy who spent way too much time in courtrooms. On the wrong side.

Early Urban Decay it wasn't, but in all other aspects, all that was missing was a hulking seven foot bailiff to make it seem as if I'd walked right onto a studio set somewhere. All the requisite and familiar trappings were there: framed law degrees, letters of commendation from one high ranking-and name-dropping, no doubt-citizen after another, leather bound books standing in staid rows upon scarred bookshelves, a coat rack behind the door, even a picture sitting atop a broad, varnished desk. Only instead of Mel Torme, the framed photograph showed a bespectacled young man in cap and gown looking so much like the good judge herself that he didn't have any hope of being anyone other than her son.

And, in the center of it all, the battleground; a large square table with chairs three to a side, it's highly polished top shining smugly in the recessed lighting, taunting me with the myriad of secrets it alone could tell.

As I stood fingering the chair-back furthest from the judge's desk, the door opened to admit a smiling Donita, dressed in another of her endless supply of knock-out power suits, this one a brilliant green. After giving me a warm and friendly hug, she pulled out a chair for me before seating herself to my immediate right and placing her briefcase atop the table.

"Is she here?" I asked, the first question always in my mind.

"Yes, she's here."

I nodded, then swallowed. "Does she know I'm here?"

"She does."

Before I could open my mouth to ask another question, the Prosecutor hurried in, giving us both a brief glance as he sat down and looked at his watch as if to remind us that his time was much too valuable to be wasted on the likes of us.

He was the epitome of every prosecutor, living, dead or fictional, that I've ever seen. Keebler must stamp them out, I thought, biting the inside of my cheek as I pictured the little elves working hard in their treehouse making prosecutor after prosecutor after prosecutor and boxing them up for shipment to parts unknown.

Dark suit with regimental tie, straight brown hair cut by someone with very steady hands and not a creative bone in her body, and features so blandly handsome that you'd forget him the moment you passed him bleeding in the gutter.

Which, of course, is exactly where I imagined him.

Just as I was about to slip his tie knot up so high and so tight against his neck that the next sound he made would have been a wheezing gasp instead of an aggrieved sigh, the door opened and the judge sailed in, her black robes billowing out behind her like the sails on a very tiny pirate ship going full steam into an unfortunate harbor.

"I'm so glad you all could make it on time," she commented as she sat in a chair at the head of the table, looking at each of us in turn. The stare she gave me let me know in no uncertain terms that she remembered my little outburst in her courtroom, and that her offer of a cozy jail cell for the night was still very much open if I was so inclined to react in a similar fashion while in her presence.

I was tempted to tell her that jail cells held no fear for me, but somehow I think she already knew.

"Well, if we're ready to proceed, have the bailiff bring in the defendant."

Four pairs of eyes, none more anticipatory than mine, went toward the door opposite of the one through which I'd entered as it opened to admit two stone-faced guards followed close behind by the chained and shackled guest of honor. Resplendent in her bright orange prison jumpsuit, she looked exactly as she had the first time I'd laid eyes on her; cool, calm, collected, and fitting her name to an absolute "T".

As always, my heart sped and my mouth dried at the sight of her and it took every single bit of strength I had not to jump up and rush over to her; not to put my arms around her and bury my face in the sweet warmth of her flesh; not to grab one of the guard's holstered weapons and attempt a jailbreak, guns ablazing.

The look in her eyes as they met mine, however, stopped those notions unborn. Glittering and silver, her eyes were absolutely empty and absolutely dead, as if her soul had already departed for greener pastures, leaving only the shell of her body behind.

An involuntary shudder ran through my whole body and only the warmth of Donita's hand atop mine gave me the strength to stay where I was and return the look she gave me with one as warm and as loving as it was possible for me to give.

With a gentle jangling of chains, Ice gracefully sat down on the chair the guard had pulled out for her, her eyes finally leaving mine and turning instead to the judge, who stared back, her expression unreadable.

"Well," the judge began after a moment, her voice sounding just a shade less confident than before, "since we're all present and accounted for, shall we begin?"

Both lawyers opened their briefcases, pulling out thick manila envelopes stuffed full of papers. The prosecutor opened his folder first, pulled out a very thick document covered stem to stern with typed writing, and slid it over to the judge, who adjusted her glasses and began to read.

Completely lost and trying my best not to fidget, I chose to spend the quiet time waiting by looking at Ice and reading the tale of her capture in the gaunt, pale lines of her face. Lines which told me that the past three months had not been any kinder to her than they had to me.

And though to a stranger her posture appeared completely relaxed and completely confident, I could tell by the tense interplay of muscles across her broad back that she was wound tighter than a watchspring.

After some time had passed, the judge finally looked up from the document before her, her eyes slightly narrowed. "This is... rather irregular."

The prosecutor nodded, folding his long-fingered hands over the open folder. "I know it is, Your Honor, but it's within the bounds of the law."

"I realize that," she snapped back, pushing the document back across the table at him. "Or did you think these robes came as a prize at the bottom of a box of Cracker Jack?"

Donita snorted softly as the Prosecutor blushed and lanced a rather weak glare at her.

"And you agreed to this?" the Judge asked Donita, the tone of her voice conveying her disbelief.

"We did, Your Honor."

Shaking her head in amazement, the Judge turned back to the Prosecutor. "Read the agreement aloud, if you'd be so kind, so everyone here knows what's going on."

My look of infinite gratitude was disdainfully ignored.

Clearing his throat and adjusting his tie, the Prosecutor lifted the document and scanned it. "The People agree to drop all charges against the defendant, Morgan Steele, relating to her escape from the Rainwater Women's Correctional Facility and in addition agree to ask the Judge to commute her previous sentence to time served."

My immediate impulse to jump up and scream my joy-the Judge's order be damned-drained out of me the minute I realized he wasn't quite through.

"The defendant will be released on her own recognizance on the condition that she assist law enforcement in the apprehension and subsequent conviction of Joseph Cavallo. She will be under the constant scrutiny of said law enforcement officers and will have a period of time decided in advance by the State in which to effect a capture. If she fails in this duty, the plea agreement will become null and void, and she will be once again remanded back into the custody of the State and forced to serve her full sentence in addition to any further penalty the judge wishes to impose upon her for the escape. The People will, of course, ask for the maximum penalty to be added onto the end of her sentence."

"No," I whispered, before slamming my hands down on the desk and jumping to my feet. "No! This is ridiculous! Ice, you can't do this! Donita, tell her!"

"Sit down, Ms. Moore," the judge ordered, her eyes flashing neon warnings behind the thick glass of her spectacles.

"No! Not until somebody yells 'April Fool!'. Donita, you can't let her do this! You can't just throw her back in the pit she's tried so hard to crawl out of! You can't!!"

"Sit down, Ms. Moore! I won't tell you again!"

"Why are you doing this?" I demanded, ignoring her. "Donita, why? You can win this thing! Her conviction was a sham! You know that! Why don't you fight?"

"Bailiff!"

"Angel, sit down," Donita said finally, her dark eyes pleading. "Please."

Angrily shrugging off the meaty hand which landed on my shoulder, I finally returned to my seat, hitting the leather padding so hard my teeth clacked together, almost severing my tongue.

A nod from the judge, and the bailiff returned to his place by the door.

"Continue," the judge ordered.

The prosecutor rattled his papers, sighed, and spoke again. "In addition, should the defendant satisfactorily fulfill the duties spelled out in this plea agreement, no legal action will be taken against one Tyler Moore for aiding and abetting the escape of a fugitive from justice, and further, no legal action will be taken against Ms. Moore for knowingly harboring a fugitive from justice. Should she fail, Ms. Moore will be prosecuted on these two charges, as well as any others the State deems appropriate, to the fullest extent of the law."

A jaw frozen in utter rage now hung slack as I realized that the Sword of Damocles which had hung suspended over Ice's head had stopped being the Bog and had started being me.

"Son of a bitch," I whispered, turning to the prosecutor. "You god damned son of a bitch!" Reaching out quickly, I grabbed his necktie and yanked him halfway across the table with it, my heart thundering painfully in my ears and my vision washed red with my rage.

"Angel, no!" Donita's voice sounded far away as she grabbed me from behind and spun me to face her. "Don't do this, Angel."

"Why? Because they'll arrest me? Fine! Great! I want them to arrest me. In fact, I demand it!" I whirled back to the prosecutor who was staring at me as if he were the rabbit and I was the barreling semi. I held out my wrists to him. "Go ahead! Arrest me! I won't fight you! I'll make it easy for you! Put the cuffs on! Throw me in jail! I admit it! I'm guilty! I harbored a fugitive! I just assaulted someone! Arrest me, god damn it!!"

"Angel, don't..."

"Arrest me!" I screamed before the sobs won out and I crumpled into Donita's warm embrace. I heard the sound of chains jangling, but I couldn't see my lover as the lawyer blocked my view.

"I know this isn't exactly protocol," I heard Donita say over my head, "but could you give us a moment, Your Honor? Please?"

After a long, silent and tense moment, the judge's eyes softened just slightly and as I watched, she slowly nodded and rose from her position at the table's head. "A moment only, Ms. Bonnsuer, and the guards will remain inside."

"Thank you, Your Honor."

Without answering, the judge tapped the still frozen prosecutor on the shoulder, and together they made their way out of her chambers, closing the door softly behind them.

Gathering what remained of my strength, I pulled away from Donita's firm embrace, sidestepped her grab for me, and walked resolutely to where my partner was now standing, her bound hands clasped so tightly that the white of her knuckles stood out even against the prison-bleached pallor of her normally bronzed skin.

Though my mind ran riot with a million and one questions, my lips, I'm afraid, could articulate only one. "Why?"

Though her eyes were steel walls behind which her emotions were trapped, I could see things warring behind them, fighting their damndest to come out. But, with the stubborn and determined strength of will which awed even me, who had been exposed to it on a daily basis for more years than I cared to count, her face maintained its expressionless cast-- a granite mountain against which no water flowed to soften and change its blank and foreboding facade.

The only sign that the woman I loved was somewhere beneath all that careful blankness was the faint tremor which ran, almost unnoticed, over her tightly clenched fists.

Reaching out a trembling hand of my own, I almost-almost-touched the warm flesh bared to my eyes, but drew back at the last second and covered my mouth instead. "Please, Ice. Why? Please answer me. I deserve that, at least."

If I thought my pleas would fall on anything other than deaf ears, I was sorely mistaken. It was as if the sound of my voice raised the shutters in her ever-changing eyes, closing them off to me once again. And with them, I feared, her soul as well.

And that angered me. I had been through too much heartache, too much guilt, and too many tears to just give up without a fight. "Answer me, Ice."

Squaring her broad shoulders and lifting her chin, she tore her gaze away from mine, leaving a gaping hole where my heart used to lay.

All around me, the world seemed to grow faint and unimportant. I felt as if part of me had painlessly detached itself from the rest of my body and stood hovering somewhere above my head. "Answer me, damnit!"

Was that really my voice, sounding so small and so scared?

Was that really my arm, raising itself up into the periphery of my vision?

Was that really my hand, striking a brand across my lover's pale face with the speed of a striking viper?

The sound of the slap, ringing like a rifle shot through the room's still, stifled air, brought me back to myself much too quickly. As I watched, utterly horrified at what I had done, the blooming, bloody rose of my handprint appeared on her cheek, a death-writ outlined in stark, blinding white.

For the second time in as many days, I felt the world spin out of control as my legs buckled beneath me. This time, however, I welcomed the darkness I knew would follow.

Darkness which was staved off yet again as a pair of warm, living hands reached out at the last second and grabbed me by my shirt front, pulling me up and holding me steady.

Forcing the black spots from my vision, I looked up into eyes which had grown dark not with anger but with profound understanding, immense sorrow, and more than a little respect.