Collins flung the square of black velvet aside, exposing the polished surface to the candlelight, the only light in the room other than the brazier by the lab bench, that flickered around him.  It was made of solid silver and old, as old as the first Pharaohs.  It was a scrying mirror and no one was allowed to touch it except him and his apprentice when he ordered her to clean it and on those occasions she wore gloves made of raw silk.  It was attuned to him and answered to no one but him.  But it did answer to him. The demon-spirit bound to the mirror knew better than to defy him.

He began to chant, guttural and low, that summoned the spirit and told it what he wanted.  The mirror's surface clouded as if fogging over from the moisture in the air.  Collins just waited.  He was a very patient man, regardless of what he allowed others to believe.  He had very few emotions at all, in fact.  And the ones he did have were ice cold, even the lusts.

He smiled inwardly, a smile that would have warned his children and his apprentice.  His two sons had done as he'd expected and turned to Blakesley to find freedom.  They were such fools.  They may be free of the spells Blakesley and his friend had lifted but they were still his children, the fruit of his seed and short of death, there was nothing that could break that tie.  He wasn't worried.

The fog on the surface of the mirror swirled and roiled in agitation and he leaned closer, waiting for it to clear.  When it did he saw only the depth of space, a few, far distant stars making pinpricks of light in the background of an enormous ship.  He barked a command to the demon-spirit, ordering him to show him the interior and the fog became mist rising above the mirror, coalescing into an impression of a face.

"My lord, I can not breach the wards.  The ship lives."  The voice was a hissing sound, like water splattered on a hot surface and the mist it emerged from shuddered and jerked like it was dancing over fire.

Collins focused on the ship.  After a moment he waved his hand and the mist was gone, the velvet back over the mirror.  He turned to his work bench and selected a vial of shredded cloth.  The ship was unexpected and it angered him he hadn't predicted it.  But it was a minor matter.  He had other ways of getting inside of it and doing so would also accomplish another purpose.  Blakesley had survived the last attempt, but only barely.  He and his friends were aware of how he was controlling the man's brat.  It was of no matter to him.

He dropped a thread into a beaker and added a trio of chemicals drop by meticulous drop and then added a small amount of deionized water.  He selected another test tube and pulled a black hair from it, adding it to his mixture.  Then he added a mechanical stirring rod and set the beaker on the hot plate.  Ten minutes later, as it boiled, he added several drops of two other chemicals and turned the hot plate off.  He cooled it in an ice bath then carried it over and set it inside the mosaic pentagram that was suspended by candles at each of its points above a different but equally powerful mirror.  He extended his hands over the pentagram and drew power to himself.  As he chanted the spell, the mirror surface blackened and then shifted, showing Adele and Patrick.

They were at Patrick's place. Adele had just sat down with a drink. She and Patrick hadn't spoken much since they'd left Aaru, both of them tied up in their thoughts and fears. Marc kept a weak link to Adele so he could act immediately once the first signs gave them a warning.

Adele took one sip of her drink and her hand went up to her temple even as the first twinge hit her.

Marc was in the shower when he felt the twinge from Adele. He didn't even take a second to turn off the water. His mind dove into Adele's, found a thread that wove from her brain outward and followed it. He raced along that thread following it by taste, by touch, by scent. He reached for powers he hadn't used for centuries, techniques learned from other grand paramount metapsychics, techniques used to reach across millions and trillions of light years to combine minds into the vast arrays they'd termed metaconcerts. It was far and away beyond the metaconcerts he had with the children and used with others recently. They weren't -or at least hadn't been-aimed at moving a planet or saving an entire species from the threat of a meteor.  But now he drew in power and pulled from the deepest recesses of his mind those techniques and rushed across space toward the man at the other end of that barely sensed thread.

He sent a bolt of energy down that thread and smashed it into the mind at that end, at the same time severing the connection that might let that energy whiplash back to Adele.

He could almost taste the surprise and momentary confusion as his psychic strike hit home.

"Hullo.  We meet at last," Marc sent mentally.

Collins smiled.  "A long awaited meeting," he said as he slammed energy back along the tracing link.  His smile sharpened as he felt the other man's mind shudder under the impact.

"Not bad," Marc sent. "For an amateur."

"No doubt," Collins replied.  Outwardly there was no change in his demeanor.  Inwardly a part of his mind was working to decipher the link between them, seeking along it for a thread he could take control of and use.

"Don't bother. It isn't magical," Marc told him. "Your brain doesn't have the right structure. You're latent. Too bad, really."

"How unlucky for me," Collins said without stopping his examination.  The energy line the other man was using was unknown to him.  He fingered the texture of it mentally, memorizing every detail of it, letting his mental touch seek deep into it.  It was energy.  That was all it was, just like magic.  If he could grasp the energy he could use it.  If he could find a single snag in the smoothness of the tracing line that ran parallel to it he could take control of it, weaving energy he did understand into it.

"Ian wants you dead. Such a shame. I, on the other hand, appreciate talent."

"Ian does have a tendency to shortsightedness.  Perhaps it was that bout of amnesia he still suffers from."  Ah.  There it was.  He felt it, just the tiniest of openings.  "Still," he said as he set his marker into it, taking every care to ensure it was undetectable, "I'm still alive so you are facing disappointment just yet."

"Oh, I had no intention of killing you. Just getting your attention. I'll let Ian kill you. But don't try to bother Adele again. Next time I'll hook Ian into this connection. You won't walk away then. Take care."  Marc slammed shut the connection and grinned. Hooked.

Collins indulged in his own grin.  Marked.  Now he just needed a translator.

Adele, when Marc had cut the connection, had collapsed.  As she regained consciousness she groaned.

Patrick had laid her on the sofa.  "Here," he said, handing her a glass.  "How are you feeling?"

"I didn't... do anything, did I? Hurt someone?" she asked, her eyes wide with fear.

He shook his head.  "No.  You fainted."  he moved the glass towards ehr mouth.  "Take a sip, it'll help."

She took a sip as directed. "I feel.. different," she said afterwards. "My headache is gone, so is the sort of low grade pressure I was feeling.  I didn't realize it was a part of this thing. I thought it was, I don't know, tension."

"So I guess Marc got what he wanted."

"I hope so. Will he come after you now, do you think?  He'll try to hurt you, won't he."

"Probably," he said quietly.  He hesitated.  "It won't be safe for you to be around me, Adele.  You should be at your father's where you're safe."

"I wasn't safe there, either," she pointed out. "I don't like hiding from him. From anyone."

He frowned.  "Adele it isn't about what you like or don't like.  It's about what has the best chance of keeping you alive and unhurt.  And in this case it's your father."

"And what if I hurt him.  Again."

"I thought they were going to fix it so you couldn't now."

"So they say. I don't know what to believe right now. I don't... I can't trust myself." Adele pulled Patrick down into a fierce hug.

He held her tightly, his lips smoothing her hair.  "It's going to be alright, love."

"Promise me that, Patrick," she replied huskily.

He closed his eyes and damned himself for a coward.  "I promise."

She nodded.  "All right then. I'll go. Only because this is part of Marc and Daddy's plan. But you had better be all right because if something bad happens to you I'll .. I'll kick you."

He laughed in spite of himself.  "He'll never kill me, Adele."

"You're sure? How do you know?"

"Because he doesn't destroy his tools.  It's wasteful."

She shuddered. "And I used to think my father was a monster."

Patrick frowned again.  "Why?"

She looked down at her hands. "He used me. I helped him... manage things. I seduced men, for one thing. I ... It was complicated," she finally added faintly.

"I'm sorry, Adele."

She wiped angrily at a tear that had escaped. "Don't be. I wanted to. I needed to help him. It doesn't matter. But you'd better be okay."

He shook his head.  "It does matter.  If there's anyone who knows that, it's me."

She met his eyes. "Do you see now why I had to help you?"

He nodded and kissed her.

She stood, hugged him again, then winked out back to England.

Patrick leaned back in his chair and let Cole order.  He still couldn't believe Marc had let Cole leave the ship.  The coffee cafe they were in was a favorite among the students on St. Michael's and usually jammed.  But it was winter break and things were quiet on this early Sunday morning.  The snow outside was still falling gently, much as it had been off and on for the last couple of days.  It was typical weather for this time of year.

When the waiter left he sighed, his fingers absently rearranging the sugar packets on the table.  "Well, brother?"

"Well, what?" Cole asked. As usual, Cole wasn't offering much.

Patrick frowned.  "How do you feel?"

"No different, actually. Do you?"

He sighed again.  "I feel like I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop.  He has to be furious.  He won't tolerate this for long."

Cole shrugged. "He hasn't much choice, until he selects a strategy to deal with it."

"I keep thinking he knew this would happen, that he set it all up."

Cole actually smiled up at the waitress who brought their lattes. Once she'd left he replied, "Probably. But I doubt he figured Marc's abilities."

Patrick looked up sharply at that.  "I'd think that woman would have told him."

Cole gave it some thought. "Perhaps, But then I doubt Marc told her everything. I doubt he tells anyone everything."

"Not even Dinah, do you think?"

"Definitely not Dinah," Cole decided.

Patrick raised an intrigued eyebrow.  "They're bonded."

Cole looked amused. "And you think that changes things?"

"I think you're remarkably cynical, even for someone who was raised by our father.  Any reason why that would be?"

"I'm not in love," Cole replied. "She's lovely by the way."

"Thank you," Patrick said after a moment.  "She's back at her father's."  He hesitated.  "I should never have gotten involved with her," he said finally.  "If I weren't such a selfish bastard..."

"Or she weren't quite so stubborn," Cole replied.

"It shouldn't have mattered," he said harshly.

"You don't think she should have a say in things?" Cole asked, frowning. "Obviously she thinks you're worth the time and effort, not to mention the danger."

Patrick tightened his grip on his cup.  "What kind of a man let's someone he...he...cares about," he finally said, "take the kind of risks she took?  Or lets a bastard like our father..."

"I can assure you," Collins said, interrupting smoothly, from behind them, "that my father married my mother before I was born."  He took a chair without waiting for an invitation and waved for the server, a sardonic smile just twisting his mouth.

"Do join us, won't you?" Cole suggested.

He smiled genially.  "Thank you."  He looked up at the server and extended the smile to him.  "Two lattes, please.  Extra hot."

Patrick frowned.  "A little thirsty?" he asked snidely.

Collins let his eyes drift over his younger son, not missing the flinch Patrick instinctively suppressed as he did.  Satisfied, Collins said, "Ms DeCara will be here in a few moments."

"How nice for us," Cole said blandly.  "You two out for a stroll in the snow?"

Collins considered his older son in the same slow, lazy fashion.  "No.  I do not care for such things as I'm sure you know."  His voice was soft, as bland as Cole's, the steel underneath sheathed by the smoothness.  "I wished to see you both.  It has been sometime since I had the opportunity to speak with you and," he said after the minutest pause, "to assure myself personally of your welfare."

"As you see, we're both quite well. What can we do for you, father?" Cole asked.

"Are you indeed?" he said, his brow lifting faintly.  "I was under the impression that perhaps you'd been in some sort of trouble that you felt unable to ask me to help you with."  He paused to let the server place the cup in front of him and then leave again. He lifted a packet of raw sugar from the caddy, moving it to and fro gently before he opened it and let the crystals fall into his cup.  Then he looked from one to the other.  "Otherwise," he said, as if he'd never paused, his voice still pleasant, "why seek the help of Lord Avery or the Siolastre and her mate and not mine?"

Cole picked up his coffee and sipped it while he regarded his father. "I sought no such assistance."

Collins frowned, as if pained by something he heard in Cole's words.  "No?"

"No, he didn't," Patrick said coldly.  "I did."

"Ah, I see.  Thank you for clearing that up for me," Collins responded as he stood up and drew out a chair for the woman approaching the table.  "My dear," he said.  "You remember my sons, I'm sure."

Rosiland DeCara smiled at them both.  "Of course.  It's been a long time but I recall them very well."

"Ms Decara," Patrick said tonelessly.

Cole stood until Roz took a seat, then dropped back into his chair. He said nothing.

Roz slipped her coat off her shoulders and lifted her cup for a taste.  "So how have you been?"

"Well, thank you," Cole replied, all inflection gone from his voice.

Patrick just nodded, keeping his eyes on the wall in front of him.

"I'm delighted to hear it," she said, amusement coloring her voice.  "Especially since your father has been so concerned about you.  But I told him there was nothing to worry about."

"Not a thing," Cole agreed. "And are you well, Ms DeCara?"

"Very well, Cole.  Thank you for asking."  Her tone was still amused.

"Ms DeCara has offered to fix dinner for us this evening," Collins said into the silence that fell.  "I accepted on your behalf, tentatively, of course.  Even though I'm sure you have no other plans."  He looked into the eyes of each of his sons in turn.  "Now that Lady Adele has returned home as has her father.  How is he, by the way?  All recovered from his injuries, I hope.  I was so unhappy to hear about that."

"No idea," Cole replied.

"He's doing well," Patrick said stiffly.

"Lovely," Roz said.  "And his houseguests?  Marc and Dinah?  It's been so long since I've seen either of them."

"The same," Patrick replied shortly.

"When you see them, do let them know I'm looking forward to seeing them again soon.  As well as Stephen and his lovely bond-mate.  I've not known where to send the baby gifts, to either couple, though I'm told the children are thriving."  Roz sipped her coffee, looking at Patrick and Cole with bright eyes.  "Not a hint of a childhood illness, either.  Though how Marc and Dinah can leave them behind to wander the Rim I'll never understand."

"I'm surprised we haven't run into them out there," Collins mused.  "We seem to just keep missing each other.  But perhaps at the next meeting of the Barons."

"Aren't you due back on the Rim soon?" Cole asked, stirring his coffee unnecessarily.

"Not for a while," Collins said.  "The holidays aren't over and I've some business to take care of here as well."

"Ah," Cole replied noncommittally. "And we can help you with this, how?"

Collins allowed pleased surprise to inform his expression.  "How very kind of you to offer, my son.  But unfortunately, it is not that sort of business.  In the event that that changes, though, I shall count myself blessed to know I have your support."  he sipped his own coffee.  "As I always have," he added, as he replaced his cup on the table.  "Children are such a gift."

"I prefer it when you are straight forward, father," Cole replied.

"I am not being straightforward?" Collins said, somewhat puzzled.  "In what way?"

"You are seldom straight-forward. Mind if we join you?  Roz, you look well, indeed."  Marc Siolastre stood near the table.  With him was Adrian Blakesley.

A dazzling smile lit Roz's face.  "Marc, darling.  How delightful.  I was just saying it had been too long since I'd seen you and Dinah.  How is everyone?  Stephen and Doni?  And how are the babies?"

Marc signaled to the waitress who nodded she'd be there soon. He pulled a chair over to the table and sat on it backwards. Ian also pulled up a chair but sat more conventionally.

"Very well. Chris sends his love, by the way. He wanted me in particular to tell you hullo.  And I wanted to commend you on the great care you took of him and his sister."

She smiled.  "The least I could do for his mother.  She was such a lovely woman."

"I didn't know her well. I'm glad you think so. A shame about Home though. Oh, well," Marc replied, just before he gave his order to the waitress.

Ian, for his part, glared at Collins. "My daughter is not nearly so polite as all of you. It was all I could do to ensure she stayed home. She wants you dead, Mr. Collins. I can't say that I blame her."

Collins sighed.  "Such a lovely child.  And how is my daughter?"

"As crazy as ever, I'm sorry to say," Marc replied. "Such a shame. I'm glad to see your sons are stronger."

Something flashed in Collin's eyes for a moment.  "I understand I have to thank the two of you for assisting them."  His voice was a study in politeness as he spoke.  Next to him Patrick shifted as though to speak. Collins turned his direction, waiting.

"I left them no choice," Patrick said steadily, tired of the polite fiction they were all maintaining.

"I beg your pardon?" Collins said.  "No choice as to what?"

"What they did," he said.

"Nonsense," Marc replied. "We had lots of choices. We could easily have just killed you."

"No, you couldn't have," he said, toying with his spoon.  "You lack the viciousness required."

Marc laughed out loud at that. "Obviously you don't know me well at all."  He glanced over at Ian. "Nor do you know Ian well. We're both quite capable of setting aside the fiction of conscience."

"Darling, you're too harsh on yourself," Roz said, her laugh tinkling.

"It requires more than a lack of conscience," Patrick muttered.

"Oh?" Collins said, his smile edging towards taunting.

Patrick met his eyes.  "Yes.  As you know," he said.

Collins held his son's eyes with his own, the tension between them growing until it was a tangible thing.  Patrick paled, his jaw set hard and his body grew rigid, but he never looked away.

After a long silence Roz's laugh sounded again, a grating tinkling sound.  "A compliment, Barnaby," she said in apparent delight.

"Indeed," Collins said slowly before turning towards her, the coldness leaking through the mask of civility for just a moment.  He waited, watching as two spots of color stained her high cheek bones before he freed her gaze.  "And from my son," he said smoothly, smiling at both Patrick and Cole.

"Yes, your sons. Complimenting you. Amazing. Considering," Ian said.  "Especially now."

"Well, they're polite boys," Marc explained. "Despite their father."

"A testament to their upbringing," Roz murmured.  "So, tell me darling," she said, her eyes on Marc, glittering and hard, "how is it we keep missing each other on the Rim?"

"I thought perhaps you liked it that way, Roz.  Or perhaps you're afraid I'll blow you up along with Sutta."

She laughed, amusement plain.  "So that was you.  Quite a statement.  But then the delightful Dinah is so...so..."  She waved her hand airily.  "Oh you know what I mean.  Will you regret it?"

"Regret what?" Marc asked, a frown making lines between his eyes.

"The reputation," she said.  "The quixotic righter of wrongs."

Marc shrugged. "It's her thing. Not mine. I'm a bit more pragmatic myself, as you well know. Also, as you well know, I don't much care what people think of me."

Patrick looked up from his coffee.  "But you..."  He hesitated.  "Support her in those things," he finally said carefully, thinking of Adele's invincible idealism.

Marc regarded Patrick for a moment. "I do support her in those things. She's a better person than me."

"How charmingly loving," Roz said.

"Hmmm. I suppose so, if you want to look at it that way, Roz. Whereas you and your lover seem to be competing for worse person of the universe. I'll gladly give up my title to either of you."   Marc paused. "Although I think both of you are over-rated. Or perhaps I should say under-rated."

Her eyes flashed.  "Underrated?" she said, forcing her voice to remain light.

"You were easily enough fooled and controlled, and beaten," Marc replied lightly.  "I dare say Collins here knows it all well, also."

Amusement wreathed Collins expression that he made no attempt to hide.

Her eyebrow rose haughtily as she took them both in.  "A nice picture.  How kind you are, thinking so, to be willing to be seen in my company."

Marc shrugged.

"But we did want you both to know we're keeping an eye on you," Ian replied. "And I wanted to give you fair warning that if you go near my daughter again I'll kill you."

Collins considered him.  "And how is that news?" he asked, the amusement back, lurking in his eyes.  "But I have forgotten my manners.  How is Ms DuBois?  Please do give her my regards."

"I'll be sure to do so. I'm sure she'll take it in the spirit in which it is meant," Ian replied evenly.

"We should give the family their privacy, Ian," Marc said standing. "I think we've made our point. Oh, and don't try to re-enslave your sons. It won't work. Perhaps you'll be able to win their loyalty fairly. We'll see."

Collins didn't reply immediately.  "Perhaps," he said finally.  "Give Jenelle my love when you see her.  I am sure she is...in need of it."

Roz smiled.  "And do tell Dinah and the others that I'm so looking forward to our next meeting.  And seeing the children as well.  They grow so fast at this age, I'm sure they're close to unrecognizable."

"Mmmm. You've no idea. Good day." With that Marc and Ian winked out.

 Cole stretched. "So. Dinner. What time?"

"Eight," Collins said absently.  "At the townhouse."

"Right. See you then." Cole, with a little bow to Roz, winked out.

Patrick dropped some bills on the table.  "I'm afraid I've other commitments, Ms DeCara.  Perhaps some other time," he said and winked out before his father could stop him.

Collins didn't seem to care.  The look he focused on Roz sent a shiver up her spine.  He smiled, watching as she tried to control it.  "We should go home," he said.

She swallowed.  Then she pulled her coat back over her shoulders.  "Barnaby?"

"We'll discuss it at the townhouse," he said, not even looking at her as he led the way out of the restaurant.

She swallowed again and followed him obediently.

 Marc and Ian reappeared at the townhouse. Adele had been pacing the drawing room. She looked up, as they appeared. "How is Patrick?"

"He's fine," Marc reassured her.

Betty Jo meet Ian's eyes, saying nothing, knowing she didn't need to.

"I still don't see why we just didn't kill him right then and there," Ian muttered, pouring himself and Marc a drink.

"Because if you had," Betty Jo said with a slight smile, "I'd be sleeping alone while you were in jail."

"Hrmph," Ian replied.

"I admit," Marc replied, "it's tempting. Even so, I want to know exactly what he thinks he's up to, and I want Roz."

Dinah, curled in the armchair by the fire, was watching him, her green eyes narrowed like a cat scenting an elusive something on the wind.  "Was she there?"

Marc turned to her. "Oh, indeed she was. Just as smooth as ever. Although... Interesting relationship she seems to have with Collins."

She raised an eyebrow in inquiry.

"It felt... one-sided. She reacted to him, not him to her. It was ... revealing," Marc replied.

Ian nodded. "I thought it a bit strange too," Ian agreed, as he took a seat near Betty Jo. "After what you've told me about her."

"What was it Patrick said his mother said?  That the only thing she didn't do was call him 'master' in public?" Dinah said.

"But she's not a dependent sort of personality, is what surprises me," Marc replied.

Dinah blinked.  "What the hell does that have to do with it?  It's about power."

"But that's the point. She's ceding power to him. It amazes me, really," Marc replied. "She fought for power tooth and nail on Home."

"Power," Dinah said musingly.  "Who has it and who doesn't and what it takes to make that clear.  There are a lot of very enticing sexual games that can be built around those questions.  Even for people who have it in one scenario and crave to have it stripped away in another."  She paused, her green eyes more cat like than ever.  "Or so I've heard," she drawled.

"Hmmm. So I've heard as well," Marc replied. "Even so, I'd have thought, in front of me, she'd have been ... less revealing."

"She may have known she couldn't.  Not with Collins there as well," Dinah pointed out, well aware of the tension rising in Betty Jo.  "At least not without paying a price later she wasn't willing to pay."  Dinah shrugged lightly.  "And really, no matter how you cut it sweet cheeks, ceding power to him in front of you isn't the same as ceding power to you.  You might think it weakens her, but does it really?"

Ian was watching Betty Jo out of the corner of his eye. "Regardless, now what. We wait for him to make the next move?  We've blocked him on Adele, and on his sons. Now what?"

"Now what, indeed," Marc replied. "I'm dying to find out."

"What did he talk about?" Betty Jo asked.  "What did they say?"

"Lot's of sweet nothings," Ian replied. "Innuendo and empty comments. Nothing useful, that I could see."

Edwards came into the drawing room then and bowed to Ian. "Mr. Patrick Collins is here."

"Show him in," Ian said.

Adele stood, her eyes wide and worried looking.

Dinah's eyebrow flared and then settled as Patrick entered.  He stood in the doorway for a moment, his eyes searching automatically for Adele.  When he found her they lit for just a second before he turned his attention to Ian.  "Lord Avery.  Forgive me if I'm intruding."

"No, you're not," Adele said first.

Ian cleared his throat. "Come in, Patrick. You know everyone I think."

Patrick hesitated and then gave an almost imperceptible nod.  "Thank you, I do."  He greeted Betty Jo and Dinah with a slight smile.

"Don't worry. Lucky for you, Ian and I both understand that sons can't be held responsible for their fathers," Marc offered.

Patrick swung his gaze over to Marc.  "I know that," he said quietly.

Dinah's head tilted just the tiniest bit.  Then she let her senses expand in a way she rarely ever did unless she was being attacked...with hardware.

Marc sensed what she was up to and glanced at her, his eyebrow rising. "Such a trusting soul you are."

Adele walked over to wrap her arm around Patrick's. "Can I get you a drink?"

He looked down at her, smiling almost involuntarily.  "Thank you.  I could use one."

"Tough day?" Dinah murmured.

"You could say that," Patrick replied.

"Anything you'd like to share?" Ian asked, as he watched Adele getting the drink for Patrick.

Patrick kept his eyes on Dinah and Marc, breathing hard for a moment.  "I know it's none of my business but are you planning to attend the Baron's meeting in two weeks?  The one that's to coincide with the reopening of the casino and hotel on Sutta?"

Dinah's head tilted a fraction further but she didn't answer, letting Marc take the lead.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world. Why?" Marc asked easily.

"Who knows you'll be there?" Patrick asked.

Dinah uncurled her legs and sat up straight.  "We only just decided.  So no one really, not even the crew, though I imagine they know the odds are good.  My interest in Sutta and the Barons is hardly a secret.  Why?"

Patrick sat down, swallowing some of the scotch Adele had handed him.  "Again, I know it's none of my business, but are you aware that the Baron's board of directors, for lack of a better term, are meeting on St. Michael's in advance of that?"

Dinah exchanged a look with Marc.  "The fact of that meeting is not widely known.  Would you care to tell me how you know about it?"

Patrick sighed.  "I heard something at Colliers a few days ago that I probably shouldn't have.  And then my father mentioned today that he was on St. Michaels to attend to some business before he headed back to the Rim.  Cole handles most of his business affairs on St. Michaels."

"And you believe your father is there for the Baron's Board of Directors' meeting. I feel left out, Dinah," Marc said with a moue.  "So... Cole is unaware of this, then?  I ask, because I'd like to know how far we can trust your brother."

Patrick nodded.

Dinah focused on him for a moment.  "There's more, isn't there?" she said after a moment.  When he didn't answer immediately she sighed.  "Is the problem your loyalties or your concern for Betty Jo's feelings?"

Ian glanced at Betty Jo, and took her hand.  He then said, "Patrick, I'd like you to tell us everything you know. Betty Jo hates your father, it's true. And I want him dead for what he did. The only way we can stop him is by knowing all we can about him. I hope you'll understand - especially given what he did to Adele."

Adele went pale and looked over at Betty Jo. "Will you be all right hearing this?"

"Better than I'd be if I didn't," she said flatly. "Patrick, even hearing you say he's planning on trying to..."  She hesitated and then went on, "kidnap me again isn't going to bother me as much as not knowing what's going on."

Patrick finished his drink and set the glass aside.  "While I'm sure he is hoping to do that, Ms DuBois, I don't know that he's made any plans."  He turned back to Dinah and Marc.  "I think his plans at the moment are focused on the Baron's meeting and the fact that you will be there and not with your children.  And that Stephen will be with you."

Dinah hissed in air.  "What makes you think Stephen will be with us?"

"Yeah, why would Stephen be with us?"  Marc asked.

Patrick paled.  "Jenelle told me he's got it on his calendar and that he's planning to take his mate because she's never been to the Rim and she's dying to go.  He's planning on it being akin to a honeymoon."

Dinah's eyes were slits as she looked at Marc.  "I spoke with him while you were gone.  I was going to tell you later.  He asked if they could join us for the trip.  I told him we'd love to have them along.  And Tabitha and Eli if she was willing to trust the babies to someone else.  He said he'd ask them."

"He's after the kids then," Marc said heavily. "He made a veiled threat when we talked to him. I thought it was just so much hot air."

"I think it's more complicated than that," Patrick said.  "I think Jenelle told me on purpose.  I think he wanted her to.  He and Ms DeCara rarely, well, work together I guess you could say.  He has no interest in your children.  Why would he?  You're only of interest to him to the extent that you're an ally of Lord Avery's.  So if there's a threat to the children it stems from Ms DeCara and, strangely enough, this is a convoluted way of warning you.  But why he wants you warned..."  Patrick shrugged.

"So our attention will be on the kids and not him?" Marc suggested, looking over at Ian and Betty Jo.

"Possibly," Ian remarked. "All the more reason to kill him."

Patrick didn't speak for a moment.  "I'm not nearly as experienced as you are.  I know that.  But I saw Ms DeCara's eyes when he asked about Ms DuBois.  And I keep thinking he wants you to know so you'll kill her for him."

"No worries there, I completely plan to kill her," Marc replied easily. "Not for him, granted. For Christopher and Driana."

"She's planning to accompany him to the baron's meeting," Patrick said.  "No one's said anything, but I could tell when he mentioned it."

"It would make sense," Dinah said, thoughtful again.  "Being there with him is a hell of a statement about their relationship.  What exactly is his relationship with the Barons?"

"I think it's similar to Lord Avery's with the Prince of England.  But in this case to the entity.  I know he hasn't attended a meeting in decades.  He thinks they're a waste of time."

"But suddenly interested now. Hmmm," Marc mused. "Well, I think we should take a nice large party with us to the Rim, Dinah. Stephen and Doni, Eli and Tabitha, Ian and Betty Jo, Adele, Patrick and Cole. Let's give Mr. Collins what he wants."

"What do you propose to do with the kids?" she asked.

"Well, we want it to seem the poor little tots are sitting there unprotected," Marc replied. "Quite honestly, I doubt anyone could manage to make the brats do anything they don't want to do.  But I suppose we could ask someone to babysit."

She looked startled.  Then she grinned, wickedly.  "What about Julian and Carmine?"

"I'm not sure who'd be babysitting who in that case, but sure, that was sort of what I had in mind."

Dinah laughed.  "Carmine'll bring Briony and the twins.  She'll keep things under control."

"Good luck with that, if Julian and Puff are around, but hey, the kids will have a blast," Marc replied with a grin. "So why can't we?'

Dinah frowned suspiciously.  "You just want to flirt with Anja in boots again while Laz goes rigid trying to control himself."

Marc waggled his eyebrows. "I'll flirt with Betty Jo and Adele in boots too."