Three weeks earlier.

Shopping was one of the few hobbies that Serena missed with a passion when she... well, wasn't being human. There was nothing better than blowing an entire month's rent in one afternoon. Yet, walking past shops seemed like pure torture now that her income had come to an abrupt halt.

That Thursday afternoon as she eyed the price tag on a fabulous pair of skinny dark blue jeans she found her once again silently cursing herself for being unable to overcome whatever hold was keeping her from returning to the tour. No longer was she bouncing from tournament to tournament on the pro surf tour, hitting payday after payday. No longer was she gracing the pages of surfing magazines. Her checks depended on the sick tricks that photographers clicked and the publishers filled their magazines with. When she and her board got a picture in a magazine, the sponsors that had real estate on her board got prime advertising and they sent nice fat checks to show their gratitude.

"Well, well, well, you certainly are a sight for sore eyes."

Serena turned on her heels at the sound of the familiar voice to find herself face-to-face with one of RhyDin's many ethereally beautiful blonds -- totally the "a body that can make even a paper bag look like high fashion, curvy in all the right places, and deliciously thin even though she lives on nacho cheese and Badsider Brew" type. Serena's lips twisted into a bright smile and she sprung forward to tackle her friend in a tight squeeze. "Savannah! How are you?"

Savannah gave a laugh, squeezing Serena warmly. "Shh. It's Kate these days," her voice was soft and only Serena saw her hazel eyes check the store to confirm that not another soul had heard.

"Really?" Serena took a step back, evaluating her friend's new look. Savannah, or Kate, was the very picture of a New Haven housewife -- her blond hair was perfectly coifed, a leopard print scarf was strategically flung around her neck, one of those insanely expensive designer purses with the outrageous print sat on her arm, and a horrifically large diamond ring wrapped by diamond studded platinum bands adorned her left ring finger.

"I got married," Savannah said with a weak smile which confirmed that the ring was not just her idea of a bad joke.

The comment paired with the weak smile and the expensive costume was all Serena needed to know. Savannah had married a mark. "You know better," Serena launched at her in a hushed whisper, brows knitting in concern. "We leave before sex. We certainly don't marry them!"

Savannah's eyes had landed on a shopper who was toying with the fabric of a dress dangerously close to where the pair stood. She took Serena by the elbow, leading her towards a less occupied corner to pretend to consider the color of a plum tunic top against her skin tone. "I just wanted a stable income. He loved me. It seemed as good a situation as any and I'm certainly not the first girl to marry for money."

"He fell in love with Kate. You were just playing her," Serena said sternly, her dark eyes lingering on her friend.

After a long moment, Savannah gave a nod as she carefully folded the tunic back up and placed it on top of the pile. "You're right. And now he's divorcing me. It's hard to be Kate twenty-four hours a day."

The ease in which Savannah was giving up information triggered a red flag. Serena rocked back on the heels of her gray leather boots thoughtfully. "Well, I'm sure he was smart enough to get a prenup and you were smart enough to make sure you'd be well taken care of in that prenup."

"He and his putz of a lawyer are trying to make it look like I was cheating which will nullify the prenup," Savannah said with a roll of her eyes that had vague sense of practiced timing that most would over look.

Serena, on the other hand, was looking for just that -- a telltale sign that only another professional liar would recognize. This was all just a little too convenient, all just a little too easy. Her lips twisted into a sad smile and she gave a shake of her head. "You already knew I was in town. This isn't a chance meeting. What do you want?"

The pretense was dropped and Savannah released a heavy exhale at her failed attempt to gently get to her favor. Blunt and to the point would have to do. "Okay, you're right. I knew you were back in town. I thought you could help. I just want what I'm owed in the prenup."

"You know I'm out of the game." The words came after the briefest of hesitations.

Savannah was skilled enough to know the smell of temptation so she pressed on. "I also know that you need the money. I'll give you fifty percent and I'll pay whatever expenses you incur as well."

The thrill of the chase, the sweetness of the payoff lingered in the air between them. It was all there for the taking. This was the life she'd given up to be with Cor, the life she'd given up to try her hand at being worthy of his love. All of that had failed, hadn't it? She and Cor were most certainly not together. She was most certainly not worthy of anyone's love. Serena lifted both hands to tuck her dark hair behind her ears as if those past indiscretions could be tucked away into the recesses of her mind as easily.

"Fine." Serena's dark eyes lifted to Savannah's hopeful face to give a reluctant nod. "We do it my way, though."

Two hours earlier.

"This is crazy, Re." Savannah's voice was out of breath as she trotted along behind Serena in four inch strappy heels through the dizzying streets along the outskirts of West End.

A wolf whistle somewhere in the distance caused Savannah to shoot up a reactionary middle finger. Serena only lengthened her stride. She'd wasted too much time trying to allow Savannah to complete the task. They were short on time. "You're the one that punches like a girl. This has to look real." Serena's voice wasn't out of breath at all. She was alive. Cons and the ocean -- they were the only real passions she knew and, save Samantha, they were the only consistents in her life.

"Hello? I am a girl!" Savannah retorted to her cohort's back.

Serena huffed in reply as she burst into the front door (which really looked more like a back door) of Faders -- one of the town's many wonderfully nasty dives. "Close the door," hissed an angry slob at a table near the door before they had even had enough time to pass through the doorway. Savannah closed the door behind them shooting a nasty look towards the sour drunk as Serena locked eyes with the man behind the bar. Her flirty smile drew a stern frown in reply from him.

"Savannah. Re." The bartender set down the glass he'd been wiping clean and tossed the moth-bitten rag he'd been using to clean it over a shoulder as the women rounded a pair of vacant pool tables and headed his way. "I really don't need any trouble from either of you tonight. There's a high stakes poker game not far from here. Lots of fat fish with mad crazy paper. I'll give you the address."

Savannah lifted her hands, palms out, and nodded towards Serena as the brunette removed her coat and dropped it onto a stool. "This isn't me," Savannah assured him innocently. "I'd rather be giving your mama a bikini wax than hanging out in this joint. You need to talk to Reenie here."

Johnny's pale blue eyes shifted cautiously to Serena as she pressed her forearms on the bar, leaning forward to give him a peek of the cleavage made visible by her plunging v-neck. "Johnny, baby, remember that tight spot I got your baby brother out of with Mr. Pesaroa?"

He glanced away with a heavy sigh before admitting the favor owed with a single, reluctant nod which caused Serena's smile to brighten. "Good. I'm calling on that debt. Which one of your fine regulars here likes to rough a woman up after he's had a couple?"

There was a moment's hesitation before Johnny nodded down the bar. "Gary Sorenson. Big bloke next to Stan. We have trouble with him every once in a while. He's typically okay unless he's provoked."

"That's why I love you, Johnny," Serena stated with a grin as she leaned forward a bit further to pat the three day old stubble on his cheek.

Johnny frowned deeply as she pulled away from her lean to start down the bar towards Gary's stool as he stared blankly into a mug of some cheap booze or another. "What are you doing, Re?" Johnny's voice was heavy with concern -- more for his job than for Serena or Gary's well-being.

Serena lifted a hand to wave dismissively over her shoulder. "Don't ask, Johnny. I want you to have plausible deniability."

Gary Sorenson was a bit fitter than Serena would have preferred but he would do as the sucker in this situation. His wide-set dark eyes seemed devoid of good judgment and his thick nose showed signs of numerous previous injuries. His soot-covered coat sat carelessly on the back of his bar stool, leaving him in a dingy sleeveless tee that gave a hint of his lewd tattoo -- a set of outstretched woman's legs clad in fishnet stockings and stiletto heels spread across his armpit.

He did not even turn as Serena came to a stop behind him. To Gary's right, Stan narrowed his eyes at the short brunette and shifted his rear end and drink down a stool. Stan wasn't drunk enough yet to lose his wallet to her again tonight. It took Serena tapping on Gary's shoulder for him to slowly twist on his stool to face her. As he turned, she brought her right fist around to Gary's cheek in a solid hook so that his twisting on the stool would move his face into the blow, causing the impact to be even more bone-jarring than it would have been otherwise.

The gathered crowd roared in delight at the violence while Savannah and Johnny were left groaning at the mayhem. The crack landed against Gary's thick jowls but it was only a half second before the blast of being sucker punched by a woman in heels eased and his anger was released. He fell to the soles of his steel-tipped boots and curled his thick hands in fists just as his features twisted into a look of disgust. Serena stood unmoving as his hands were drawn up to put her into her place.

"I'm going to pound on you," he growled.

She flicked a reckless smile, beckoning him closer. "That's exactly what I'm counting on, handsome."

In her mind's eye his first attack was not a short jaw-splintering jab but, instead, a towering wave bearing down upon her and threatening to break just above her head. Instead of diving down low into the sea and allowing the power of the wave to rush over her head, she stood stock still and waited to be pile driven into the ocean's sandy bottom.

"Sit still, Willy." Savannah complained pulling the bulky camera away from her eye as the drunk leaned over to reach for the bottle of tequila that the young ladies had used to bribe him with.

Willy snorted at her as he lifted to take a long draw straight from the bottle. His crown slid back on his nearly bald head like a tarnished halo. With barely a wince, he swallowed down the liquor before leveling his gaze on Savannah. "Ya shaved me poor beard all off, ya lil she-devil! You took away m'strength! Me beard is m'strength."

Serena took the break in posing to twist an arm back behind her to scratch at her back. "Van, take the picture already. Willy smells like boiled cabbage and corndogs."

"All right, all right. On the count of three. One." Savannah lifted the camera back up. "Willy, hands on your knees and off Serena's rear end. Two. Serena, for crying out loud, stand up straight. Three!"

By the time the third count was given, both subjects had straightened their postures (for fear of having to repeat this dreadful practice all afternoon) and the photograph was snapped. After a careful inspection, the women deemed it perfect for their purposes and Willy was sent on his way with more money than even he could drink in a day but he would certainly give it the old college try.

12 hours earlier

Leroy Dunroy's diligence was nothing compared to LuLu Taylor's.

She had no trouble picking George Pickner's pocket that night in the strip club. Yet, she hadn't gone for his wallet or his grandfather's pocket watch. Instead, she had slipped his work ID badge out of his back pocket and slipped into into the cushion of the booth. Savannah expertly scrapped off Pickner's photo and overlay it with LuLu's. Of course, it took some effort from both Serena and Savannah to tame LuLu's saucy air into something that wouldn't stick out like a sour thumb in a business environment.

After a full week of practicing and a Savannah funded shopping trip, LuLu Taylor flashed the ID badge to the security guard at the front desk and waltzed her way into the White Hall Corporate Building in a dark blue pant suit. Despite LuLu's argument that Bonny would have no problem allowing LuLu to borrow her librarian costume, the women decided that sending a professional stripper into a business office in a slim pencil skirt would attract far too much of the wrong attention. Much to LuLu's dismay, they'd even tamed her fiery red locks (that have always been all the rage in RhyDin) into a low, demure bun.

At the offices of Micheals, Micheals, and Warhammer, LuLu flashed the badge up against the reader, allowing the microchip within to unlock the doors. Then shifting the weight of the books in her arms, she slipped through the door and followed the Savannah's directions towards the cubicle belonging to Leroy Dunroy. Just as she was turning the corner of the high dismal gray cubicle walls, she spotted a man standing in the doorway of Dunroy's chatting with him. She ducked back around the corner, pressing her back up against the wall as she listened.

"Mr. Pickner would like you to have the information to him by noon tomorrow," the messenger stated.

Dunroy sighed a hefty sigh as he no doubt looked over the work that he had still to finish. "What's the place called again?"

"V-E-S-E-Y. He was very specific."

There was exhaustion in Dunroy's tone. He could not find any reasonable idea why Pickner would have him investigating someone unknown country but it was not his place to question. "Thank you," her muttered, dismissing the messenger.

LuLu remained in place, counting out sixty seconds but substituting "Masochistic" for "Mississippi". After all they had the same number of syllables and she certainly had no idea where that oddly named place was. Releasing a heavy exhale, she turned the corner and, without being invited, stepped right into Dunroy's cubicle to drop her armload of books and journals (all created by Savannah and a printer she once dated for just this moment) on an empty corner his desk.

"What in the world is this?" Dunroy shoved his glasses up the bridge of his nose in irritation.

LuLu leveled a bored look at him. Bored was an expression that she had to practice. She was good at faking interest and pleasure but a woman in her line of work rarely ever had to fake boredom. "It's the information I gathered on Vesey."

"What?" Dunroy's expression changed from irritation to confusion.

The redhead took on his irritation. She huffed in response and rolled her eyes away from Dunroy. "Mr. Pickner sent a message to the research department that you may need help with some project he had you working on. I'm one of the lowly research interns and I got pegged for the gig."

Relief flooded Dunroy's face and he nodded slowly as his wiley eyes began searching through the gathered documents. "Is this everything?"

"Yeah. You're welcome," she snorted at him. Just as she turned her heels to leave, she stopped herself short just as she rehearsed with Serena. There was one last seed that she'd been told to plant. "Hey, Leroy, right? Look, I'm trying to get hired on here permanently. You think you could let Mr. Pickner know that I'm the one who got it all together for you? It might help my case."

One of Dunroy's shoulders lifted in a shrug as he stated, "Sure."

With that LuLu turned on her heels and began to weave her way out of the office with a satisfied smirk. Of the list of signs for lying that Serena had given to her, the one shouldered shrug was near the top. Dunroy would do just as they predicted and take all the credit for himself.

A week earlier.

"So what sort of con are you running, young lady?" Jeb Darren turned the chair at Serena's table backwards and straddled it, shooting a lewd grin her way.

Serena returned the grin in kind. "A twist on a Spanish Prisoner."

He kept his voice to a conversational tone which is all they needed to keep the conversation from being overheard in this particular bar. Even if someone had been looking for an interesting conversation to eavesdrop on, there were far more interesting ones. For of the patrons chatting at tables sprinkled through out the room, theirs was by no means the worst crime being planned in this room. "A twist where you're the princess and you're already living with him? I'm not seeing the con."

Jeb was digging. He wanted her scam spelled out for him but she wasn't giving up this trick so easily. Her grin remained in place. "Of course you're not, Jeb, because I have far more talent in my little pinkie than you do in your whole drunken, good-for-nothing body."

"I do love it when you talk dirty to me, ReRe," Jeb said, waggling his brows at her. The expression quickly faded and with a slow, calculating nod, he was back in business mode. "What do you need out of me and what's in it for me?"

Serena dropped her forearms to the table and leaned forward slightly across the table. "I need you to play an agent of a court. Your name will be Colwell. Jack Colwell. And Van will be fronting a hefty chunk if you sell it." Jeb had just the look she needed. Although he was in his mid-thirties, he seemed a good deal older. He was a man that the years had not been kind on. Serena knew that George Pickner would see what he wanted to see. Instead of seeing Jeb, a man aged by booze and women, he would see Jack Colwell, a man aged by responsibility and loss.

Plus, there was no actor on any RhyDin stage that could hold a candle to Jeb Darren when he was in his element.

"Sell it?" Jeb rubbed his calloused palms together in delight. "He's never going to know what hit him."

Half an hour earlier.

Serena stood before the full length mirror in the room George Pickner had deemed to be Isabella D'Aubigne's. Her fingers danced over the black embroidery layer which sat a top the ash pink silk. Black with pink -- she wonder if the dressmaker had sensed her personality. That her feminine beauty was only a mask for something darker, more calculating. That could not be true because if it were the dressmaker would have made the dress black and the overlay pink. For truly, the pretty smiles was an act and her heart was dark.

The fever induced thoughts were buried deep as she lifted her cool hands to place them against her cheeks. The illness was worsening. Her temples pounded with every sound and even the soft light from the oil lamp seemed harsh and threatening. With every movement, her joints complained and begged for rest. Yet, she had work to do. There would be time to rest later. Mrs. Bennett, the housekeeper that Savannah had hired when she had first married Pickner and whose loyalty lay with the pair of conniving young women, would call her for dinner soon.

With a deep inhale, she positioned the pale pink rose into her elegant updo. A hand dropped to the dresser table to steady herself as she drew up all of her strength to get through the next half an hour. All she had to do was walk down the stairs and make the man waiting for her at the bottom fall in love.

Four weeks earlier.

The Hub was the current place to be seen for the young and hip. The club had been converted out of an abandoned warehouse and while the exterior seemed a dismal eyesore, the interior was a fantasy play land for the wealthy and beautiful full of neon lights, exotic drinks, and scantily clad women. As any other Saturday night, on this particular evening a line wrapped down the street of nameless merrymakers, hoping to get in. The bouncers at the door were strict, however, and the line was barely moving.

Serena approached in the opposite direction with her snake gold heels pounding the pavement. A smile was flashed to the young woman behind the bouncers with the guest list as one of the bouncers immediately stepped forward to let her past the roped boundary. "Marissa! How's the baby?"

The woman grinned as all new moms grin when their bundles of perpetual poop are brought up. "She's fantastic! And your Mr. Murray is already inside. I told Mike he was a customer of yours and Mike's got him all set up," she said bubbling with the over abundance of energy that got her the job in the first place.

"Thanks, Marissa." Serena took the stairs and stepped into the building. The pulsating beat courtesy of RhyDin's hottest new DJ hit her as soon as she stepped inside. The music slipped through her pores and infiltrated her soul until even her heart was beating in time with the thudding bass. She shed her coat, revealing a deep red pleat front banded dress with a high neck and large keyhole opening back and handed it off to step further inside. The room was awash in beautiful, lustful bodies thrown head first into dancing to the reverberating rhythm. Watching the moving bodies was hypnotic and the music called for her to join but she had work to do.

Her dark eyes wandered the room with calculating precision. In a far corner booth, T-Bird -- a mild-mannered kid with a degree from the university but who abandoned social work for a fast rising hip hop career -- was being entertained by a gaggle of pretty, young things. He tipped his head with a gregarious grin as he spotted Serena. She had introduced him to a contact of her's that sold the rare cigars which were T-Bird's weakness. She replied with a flirty smile but her eyes kept moving.

"Jessie," she stated as a cocktail waitress she knew passed by.

Jessie slowed to a stop and turned her pale blue eyes over to Serena. A smile quickly appeared. "Hey, ReRe. Can I get you anything?"

"Yes, you can," Serena stated as she moved a step closer. She dropped her voice as low as she could and still be heard. "There's a table near T-Bird's with a dark-haired man and a blonde waif of a girl. You know the one?"

Well-versed with Serena's requests, Jessie even managed not to shift her eyes to the table in question. "Sure, it's one of mine."

"Good," Serena's eyes traced back to the table in question. The dark-haired man was now a captain in The Watch but as a beat cop some years earlier he had over looked a minor offense she had committed. Now he was doing his best to impress the waif of a girl but she only had eyes for T-Bird's table. "Send a good bottle of wine over to his table and say aloud that it's from Koy VanDuran-Simon, the fashion designer. Also send with it a note for him that explains it is from me and that if he wants to get laid tonight he should play along. Put it on my tab."

Jessie didn't follow along with how the bottle of wine would get the captain laid but she gave a soft laugh and headed to fill the order anyway. What Jessie didn't know and Serena did was that the waif of a girl was a low-rate model. If she knew the good captain rubbed elbows with the likes of fashion designers, she may just pay him a bit more attention. It was always good to have friends in the Watch. One never knew when their help might come in handy. As Jessie headed from the bar towards the table, the Captain was attempting to regale the sickly thin model with a tale that was becoming taller with every passing moment.

Mike Williams, The Hub's young owner who equaled his club in aloof coolness, slid up at her side, distracting her from the unfolding scene. "Thanks again for sending that little party upstairs our way, Re. Your Doctor Wiseman is racking up quite the bill." There was an underlying hint of unease in Mike's tone. He was a businessman. He never felt completely at ease until the end of the night when the tabs were all settled up and The Hub was closed for the night.

A reassuring smile eased some of his tension as Serena reached out to pat his arm. "He's good for it. He's the leading expert in bioterrorism and he has no moral boundaries to guide him as to whom he should or should not work for."

Mike gave a slow nod as his shrewd gaze moved on to T-Bird's table, absently calculating the worth of the expensive bottles of vodka that were lined up in a neat row on the table. "He's asking for you. I told him I thought you would stop by."

No parting was needed. Mike wouldn't have heard it. He was the type of man who forgot you were in the room once business was conducted. Serena elongated her strides, keeping to the edge of the room as she slipped towards the open stairs which led up to the loft overlooking the room.

She wrangled up a smile for the bouncer at the bottom of the stairs. A hand reached out for his arm, tugging the hulking man down gently. "Timmy! You still playing hockey on the weekends?"

"Sure am." With his hands remaining clasped in front of him, he leaned over as professionally as he could to receive a kiss on his cheek.

"I'll have to come cheer you on one weekend and meet that gorgeous girl of yours." Serena stepped onto the first step as he pulled back the rope boundary leading up the stairs to The Hub's VIP section. The staircase spiraled upward bringing her to a plush set of furniture and a gaggle of women surrounding one very lucky middle-aged man. With a stout glass of bourbon in one hand and a lady half his age on either side of him, Doctor Peter Wiseman looked the very picture of decadent delight.

He was a client in a sense. His work in his lab several hours travel from RhyDin had led him to a life of means but, as many men his age, he found the fine cigars, pretty wife, and pair of well-dressed but badly mannered rug rats unfulfilling. He needed more. He needed sin, lust, and filthy living. A friend at his country club had suggested RhyDin as just the place to travel to when he was feeling all this pent-up angst and had put him in touch with Serena Stevenson who, for a handsome fee, never failed at delivering the most willing escorts, the finest booze, and posh accommodations.

"Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in. You girls are being careful, right? This one is a heart breaker." Serena's eyes ticked around to the women at the table. Each one she knew, trusted at least as far as the tip of their noses, and had personally approved as a suitable escort for the evening. She always took her job as an informal social director very seriously. Just as in any business, a well pleased client kept coming back for more.

The gathered women giggled like songbirds and Doctor Wiseman smiled serenely in his nest of beauty. "Hello, Ms. Stevenson. I suppose you have come for the item."

Her dark eyes lit with amusement and her lips spread into a sunny smile. "You know I am anxious to get my hands on them but I also wanted to make sure you were enjoying your stay."

"Of course, of course, my dear. The accommodations are lovely, the theater was lively, and this place is smashing," Doctor Wiseman said with a wild sort of jubilation.

Serena gave a slow, polite nod. "I am very glad to hear it."

"Now as for the other matter," Doctor Wiseman stated quietly as he lifted a dark briefcase onto the table before him. The quartet of pretty women did their best to look vacant as the business was conducted. "I have both the vaccine for the Aronia Fever. You should take it several weeks before you need to test positive for Aronia. This vaccine works by exposing you to a small amount of the virus which causes your body to develop immunity to the disease by building antibodies."

She took a slow step forward, ticking glances to each of the four women. None seemed the least bit interested. She knew most well enough to know that they found her games far too much work to want to interfere. "And these antibodies are what make me test positive?" She asked as her eyes found their way back to the doctor.

Doctor Wiseman looked quite proud of himself, giving a couple quick nods. "Exactly. Nobody will suspect you having had taken the vaccine because the vaccine is very rare and the only people who would have a need for it are those who work regularly with livestock since it doesn't pass from human to human."

"And you've created something to mimic the symptoms?"

The doctor snapped open the briefcase and spun it to face Serena. On a bed of soft black foam sat two glass vials labeled in the doctor's own handwriting. "I have indeed. There's a second viral in the case containing a simple virus that is much less deadly than Aronia Fever. It is a blood borne pathogen so you will have to inject it as well. However, this will practically eliminate the possibility that you'll pass it along to someone else." He shut the briefcase with a snap and pushed it across the table towards Serena.

"Thank you, Doctor Wiseman," Serena said with a grin, collecting the briefcase and holding it up to her chest with a squeeze. "Anything I can do to make your stay in RhyDin more enjoyable please let me know."

She did not turn to leave as she saw the hint of a request forming on his tongue. After hesitating a moment, he finally spilled his desire. "You know, Ms. Stevenson, it would be fantastic if we could have some, uh, enhancements to make our night more enjoyable."

Serena nodded her head politely as she finally released her hug on the briefcase, allowing it to fall to her side with the handle in her hand. "I will send someone up immediately, Doctor. Take care, girls."

The women called their partings in their lovely flirty tones as Serena trailed a hand down the railing while the other clung tightly to the briefcase. She paused at the bottom of the stairs to bump her hip against Timmy's. "Hey, baby. Can you send Derek up there? And tell Derek that Doctor Wiseman is one of mine and if he rips him off he won't work this side of town again."

Timmy chuckled and nodded as he unclipped the rope, allowing Serena access. She stepped off the bottom stair and shot a bright smile over her shoulder. The smile turned less friendly and much more self-satisfied as her gaze fell back to the floor. Her hand tightened around the briefcase's handle as she weaved her way through the grinding bodies towards the exit, eager to get it to the safety of her home.

An hour earlier.

At Cafe Nirvana, a posh eatery across town, Savannah was enjoying an early lunch with a fellow con artist turned wealthy housewife, Georgia. Over Caesar salads and watercress soup, Savannah had laid out the well-executed plan that she and Serena were days away from completing.

Georgia leaned back, putting her fork down on her plate with an impressed grin. Motherhood had brought Georgia out of the game and while motherhood is a strong motivator for one to change their life, it never stops the desire. Talking of scams, cons, and old friends was a very distant second to actually participating but it was all Georgia had anymore. "Wow. So the con is a twist on a Spanish Prisoner where the prisoner is actually a cure for a virus?"

"Exactly," Savannah stated with no small amount of pride as she reached down to pet her inbred Pomeranian twisting around the legs of her chair.

"That sounds just like Re," Georgia stated with a slow nod, spinning her straw around her mid-afternoon margarita. "She's always been incredibly good for how young she is."

Savannah scoffed. The praise for Serena drew a dark frown of contempt. "Re is vulnerable just like everyone else."

Georgia could smell drama a mile away thanks to two hours a day of soap operas. Her eyes lifted to watch Savannah's face. "What do you mean by that?"

"I'm going to con Re herself. She's so sick from this virus she took that she keeps losing touch with reality. I'm going to walk away with all the cash." Savannah leaned back in her chair with a self-satisfied smirk.

This was better than her soap operas. "Really? How?"

"When Jeb... or 'Jack' picks up the money from George, he's supposed to pass it off to me in an alley around the corner because neither ReRe nor I trust Jeb with the money," Savannah explained with various hand gestures to accompany it. "Jack will return to the house a couple hours later to drop off the supposed cure."

There was a pause as the waiter slipped by to remove their empty plates but as soon as he stepped back out of hearing range, Georgia leaned forward once more. "And what? When Jeb hands you the money, you're just going to walk away? You'll never come back?"

"You've nailed it," Savannah stated with a firm nod. "Re won't know a thing until I'm sitting on a beach having mai tais handed to me by a handsome young cabana boy."

"Mr. Pickner, Miss D'Aubigne. Mr. Colwell is here to see you."

The butler offered a polite nod to Jeb as he rounded him to exit the room. Jeb forced himself not to turn as the double doors were closed behind him. He hated the sense of being closed in just before the payday in a long con. Unlike most, he did not punish himself for his nerves. Being scared kept him from being reckless. It was those who feared nothing that usually died untimely deaths.

Serena smiled a bright reassuring smile to him and threw her arms open for a hug. The smile she used as Isabella took over her entire face. It started with her lips but spread to a crinkle of her nose and a slight narrowing of her eyes. It was uninhibited and completely unlike Serena herself. "Jack!"

He stepped towards her, leaning down to give her a one-armed hug. She made sure to press her cheek up against his and took the opportunity to whisper softly in his ear. "Almost done."

Pickner, of course, didn't notice that and Jeb's nerves were written off as Jack's anxiety in making sure that every step went as planned. At this point in the game, Pickner only saw what he wanted to see. Jeb's pale eyes turned on Pickner and his lips remained trained in a pensive, stern expression. "We are ready then?" he asked of Pickner as he straightened up.

George Pickner nodded towards the briefcase on the table. "The money is in there. All in unmarked Riotruban dollars." It was all Jeb could do not to eye the briefcase greedily. Pickner probably would never have noticed if he had as his eyes were glued to Isabella.

Jeb's hand dropped to the handle, lifting it to his side. In his suit, he seemed the perfect businessman. Not a soul would suspect just what was inside that case. All that was left was walking out the front door with this small fortune and they would be in the clear. The weight of the briefcase felt delightful in his hand. "I will be back within the hour with the cure."

An amazing actress when her game was on, Serena's lips were tugged into the smile once more and Pickner could only stare at his beloved or the woman he thought to be his beloved. Jeb opened the double doors and made sure to keep his steps measured as he moved through the hallway and then out the threshold. He gulped in a deep breath of freedom when he reached the outside world. He elongated his strides as he headed towards his meeting spot with Savannah, loosening his tie along the way.

When he turned the corner into the alleyway, he found Savannah leaning against the brick wall in wait. She pushed herself from her lean with a self-satisfied smile, immediately reaching out a hand for the briefcase. "Way to go, Jeb."

"When do I get my cut?" Jeb's eyes remained on the briefcase as he let the handle slip through his fingers and into Savannah's waiting grasp. His heart sunk as soon as the money left his possession.

"You have two more parts to play. Deliver the cure and then do your thing the day after and we'll settle up."

Savannah picked up a second briefcase behind her and handed that one over to Jeb. The much lighter briefcase felt much less satisfying in his hand. His gaze flicked from the light snakeskin briefcase up to Savannah. "What's in this thing anyway? Is there really some sort of cure for that secondary virus that Reen's got?" he asked curiously.

"Just an injection of vitamins. Her body will have to get rid of that other virus on its own," Savannah stated in a hurried tone. "I've got to get going. Deliver it like you're supposed to and I'll see you tomorrow."

Jeb nodded obediently as he watched Savannah turn on her designer heels and march towards the exit of the alley with the heavy briefcase in tow. He suddenly had the urge to run after her and rib it from her clammy hands. Yet, he instead stayed in place. He had no proof that she wouldn't follow the plan. There was just that growing nagging feeling in the back of his mind. Before Savannah had even rounded the corner, the vague inclination had turned to a dogmatic belief that he and Serena would never see the contents of that briefcase again.

We are all seeking a connection. Humans have an unyielding desire to be connected to the living things around them. Some search for the connection through faith, others through love, and still others through brotherhood. These connections give us meaning to our existence. Research even suggests that those with larger social networks live longer, happier, and healthier lives. There are scientists who would argue that women live longer than men not because men are genetically predisposed to an earlier death or that their chosen careers tend to put them at higher risk but because women make their golden years more engaging than men do through these connections.

The most vulnerable marks are those without these connections. Even if they push others away from their heart and build up great high fortified walls to protect themselves, deep down they want someone to slip through the cracks and I'm really good at slipping through those cracks. What makes them an easy target is that they are so unused to having such a connection that when they do find one (or I provide them one) they snatch onto it with both hands and cling to it aggressively.

* * * *

George Pickner had decided that this day would never come for him again. After his most recent divorce, he had resigned himself to the understanding that fate simply did not have marriage in his cards. He had accepted it and had decided that there were still more than enough comforts in his life to make the next forty years of his life rather agreeable. Isabella had changed all of that. She bubbled with life and innocence. He had to have her. He would have her.

After today, Isabella would be his wife.

Content with that thought, he stood at the bottom of the stairs in front of his town home, waiting on his bride to step through the threshold. Isabella had insisted on a simple affair and Pickner could not agree more. They were to walk to the chapel several blocks away where Jack Colwell would meet them to walk dear Isabella down the aisle. Hope and joy surged in Pickner's heart and a smile seemed permanently placed on his lips as heimagined standing next to the pastor as the young woman, on Jack's arm, made her way towards him. Pickner had wanted to immediately take her from the city on a whirlwind honeymoon but Isabella had insisted that they wait a couple more months until the General was dispatched and they could spend their honeymoon showing him around her country and enjoying the coronation of her cousin.

The front door of the home swung open and his bride emerged. The white chiffon gown contrasted as pure as snow against her golden skin tone. The sweetheart neckline and thin beaded straps gave her an adult air that he had not previously seen. While she had always been beautiful in his eyes, today she was undeniably sexy as well. The floor-length gown was accented by a gentle wave of chiffon that flowed from the center dip in the bodice's neckline into the soft gown where it was absorbed by the elegant drapery. Several of her long pre-Raphaelite curls had been pinned to her hair, allowing the rest to cascade like a waterfall down her back. To make the look all the more stunning, delicate white cymbidium orchid blossoms hand been placed throughout her crown, creating an ethereal image of beauty and femininity.

Her dark eyes lifted to him and he smiled with such a level of warmth that he was sure had never previously been expressed by him. Isabella was his very own fertility Goddess alive with joyous delight in a youthful spring. With effortless grace, she glided down the handful of steps to street level. There was a hesitation as good manners had to slice through his shock and he offered her his arm. "My goodness, Isabella, you are gorgeous."

"I am glad you think so for you are the only man that I will need to please with my looks for the rest of my days," she stated with cheeky delight as she took the offered arm.

Pickner allowed a hearty laugh as he laid his free hand on top of her hand which lay poised on his arm. An easy silence fell over the pair as they walked towards the chapel. It was a solemn moment and no chatter seemed necessary. There would be plenty of time to talk in the future. In this moment, both Pickner and Isabella seemed intent on focusing on the moment and soaking up the sights of the day. In his haste to make it to the chapel, Pickner chose a route that took them through an alley between two buildings. It would be a decision he would regret for the rest of his days.

He directed her into the shadowed alley without a second thought as it was always the route that he took towards this side of town. After all, Pickner was nothing if not predictable.

He only had eyes for the light at then end of the alley. The pale gray stone steps leading up to the proud door of the little chapel were visible already. Thus, he did not the ragged figure who pushed away from his lean against the brick wall until the foul-smelling man was directly in front of them.

"Gi'me y'money," the man spoke through what sounded like a mouth full of marbles. The glint of a knife blade caught the limited light and shot panic up Pickner's spine.

Pickner came to a quick halt and felt Isabella's hand tighten on his arm out of fear. Slowly, he lifted both of his hands into the air to calmly show that he had no weapon. "Okay, okay. Let me just get my wallet."

As he lifted his arms, Isabella's hand became dislodged from his arm. The lack of contact heightened her anxiety as she shifted her weight uncomfortably. When in the future, Pickner sat and thought of the moment, he wished that he had said something soft and soothing to her but in the moment all he could think about was giving the man enough money to let them continue their walk.

When he reached for his wallet, the scum with the blade made a threatening gesture with the knife aimed at making Pickner hurry up. Isabella reacted without thinking by stepping quickly forward as if to get between the man with the knife and Pickner. "No!" she shouted emphatically.

Probably in the foggy haze of alcohol or drugs, the figure with the knife mistakenly judged the young woman's movements as an attack. Without a thought, he spun the knife at her, plunging it easily through the fabric of her dress into her gut. A stifled cry came from Isabella's throat and her dark eyes widened in shock. The knife-wielding drunk appeared almost as shocked as his victim. He yanked his blade free and stared down at the bright red substance which coated it now.

Isabella stumbled back a step as blood began to spill onto the white chiffon. Pickner reached up to stabilize her but she quickly crumpled to the cobblestones with another muffled cry. Her hands reached up to the wound at her abdomen and her dark eyes began filling with tears. "My Isabella, hold on. It's okay," he murmured to her.

His gaze lifted but the knife-wielder had been so stunned by his actions that he had fled without actually taking a single coin. The light at the end of the alley beckoned Pickner once more. His arms slid under Isabella's trembling body and he lifted her off the ground. He must get her to safety. With a grunt of effort, he lifted her from the ground and carried her towards the end of the alley. He blinked back at the bright light as they finally stepped out of the treacherous shadows

Once they adjusted to the light, he was able to find Jack waiting on the chapel steps in a bad fitting suit. Shifting the shaking Isabella's weight in his arms, he moved towards the chapel. Jack's entire body coiled like a snake when he saw Pickner approaching. Quickly, Jack approached with his eyes glued on Isabella. "What the hell happened?"

The pair eased Isabella down onto the sidewalk so that Jack could get a better look. It wouldn't strike Pickner until later that the pedestrian traffic avoided them like the plague. In RhyDin, more often than not, most people just wanted to stay out of other people's violence. Getting involved usually only attracted unwanted attention. "There was this drunk in the alley who wanted our money. She--"

"George," Isabella's breathless whisper interrupted him.

As Jack applied pressure to the wound, Pickner touched her cheek gently with one of his bloody hands, leaving an angry red streak across her cheek. "Shh, we're going to get you help."

"I'm sorry. This is not how it was supposed to happen. I truly do love you," Isabella's voice seemed to be coming from further and further away. She was struggling to speak, struggling to breath, struggling to remain connected in the moment. Jack had a hand on her wrist, checking her pulse. Pickner had the growing suspicion that it was not good.

Isabella's dark eyes turned on Jack. "Take me home." It was a final request. She was asking to be buried in her homeland with her father and her brother who had recently died and her mother who had died some years earlier. Pickner couldn't help but groan at the finality of her statement. Isabella's eyes fluttered shut with his pained groan.

Silence fell over the trio. After several moments had passed, Jack gave a shake of his head. There were no words to express the passing but the gesture was all Pickner needed to confirm it. He buried his face in her hair which smelled tantalizingly of the orchids. "I'm so sorry, Isabella. I'm so sorry."

Jack's arms slid under the lifeless body, pulling it from Pickner's grasp. He rose to his feet with Isabella in his arms and Pickner slowly stood as well. "I've got to go," Jack said quietly. "I'm exposed here. I will make sure she is buried with her father as she wants."

This was all happening so suddenly. One moment she had been alive and they had been on their way to wed and the next her body was growing cold on a street corner. Pickner could not let her out of his sight. His mind was swimming in the events. One was followed so quickly by another. He had not yet had time to grasp and accept her death. "I want to go with you," he demanded.

The hard look on Jack's face told Pickner that blame had been placed. He couldn't blame the man. Jack had entrusted Isabella into his care and he had failed. He had failed the woman that was to promise the rest of her life to him. Guilt rocked him. How quickly emotions were falling on his shoulders! He barely had time to recognize their weight before he was hit with another. "Isabella is dead," Jack stated with a cold, hard finality even as he clung to the woman's body. "Vesey is too dangerous right now. You should leave town. We have no way of knowing if it truly was
some random act or if she was targeted."

"I can't leave her," Pickner begged. Not yet. Not so soon. It couldn't end like this.

"Go!" Jack demanded with an angry fire that could not be refused. It was over. Isabella was dead. Pickner lifted the hand he hadn't realized he'd been holding and placed a gentle kiss on the inside of her wrist as her palm was covered in her own blood. The bitter parting was all that he was allowed. The determined edges of Jack's face spoke volumes. Pickner turned on his heels for his town home to quickly pack.

For once, his country home did not seem like an empty, boring shell but a refuge from this current nightmare. He would do as he had been told. He would leave RhyDin. He would mourn Isabella in the privacy of his own home. Hot tears streaked down his cheeks before he could stop them but once he discovered them he did not attempt to stop the flow. He had failed his love.

Dear Isabella was dead and the life he had just began to hope for was dead with her.

Some women have dreamed all of their adult life of the perfect man. I have dreamed of the perfect mark.

He is, of course, wealthy. But the size of his wealth is not the most important ingredient to the recipe. He must be a challenge for me. In fact, he must be the biggest challenge of my career. He is highly intelligent and street smart, connected and influential. This is not a man with a reputation as a fool. My chance would be his inability to ignore a woman's sob story, his sense of duty to all women for failing one important woman. I would play the victim and allow him to rescue me from some great peril. I would worship him until he trusted me enough that I could wrap my greedy little hands around his most prized possession and rip it clean away from him.

Last summer I met him and this winter the opportunity has presented itself to me. While the world sees him as resiliant and steady, I see through his cover right down to his dirtiest little secret -- he is just as vulnerable as the rest of us. Yet, I cannot bring myself to use my talents against him, the thought of him hurting burns me.

For, oddly enough, now that I have met my perfect mark, I have found that he is my dearest friend and most trusted confidant.

* * * *

"Take care of yourself, Serena."

She had allowed her last conversation with him to end like that. That cold, formal parting stuck out like a sore thumb in the course of their warm friendship. Surely, he had said it for the benefit of those around but allowing such an ending to the conversation was not the only aspect of their talk for which she felt the need to punish herself. She had been stern with him, drawing clear lines in the sand about his limited place in her life. And why had his role in her life been so drastically scaled back? Because he had kissed her a month prior? Because she had enjoyed it? She had refused him the one demonstration of affection that he was able to give her -- protecting her.

To him, it was a sign of how deeply he cared for her. To her, it held a sense of entitlement, of ownership over her. The mermaid in her had kicked and screamed at the thought like an unruly, over tired child.

The conversation dominated her thoughts as she stared herself down in the floor-length mirror in her rented flat. She still wore her wedding gown, Isabella's wedding gown. The linen dress was soaked in pig's blood at her midsection. She couldn't tear her eyes from that stain. It spoke to her, warning her of some impending doom. Yet, the more she stared at it, the less she understood the message. Her hands lifted to cover her midsection as if attempting to stop the bleeding from a massive, fatal wound. There was no wound, she reassured herself. Isabella was dead. Serena lived. Her hands came away covered merely in sticky pig's blood.

The blood on her hands and the red cry against the delicate pure white fabric played with her mind. The flat just on the banks of the river in the center of RhyDin seemed suddenly impossibly far from civilization. Only human contact would ease her inexplicable anxiety. Before she knew what she was doing, she was leaving her flat without even care enough to lock the door behind her. The bleeding bride received curious glances but in this city there were certainly odder sights.

She walked the streets without any sense of direction but with a deeper guide. It had been the same guide that had driven her across oceans through the harsh winter back to RhyDin. It was the same silent voice that made her drop everything in her life the moment he needed something. Romance had little to do with it or everything to do with it depending on what the other needed. That connection that she had come to rely on was complex, yet wonderfully simple in that they chose not to address it as complex.

The "Closed" sign outside the Silver Mark meant nothing to her for he was inside. His office door was open and somehow she knew he would be there behind his desk, pouring over rows of numbers with a growing ache in his neck. She breezed into his small office in the back with an almost panicked sense of need. She swung the door shut behind her and leaned her weight up against it as if attempting to stave off the hounds of hell that were nipping viciously at her heels. She could almost hear their snarls on the other side but here, in the privacy of these four walls, she was safe from them. She was even safe from herself.

Alain could be very astute, and the look on Serena's face told him the blood on her dress wasn't a concern before any other signs. He looked over his shoulder at her, pen poised over a ledger, and set both on the cramped little desk. He'd seen the look in her eyes before, in the mirror, and it made him ache; it ached even that she'd gone to him, of all people, but he couldn't push her away. He wouldn't. He rose from his seat, looked at her eyes, his concern written in his own even if in no other line of his face, and said, "Come here."

Although, these days his requests seemed to cause rebellion for the mere sake of rebellion out of her, there was not an ounce of fight in her tonight. She would not make him come to her. She would not dictate the terms. Four quick steps took her right to him and her arms wrapped him into an immediate tight hug. "I am Serena. I am not Isabella. I am alive. I am not dead." Without realizing it, the words that she had been silently repeating are finally stated aloud in the smooth flow of a chanted mantra.

"Nice to meet you, Serena," but there was no laughter in his joke; he could not muster it, and could offer only the warmth and protection of his arms. He folded them around her, cradled her head to his chest, and kissed her hair. It ached, again, but he would not let go.