Chapter 10

My Father's House

Chapter 10

Two Years Later

First death is always hard for a resident or a doctor. However, when that death is that of a child, it becomes unbearable for those who witness it. For Lorien, it colored his entire world into a shade he'd never seen.

The case came to the hospital as an emergency and continued into the OR under the same classification. Lorien was prepped alongside the pediatric orthopedic surgeon Dr. Rosenberg, both discussing the unseasonably fair weather blessing the City. And how, their current patient, a ten-year-old boy hailing from Park Avenue took advantage of it by bicycling down the famous thoroughfare minus a helmet. Luckily for the child, the car managed to swerve just in time, so the worst young Mr. Haley had to show for his collision with the BMW was a broken shoulder.

They called it the luck of the Irish. Mr. Jeffrey Haley by all rights should be dead, or at least imitating a close facsimile thereof. But kids that young have tensile strength in their muscles, and elasticity in their bones that the older folks could only dream of. They kept that thought in mind as the kid was given halothane, and then what the anesthesia resident believed to be ephedrine in order to increase the blood pressure into an acceptable range.

The words typed across the vials in size six-font have lethal similarity. Ephedrine. Epinephrine. And they even look the same, under certain light, in the scrutiny of eyes belonging to a human being who stayed up for a round of 12-hour liver transplant the night before. Dr. Jackson was supposed to go home at 9 P.M. The liver came in at 8:35 P.M. and he was the only doc available to at least help begin the operation.

Dutifully, and without a word of complaint, Dr. Jackson began the transplant, thinking his attending will replace him before midnight. Unfortunately, at 8:47 P.M. the attending became tied up with a patient of his own. A police officer shot in the line of duty, with a gaping wound possessing an entrance hole the size of a quarter, and an exit wound that measures good seven inches across. And to Dr. Singh's mild surprise, seven inches was more than wide enough to put his fist through and keep the woman's heart pumping while the OR was being prepped to fix this heinous mess. And when you have fifteen enraged cops right outside your OR, you don't replace a doc with a resident-on-beeper-chain. No Sirree Bob. Not unless you want the Boys of Blue not to respond to your call for help when some whacko takes a trip to the Disney Land of Mad Hatters right in the middle of the waiting room.

Ephedrine. Epinephrine. Add Mrs. Haley's Sunday Brunch cocaine stash hidden behind her makeup basket in the master bathroom and you've got a combination that could kill any kid. Even a kid blessed with the luck of the Irish.

Then, of course, the fingerpointing begins. As young Jeffrey's body slowly develops icicles in his veins, all but abandoned in the morgue, the adults with unbending muscles, hard bones, and even harder hearts argue as to exactly who is responsible for putting young Jeffrey Haley into what is euphemistically called a popstand by those who work down there.

These series of events could change anybody's life. It could even change opinions religiously held by a Winters.

Lorien sat back, his eyes slowly raking over the grieving parents. He wanted to pity them, grieve with them. But the innocuous yellow folder in front of him prevented him from doing so.

Traces of cocaine...

Bloody hell, how did that much cocaine get into the kid? The amount would've turned me into the village idiot, much less a ten-year-old child with a metabolism of a rabbit, Lorien wondered. He looked at the mother again, this time with true clinical disinterest. In a moment Lorien knew who Jeffrey's dealer was.

B***h.

He paused for a moment and reconsidered.

Murderer.

But the tears streaking down the woman's face were real, and she wore no makeup, not even jewelry save her wedding band and engagement ring. Couldn't bring herself to open that cursed drawer even to take out a lipstick, knowing what she hid in there. Knowing who found her secret happiness, and what it might have done to her precious boy that sunny Saturday morning.

Lorien stared at the attorney representing Haley's family, nicely suited with a silk tie, his hair freshly dyed to hide the natural gray. How tacky. He glanced at Robert Jackson, red-eyed, still trying to hide his tears and failing valiantly. He could smell the resident's fear like a shark zeroing in on a hundred pounds of chum thrown into the sea. Time to choose. Time to take sides. Time to turn your blood so cold - if he took a swig of antifreeze, it'd turn into a chunk of ice before he could swallow.

Time to be a Winters.

You'd like me now, Sean. Lorien thought bitterly as he let go of the last illusion he had of himself. You'd probably even admire me for what I'm going to do. It's time for the youngest to grow up. Good morning, father. Here I am. The son you always dreamt of.

Lorien blinked once to hold back a tear.

That was for you, Matt. I love you. Forgive me.

Roland Xavier Stoelting, Esq. did not like the looks of the doctors sitting across the table. This group would be tough to break, but he knew he had foolproof case. The resident gave the wrong drug, and the dosage he pumped into his clients' child could've killed a grown man, if not cripple an entire ward. And these doctors must know what he knew, so why the closed faces? Where was their attorney? It was the lack of legal representation on their side that worried Stoelting the most. He didn't like it. Not at all. The absence reeked of conspiracy. Medical conspiracy, and those gave him hives even though medical malpractice has been his field of specialty for over twenty years.

Lorien turned to Jackson and whispered, "Do you wish to go to the bathroom?"

It was his clipped British accent that woke Stoelting from his musings. "I think we should start." He said. "No need to waste my clients' time any further."

Dr. Singh realized a balance of sorts had been achieved, and for some odd reason, it was Dr. Winters who did it. "I agree; wasting time would be the last thing we need to do right now."

"As I have offered previously," Stoelting pulled out the all-important blue folder -- colored navy blue because it was his final-decision folder and the color conveyed that fact. "Under the circumstances, I don't think this establishment or Dr. Jackson for that matter, could afford this matter to reach the public..."

"Cocaine." Lorien said softly, so softly Stoelting almost asked to repeat the word before it registered in his brain.

"You gave him cocaine?" Stoelting asked, confused.

"No," Lorien said, opening his all-important manila folder. "We found cocaine in Mr. Jeffrey Haley's blood, his nasal cavities, the pads of his right index finger and thumb. Enough was found to prove Mr. Haley was legally impaired while bicycling. Probably a contributory factor in the accident that brought him to our establishment."

Stoelting froze. He didn't have to face his clients to realize what just happened. He heard the mother sobbing loudly, braying almost and it was giving him a nasty headache.

"Do you know what cocaine does to the human body?" Lorien asked. "What it does to the body of a healthy ten-year-old besides the usual fun facts?"

Dr. Singh waited nearly for a minute before answering the question. "It elevates blood pressure, it elevates heart rate. It is this hospital's policy that anyone with cocaine in their system is discouraged from having elective surgery. Note, I say elective, but I can tell you, any patient of mine who had taken cocaine never, ever chose to do their elective surgery. Emergency surgery is another matter altogether, but even then we are extremely cautious and plan the surgery accordingly. And the amount we found in Jeffrey Haley is enough to cause severe medical problems even without Dr. Jackson's medication error."

"You can't prove..."

"I think we can." Lorien said, his accent smooth and oh-so pleasing to the ears. "If we press homicide we can. Massive amount of cocaine found in the child's autopsy, the police will be forced to look, and from Park Avenue they won't have to look far. Cocaine is very traceable, you know. From cut, mix, measure, to sell -- each dealer has his distinctive brand for lack of better term. We can argue the kid was a time bomb waiting to go off no matter what we've done. Dr. Jackson could've given the right dosage, but who's to say Mr. Jeffrey Haley would've survived anyway? It was a miracle he got as far as he did."

"You're looking from a point of civil suit," Dr. Singh added. "We are looking from a point of criminal matter. Money's not our interest here; it's life. And, I'm sure you're quite aware of this, one may never benefit from one's criminal act, which means the Haley family cannot in any way legally benefit from their son's death, especially if they're found to be the cause of it."

"You can't hold my clients responsible..."

"Yes, we can, actually," Lorien interrupted. "We're obligated under law to report all forms of child abuse, and when a child's drug dealer is the parent..."

"That's not fair," The mother finally said. "That's not fair."

"Death is not fair," Lorien answered. "Having to die of a heart attack at the age of ten is not fair, Mrs. Haley. Try reality for a change, why don't you? How did your child know where to find the cocaine? And, more importantly, how did Jeffrey know what to do with it? Children are brilliant mimics. But in order to impersonate someone, they have to watch. So, who was Jeffrey watching? Learning from day after day like a dutiful son would?"

Dr. Singh held his breath and barely managed to his admiration. Dutiful son. That should do it. That should close the doors on this miserable affair. Then a noise startled him and he turned slightly to his left to find Jackson in fresh tears. It was his barely-controlled sobbing that triggered a response from the father.

"I want to get out of here," the man said hoarsely. "Oh, G-d, I can't do this ... I can't."

He fled quickly, not looking back to see if his wife or attorney were following him. Mrs. Haley followed with Stoelting's aid. She could not stand up from her chair; it was as if her grief turned her paraplegic.

Lorien turned to the crying resident, "Rob..."

"Don't touch me," Jackson said, shrinking away. "Don't ever touch me again."

Lorien was let go early, which meant he arrived at the front door of his apartment at 6 P.M. He had the presence of mind to call Matt before he left for work so the man had time to prepare for the tempest due to arrive at home exactly thirty-five minutes later. Lorien entered the foyer and was greeted by the piquant smell of Mexican food. For reasons totally unfathomable to him Matt had fallen in love with Mexican cuisine offered by every corner Bocata in NYC. He found his lover sprawled on the floor, reading the Times. In front of him were two wine glasses and a bottle of red that looked quite promising.

"Hello love." Matt greeted him.

Those two words did it. Lorien fell next to the lanky form and tried to dig a crater in its comforting embrace, not wanting to ever raise his head again. The tears came slowly. Lorien was never one to bawl. No, he was a Winters after all.

"I just realized something." Lorien said after his tears stopped.

"What?" Matt asked, holding his husband close to him.

"Sean was just being a Winters. He never had a choice." Lorien whispered. "He was just being dad."

"Here's a secret," Matt said softly into the tousled hair. "The sons do pay for the sins of their fathers after all. And that includes interest."

"So you knew. All along."

"Ever since Sean dropped by for a visit in London."

"What am I going to do?"

"Go home. Let's go home, Lorien. Let's go where we belong."

Chapter 11

Jeb was halfway finished with reading the papers when he noticed the steady stream of people leaving the building. He got out of the car and leaned against the door, actively looking for his stepmother. Daphne finally appeared, chatting amiably with a woman. She spotted Jeb and gave a wave.

"How did everything go?" Jeb asked after giving his stepmother a firm embrace.

"I think it went well. I'll be returning next week."

"Do you want me to drive you?"

"I'll be grateful if you could. The doctor told me I'll be needing a chauffer for a while yet."

"It'll be my pleasure. Do you want to stop by and get some coffee?"

"No, I have a schedule I must follow now. No caffeine after five unless I wish to stay up all night."

Jeb smiled, "Can't have that."

The drive was quiet but the silence was comfortable. Daphne was lost in her thoughts and Jeb had no intention of disturbing her. He gave her a kiss goodnight after seeing her to the door of her London flat. Daphne watched him depart through the bay windows, her lips curved in a faint but genuine smile.

Her first step into dealing with her addiction to sleeping pills. Mercifully, Daphne admitted to herself at least that the problem was more than she could possibly handle alone, and with Jeb's help sought out intervention. She had attended two other such meetings in the last month but it was tonight's gathering that made her feel comfortable enough to talk about her own problems.

She stared at her trembling hands. It was only eight and the shakes were already starting. Suddenly her throat felt parched and her vision became blurred. Daphne took a deep breath and sat on the armchair, forcing herself to breathe through her mouth and nose. Unconsciously she began recollecting old memories -- memories of herself before she became enslaved to those tiny bonnie blue pills. Before the family fell apart.

"Oh, Charles," She whispered softly into the empty room. "I miss you."

Jeb undressed slowly, mentally rearranging his schedule for the next three months. He unconsciously prepared his running clothes while his mind darted into many dark corners he'd rather avoid. It was his reflection in the mirror that startled him out of his thoughts. Jeb stared at himself, noting the fact that his ribs were no longer visible. He wondered when he began gaining the weight he lost.

We're healing. Jeb admitted to himself. Finally, we're accepting our lives and marching on. Daphne will too, if she can beat her demons. Oh, G-d, please. I don't want to bury her. Not yet.

Jeb fell into his bed, bone-tired, weary of the world and all its demands. In his sleep he finally found the refuge he desperately sought as he dreamt of his childhood before everything went so terribly wrong. It was near dawn when Jeb was awoken by the ringing of his phone. He beadily stared at his alarm clock before snarling few choice words.

Someone better be dead, I swear...

"Jeb, is that you?"

"Ben, what in bloody hell..."

"Jeb, it's Meggie. There's been a terrible accident..."

Lorien took a deep breath. Today will be the day he steeled himself. Today will be the day he'll finally talk to Matt about the diet pills he found behind a stash of old vitamin supplements collected steadily over the years. After giving himself a firm mental nod Lorien re-read the same romantic drip of an article in the Times.

Where do you and your sweetheart like to celebrate special occasions? Send in your choice and explanation, 250 words or less. Grand Prize Winner will be eligible for five-day vacation in Venice, Italy.

Must be nice to show affection publicly and not fear for your life. Lorien thought darkly, to be able to hold hands, to kiss, to say I love you out loud without fear of retaliation. Of being ridiculed or worse.

He tucked the magazine into his briefcase, forcing his concentration elsewhere. The cab ride to his flat was brief, and within fifteen minutes Lorien dug into his bed, next to Matt who was still sleeping. He fondly raked his fingers over the coal-black curls. If Matt had one definite advantage over him, it was his hair. Soft, shiny curls that continually ran riot no matter how much gel Matt used. Lorien smiled crookedly and for a moment allowed himself to forget about the painful conversation that would begin their Sunday morning.

"Hey, didn't know you were back," Matt said sleepily.

Lorien gave a kiss, "I just got in."

"Lousy night?"

Lorien sighed and nodded, "Saturdays always are."

"Want some breakfast, love?"

"Later," Lorien took a deep breath. "Matt, what are you doing with two different types of diet pills?"

Matt's eyes widened before an ugly flush crept down his face and painted his chest. The swath of color seemed glaringly unseemly on such pale skin and for a moment Lorien was fascinated by the change in his lover's complexion.

"I wanted to lose some weight," Matt finally admitted.

Lorien blinked once before his temper got the better of him. "Matt, have you read the labels? Do you know what is in those supplements?"

Matt shrugged carelessly, "I'm not overdoing it."

He saw the look of disbelief on his lover's face and quelled the desire to explain himself. "I'm not doing anything illegal..."

"There are steroids in both," Lorien explained slowly. "And there isn't a chance a legitimate physician would have recommended either. Not unless he wanted to lose his license and face censure. You asked a nutritionist specialist at some health food store, didn't you?"

"You make it sound like a dirty word," Matt replied jokingly.

"If you took the combination of those two long enough you could have had a liver failure, so forgive me if I'm not finding the humor in this."

"Liver what?"

"Liver failure. You could have died." Lorien explained tersely. "What were you thinking?"

Matt sat up and stared hard at Lorien. "I was thinking about what happened at René's."

"Bloody hell, not that again."

"Lorien, it really bothered me." Matt interrupted. "I know you don't think much of it, but the insult was directed towards me, not you."

"The host was being a b******. He probably suffers from Napoleon Complex."

"Napoleon ... what are you talking about?"

"Didn't you notice? The man didn't even reach your sternum. He made that caustic remark because you towered over him," Lorien explained with humor. "Your height does put people on the defensive."

"But it doesn't mask the fact that I gained too much weight while we were at the States."

"Fine then," Lorien said. "You'll join my club, we'll clean out the refrigerator and stock it with proper food. But, please, don't take any more of those miracle pills. They don't work, Matt. They never did. And most of them have ingredients harmful to your health."

Matt sank next to his lover, "I was embarrassed ... at the allegation that you were my paid escort."

Lorien laughed softly, "Paid escort ... like you would need to pay me for..."

The two men broke into fits of laughter, both embarrassed but amused by their thoughts.

"He was short, wasn't he?"

"Shoe size? Couldn't have been bigger than 8." Lorien guffawed.

Matt laughed into his pillow and it was some time before he could gain control. "Lorien, that was cruel. True but cruel."

Lorien quietly studied his lover as Matt laughed. The dilemma that plagued him seemed trivial at first glance but Lorien knew the problem was more serious than even Matt wanted to admit. Matt had slowly gotten over the disparities in their age and their looks. Until some snippy comment would drive ugly thoughts back into his mind. At first Lorien believed Matt no longer cared about the differences. Then he realized his lover just stopped talking about it, which actually made the entire thing worse for both of them.

"So, do you want to work out?" Lorien said.

"No better time than the present I guess," Matt responded and stood up.

"Where are you going?" Lorien asked, smiling craftily.

"You said you wanted to work out."

"I most certainly did." Lorien said sweetly and arched an eyebrow. "In bed."

The blush that rampaged through Matt's features was even darker than the previous one, but for some reason Lorien found this one very attractive.

"We really should get going." Matt said after glancing at the clock. "It's almost four."

Lorien did a lazy stretch that made Matt senseless for a moment. "I guess we should pick up some groceries."

"Calcium." Matt muttered. "Definitely need calcium."

"Broccoli, we'll need broccoli."

Matt began laughing, "Asparagus."

"Oysters."

"Whole milk."

"Chocolate chip cookies." Lorien said without hesitation.

"Liver."

"Tripe."

"Is there anything that isn't considered an aphrodisiac?" Matt asked.

Lorien shook his head, laughing loudly. "If it works, do not question it."

"Sage advice, grasshopper," Matt said.

"I know it is," Lorien said quietly. "I just wish you'd realize it."

Matt paused for a moment and saw the look of worry and not a little fear in Lorien's eyes. "I'm trying, I really am."

"Let's order out." Lorien said with a wicked smile.

"Sounds good to me."

Chapter 12

The reason Lorien didn't notice Ben was because he didn't recognize him. Over two years Ben had lost considerable weight; the physical change affecting his face the most. And with the drastic loss Ben's face took on a shape of its own, its resemblance closer to his mother than the rest of his brothers who took on after their father. The famed eyes were of the same shade, but Ben's were hidden behind sunglasses.

This advantage allowed Ben to study Lorien from only two stalls behind as he slowly followed Lorien and Matt, watching the two men leisurely stroll through the farmer's market. Ben noticed the casual touches, the soft glances and quiet smiles. Obviously Sean had seriously miscalculated Lorien's preferences from the beginning. Ben was both amused and appalled by this revelation. The idea that Sean was so off the mark was entertaining; the idea that his youngest brother was gay sent his mind reeling.

Ben, himself, had nothing against homosexuals as long as they didn't approach him or try to ingratiate themselves into his life. That way he could avoid thinking about the subject matter altogether while being comfortable in his social life. Only now did Ben realize the fallacy of this manner of thinking. He continued to examine Lorien from a distance, stunned by how mature his brother looked, and how handsome the gangly boy had become. His attention slowly shifted to the older man accompanying Lorien. The stranger was very tall, oddly proportioned that his legs seemed short compared to his height. And the shocking head of curly black hair was at odds with the extreme pallor of his complexion. There was a stately poise to his demeanor, something not repressed but cautious, making Ben think the man was a professor of classic languages.

Lorien suddenly turned to his companion and whispered something softly. The man smiled, revealing caffeine-stained teeth, and the eyes crinkled in corners, making him look older but kinder. Ben immediately knew the two had been together for some time. There was a relaxed atmosphere between the men, signaling to Ben that the two were familiar with each other's habits and preferences.

"Oh, bollocks," Ben whispered to himself before steeling himself to follow his wayward brother all the way home.

Ben waited for ten minutes after the men entered a recently renovated industrial building. He found Lorien's name on a ringer but didn't press the button. Instead, he pressed few others until someone buzzed him in. Feeling anticipation juggle his insides, he took a deep breath to calm himself before knocking. He heard familiar footsteps and the door opened wide to reveal his brother.

Ben embraced him so fiercely he bone-bruised Lorien's ribs.

"You saw him?" Jeb asked, shocked.

"Yes, he and Matt ... the bloke he's ... well, living with." Ben answered. "What are we going to do?"

"Nothing," Jeb replied immediately. "We don't want to scare Lorien off."

"You cannot keep this from Sean," Ben said with great alarm. "Or Daphne for that matter."

"Daphne is at the final stages of her rehab," Jeb sharply said. "I will not do anything to jeopardize her recovery. And neither will you."

"Where has he been?" Jeb asked after opening a bottle of wine, "I know for a fact that Sean was unable to find any trace of him in London."

"That's because Lorien took a fellowship in the U.S." Ben explained. "He's been overseas for nearly two years; just came back few months ago."

"Is he working?"

"St. Jude. He's finishing his training there and the hospital has signed him on to be regular staff. Lorien passed his exams on first try."

"Is that unusual?"

"Considering only 10% pass on the first go, yes," Ben said with some pride. "The hospital couldn't make him sign the dotted line fast enough."

Jeb smiled and gave Ben a glass of wine, "He is a Winters."

"He most definitely is." Ben said.

"And this Matt?"

Ben paused for a moment, "Thoughtful man, knew to keep quiet while Lorien talked. He didn't try to explain his presence in Lorien's life or ... stake a claim like I expected him to."

"No self-defensive posturing at all?"

"None, which is surprising since the last time he saw one Lorien's brothers was when Sean put him in the emergency ward."

Jeb rubbed his face, "Oh G-d, I completely forgot about that."

Ben shook his head, "What do you think he'll do this time?"

"Sue the bloke, who knows? The law is on his side."

"He wouldn't," Ben said with no little fear. "He couldn't do that ... Lorien will kill him..."

"This is Sean we're talking about, which is why I don't want you to tell him. Let's wait until Daphne's fully recovered. Then we'll talk with her and she'll put some sense into Sean's head. Otherwise, there will be war and this time neither side will be taking hostages."

"What do you think Ben's doing now?" Matt asked.

"I don't know," Lorien replied. "He's probably told Jeb already, but if Daphne is as badly off as he says she is, he might put off telling her about me until she's more stable."

"And Sean?"

"I don't care."

"Lorien, you must care," Matt countered gently. "We ran away to the U.S. because of him."

"Fine then, I do care but not in the way you think," Lorien said. "And it's not up to us to determine the next course of action."

"It isn't?" Matt asked.

"No, we know who we are." Lorien said, "And what we want. The problem isn't with us, love. It's with them."

Ben was driving back to his flat when he came to a decision. Sean had to be told; Jeb was dreaming when he thought he could keep this secret from the oldest Winters. Ben knew Sean hadn't stopped looking for Lorien and it would only be a matter of time before Lorien's presence would be discovered by the hoard of private investigators Sean hired.

Sean opened the door, wondering who would be visiting him so late on Sunday evening.

"Ben, come in." Sean said; catching the look of fierce worry on what was usually a calm face.

"Ben? Is that you?" Daphne's voice floated out of the parlor.

Ben closed his eyes and softly muttered few choice words.

"Ben, what's wrong?" Sean asked, alarmed now.

The worry in Sean's voice drew Daphne into the hallway.

"Ben?"

Ben looked at the two pairs of worried eyes and blurted out, "Lorien's home and he's still gay."

Daphne finished the glass of whiskey in one swallow. "So, he has returned to London?"

Ben nodded, "He's settled down."

"And ... this ... Matt, what does he do? Does he have an acceptable occupation?" Daphne asked.

Ben's lips twitched; Daphne was still the mother -- first order of concern; was this stranger a suitable companion who could love her son properly? And does he have a good, stable job? He half expected her to ask him if children were in the near future for the gay couple.

"He's still working for Mitre, the firm he started off with. It's an ad agency."

"Of course it is," Sean said sarcastically. "And let me guess..."

"Shut up, Sean." Daphne said softly.

Sean's eyes widened and he turned to the woman in total astonishment. Daphne met his gaze firmly. "You heard me correctly. Not one more word."

Ben thought he must look odd with his jaw firmly planted on the ground. "Daphne?" He asked weakly.

The stepmother stood up, smoothed out the crease on her silk trousers and straightened out her jacket. "Give me the address. I wish to see my son tomorrow."

Ben meekly scrawled the information on a piece of paper.

"Thank you, Ben. Good night, children." Daphne left the two stunned and silent men without another word.

Matt opened the door and immediately recognized the elegant blonde. "Hello," he managed to greet in his usual voice, which was in itself a miracle since his heart leapt to his throat and jammed itself in the voice box.

"May I come in?"

"Of course ... Lorien's still at work."

"I know," Daphne said succinctly as she openly examined the flat her youngest now called home. "Who does the cooking?"

Matt managed to hold back a choke of laughter, "I do. Lorien's idea of kitchen work is the speed dial."

Daphne smiled openly, "Consider that a blessing. His culinary masterpieces could kill a hyena."

"The Winters Sunday Brunch fiascos," Matt said, "Lorien told me."

"Did he?" Daphne asked. "About his brie and prosciutto French toast?"

"Brie and..." Matt never got to finish the sentence. They both heard the door open and Lorien entered with some flourish.

"They let me go early! Bloody hell, that is worth a bottle of champagne! So ... Daphne," Lorien ended the sentence on a tinny voice when he saw the woman standing not five feet from him.

"Don't take off your coat, I'm taking you both out to dinner."

"You are?" Matt asked weakly.

The ice-blue eyes told both Matt and Lorien that Daphne would brook no opposition from either man.

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