Langdon was hovering over me, arms thick and straight at my sides, holding his perfect physique in a holding pattern, staring down at me with an intensity I’d never known in a man’s eyes before.

“I told you they’d never keep me in there,” he rasped. “Nothing’s going to keep me away from you, nothing and nobody!”

“No,” I repeated, “nobody.”

His cock went in deep and hard, and I clamped down around it, teeth clenched, eyes slammed shut, every part of my body closing down hard to hold onto him with everything I had. I was so desperately glad to have him back, out of the arms of the law and back into my own, that I wanted to hold him so tight that I crushed him, so tight that I never let him go.

The bedroom door flew open, interrupting our feverish lovemaking. We both stopped and turned toward the door. John Alister stood there, lit by a shaft of moonlight.

“J.A.?”

“Mr. Alister, what are you doing here?”

He took a step forward, now silhouetted by the light of the living room suite behind him. “How could you both do this to me? I trusted you!”

Langdon and I looked at one another. Langdon ventured, “We don’t know what the hell yer on about, mate!”

“I’m done talking, anyway.” John pulled a small semiautomatic handgun, the same one I’d often seen in the top drawer of his desk. I got a lump in my throat every time I caught the odd sight of it, and I finally knew why.

I said, “We didn’t do anything against you, Mr. Alister!”

“You used to love me,” John croaked out in a sudden fit of spittle and anger, gun quivering in his hand. “You loved me, and I did the right thing!”

“I… I admired you, Mr. Alister, but I…”

“Liar! You’re a filthy little liar!” With that, John raised the gun a bit more, leveled it at the two of us, and fired.

Langdon screamed out, “John, no!”

The room lit in a heated white flash with every shot.

I screamed out, “No!” as Langdon froze above me, then twisted, arms shivering. Langdon fell back and John closed on me. I wanted to scream, to beg for mercy, but I had no breath, no words, no thoughts, no time.

He pointed the gun right at my face. “Sorry, Sheryl, but… you’re fired.” I tried to scream, but the only thing filling my ears was complete, deathly silence.

***

I sprang up in my bed, looking around my little Brooklyn bedroom, gasping for breath, sheeted in sweat. My eyes struggled to refocus on my surroundings. My mind was still not certain where I was—or if I was even still alive.

But as the moments crept along, my conscious mind managed to catch up and recover.

Just another dream, I told myself, this time with relief, panting and closing my eyes and dropping myself back down onto the pillow. Just a dream. And after all, dreams don’t really come true.

But my eyes shot open again.

Don’t they?

***

They held Langdon at the 53rd Precinct station house instead of shipping him to Rikers Island. I didn’t doubt that Langdon’s charm had gone a long way toward making that happen, not to mention his power and connections. I was certain that Langdon had taken care of things with a single phone call, that there was little I could do that he hadn’t already done for himself. But I still felt terrible, helpless, that I’d somehow failed him.

And I was dead-set against telling him about the dream. If he put any stock in it at all, it might make being in jail all the more difficult. If he didn’t, he’d probably think I was a lunatic, and I had to admit he probably wouldn’t be far wrong.

The police station was clean, and even though it was overcrowded, they arranged to have Langdon meet me in a private room, where I fell into his arms. At this, the guard began clacking his baton loudly against the metal desk in the little office.

“Sorry, mate,” Langdon said with a wink.

The guard shrugged. “No problem, man.”

Langdon turned to me. “You needn’t have come, Sheryl. I’ll be out in few shakes.”

“What does that mean? Minutes, months?”

Langdon chuckled. “Won’t be long now. You’ll be able to walk out with me.”

Oh no, I thought, I don’t want to face that pack of wolves all over again! But I don’t dare abandon Langdon yet again. I’d be proud to stand beside him, and if he wants me there, then that’s just where I want to be!

So I answered, “Of course I will, Langdon, whatever you want. What… happens after that?”

Langdon glanced around. “Thought they were gonna hold me till that kid comes around, although honestly I think he already has.”

“Really? How do you know that?”

Langdon gestured behind himself at the empty room, the guard, the endless network of information and corruption that snaked out beyond. “Reliable sources,” was all Langdon said, adding a little wink. “Word is they’re trying to find out what he knows before they cut me loose.”

“They? Who’s they?”

“Feds, IRS, who d’you got? Sheryl, a guy like me, I know it seems like I’m the big man, just striding through life. But all this success comes with a high price, Sheryl, enemies…” I was only beginning to learn for myself what he was talking about, but it certainly wasn’t anything I could tell him. He went on, “But they won’t be able to hold me, they know that.”

That only directed my own attention to everything I didn’t know and felt like I was never going to be able to figure out. “Does that mean you’ll be going home?”

“Chances are I’ll be here in the States a few days yet, and you and I are going to have a lot to do in those few days. Are you ready?” I wanted to be, but I wasn’t sure. “Sheryl?” I finally nodded, biting my lower lip and preparing myself for what was to come.

***

It was just an hour or so later that I was standing on those same steps as before, in front of that same whining pack of hyenas. They all saw me coming from a mile away, and standing beside each man in this high-profile disaster only magnified my participation, my profile, my vulnerability.

Leslie Greene of the New York Herald introduced herself and her paper once more. “Nice to see you again, Miss Francis.” The other reporters erupted in sarcastic, sardonic laughter, though neither Langdon nor I could join in the fun. He gave me a little wink, reassuring me that he’d take care of everything.

And I didn’t doubt it.

Leslie went on to ask Langdon, “Miss Francis here has denied any romantic connection between the two of you—”

“Excuse me,” I said before I could stop myself, “I never denied or confirmed anything. I stated simply that whatever the nature of our relationship, that it should remain private and that there was no compelling reason for it to be otherwise.”

The reporters shared a stunned murmur, more than impressed. Leslie Greene went on, “Follow up. Mr. Langdon, is there any romantic relationship between you and Miss Sheryl Francis here?”

“So what if there is?” The reporters broke out in a burst of muttered awe, and I shot Langdon a stunned look. But he seemed calm, smiling, and I knew I had to trust him.

At that point, I didn’t have any choice.

Langdon went on, “As Miss Francis here said the other day, and you all heard her, she’s not a public person, I’m not running for anything, and what we do oughtn’t mean a wallaroo’s arse to any of you.”

“If it was a crime of passion,” Leslie Greene countered, “it would cast a whole other light on the case, wouldn’t it?”

“If it was a crime of passion, luv, the passion was all on his end. I just needed to make sure Miss Francis here was unharmed. I didn’t have any passion in me for this bloke whatevah!”

“Even though you’re in love with Miss Francis here.”

“That’s right.” I felt myself go white as a sheet as the reporters echoed my shock. But swaggering Langdon Cane was forever unfazed. “That’s right, I love ah! And I’m proud to be standing with ah, by ah, whatevah! You bunch of hypocrites can make whatever you want of it, but I know you’re all in bed with each other behind the scenes. You? You’re doin’ it with that one over there, the pretty one in the purple, right?” Langdon pointed to a chubby man in a bushy red beard. “Who’re you doggin’ then, beardy? C’mon, ya bunch o’ loy-aahs! Come clean, if you dare!”

The Wall Street Journal’s April Carlson introduced herself and her paper as the mutters of the other reporters rose and fell around her. “What are your feelings about Flynn McGinnis?”

Langdon shrugged. “None. Don’t know the kid, still barely know anything about him. I tried to give him a few bucks to see him on his way, he forced my hand… or rather, me fist. Problem with men in this country, y’all play at being so sensitive and sophisticated, but yer all just a bunch of wolves in sheep’s clothing! You want a fairer society? Try being a bit more fair, yeah? Where I come from, a man raises a hand to a woman, or a man, he gets put on the ground one way or anothah! No apologies, no regrets.”

The other reporters cheered and clapped, the women especially.

“But was he swinging at her, or at you?”

“No time to tell,” Langdon said. “He wasn’t in a talkin’ mood.”

Hands shot up again, and Langdon pointed out another familiar face.

Jerry Mancuso of the New York Times introduced himself the way Leslie Greene had and asked, “What are your feelings about Mr. John Alister, Mr. Cane?”

Langdon gave it some thought, then shrugged it off casually. “J.A.’s a good guy, all told. I wish we’d been able to work together, but that seems a bit outside our wheelhouse, time bein’.”

“Are you sure, Mr. Cane? Wall Street’s going nuts with the idea of a merger.”

Langdon glanced at me, but I hadn’t heard a thing about it. All I could do was shrug and shake my head, and all he could do was believe me. He turned back to the crowd. “I suppose that’s something we’ll have to talk to J.A. about when we meet with him.”

“And when will that be, Mr. Cane?”

Langdon gestured to me. “That’s up to her, innit?”