Moira twirled her way across the living room with fluttering arms and flying hair, down the hall to her bedroom where she paused to steady her momentum. It was working and it was working to perfection. Murder! Better and better! She dove onto the bed like a teenager and laughed, allowing her dress to ride up over her knees while hugging them to her chest. A few weeks of playing the devastated widow, reluctant to have the responsibility of owning the majority of stock in the company, then a gradual acceptance. Brave face. Stiff upper lip.

Take the helm and invoke the partnership agreement concerning the shares belonging to officers involved in criminal activities-in this case, Brian's twenty percent-and have it returned to the corporation, making her the largest shareholder with at least eighty percent! Maybe even more with five more from Peter, she thought, catching her breath. Cybrus Corporation will be dealing with her now and she was more than willing to deal.

She bounced off the bed and unzipped her dress, sliding it down and stepping out of it, kicking it carelessly onto the floor as she strode into the bathroom, Moira stood hipshot in front of the vanity mirror and watched as her hands caressed her body with a sensual possessiveness. One husband and one lover down and at least one to go-depends on how Peter behaves. Myles has actually performed quite well and is definitely ripe for full control. She laughed again and slipped out of her bra and panties, leaving nothing but the black, thigh length stockings then reached in and turned on the shower and sat on the toilet, seat rolling the nylons slowly down her legs.

The hot shower beat against her skin, stinging hot, pounding what small portion of guilt she felt about Brian out of her mind. Humming aloud, she lathered herself head to toe and then stood with her neck bent under the showerhead and luxuriated in a long, slow orgasm.

•••

Miriam tied the belt of her robe tightly about her waist and took the proffered glass from Peter. Ignoring his nude state she proceeded to the window and gazed out on the magnificent view. The news of Barton's death had rocked them all but just as quickly they had all begun repositioning for the future. Peter was badly shaken at the news and only a few sessions with Miriam, catering to his most overriding needs, settled his immediate concerns and centred his focus once again.

"I can't believe how well old Myles is taking charge of everything at the office." Peter joined her by the window, pressing a bare thigh against her robe.

She sipped her drink and turned toward him, speaking as she strolled back across the room. "He handled it better than you, Peter. At least it was easier with him."

"Aren't we all so lucky to have the mighty Miriam?"

"In answer to your sarcasm, yes, you bloody well are. It seems that the women in this game are the only ones not whinging and whining."

Standing there naked and being reprimanded put Peter at a huge disadvantage. Normally he felt that he was in control when women were presented with his bare physique. He hunted around for his own robe and slipped it on as casually as possible.

"We need control of the shares, Peter. Arnold is chafing to make his move. Your trust account doesn't pay interest and he's losing a lot of money while he waits."

"Then you'll be excited to know that I have proxies for twelve of the fifteen percent outstanding and I'm meeting with Myles and Moira and the other board members this week to discuss the new hierarchy."

"Excellent, dear. Let me know how it goes."

"Are you leaving?"

"Peter, I am a married woman. I have domestic responsibilities to attend to. It will all be over soon." She carried her clothes to the bedroom and closed the door.

Peter nodded. Indeed it will and it'll be champagne, caviar and bangin' old Miriam 'till the cows come home. He walked to the window and undid his robe, admiring his reflection in the window backdrop of the city at night.

•••

Soft music filled the large room, swirling in the corners, soaring to the ceiling then dipping down to the dense carpeting that ran wall to wall. He opened his mouth and the piece of crisp vegetable slid onto his tongue with the most delicate of flavours, creating a flood of juices. A soft, clean linen napkin dabbed his lips and he sat back and chewed slowly. When the telephone rang he sat up and waved his hand, waiting until the room was empty and then answered.

"Everything is just about ready."

"How soon?"

"It should be this week or the beginning of next at the latest."

"I have been following the news with some distress. The stock is slipping."

"Not for long, we both know that."

"I didn't actually think you could do it, but then you have surprised me in many ways."

"It's two of us, not just me and there are plenty of surprises still to come, I promise."

He groaned a throaty chuckle. "I cannot wait for the experience."

"Nor I. Call me when you hear."

He replaced the receiver and picked up the tiny bell. Immediately his meal was returned, prepared anew on fresh clean plates.

********

Brian Cathcart sat silently with his hands clasped on the metal table as his lawyer outlined the police charge and the evidence they had filed against him. The crisp, healthy look and styled barbering had fled the scene, replaced by a sallow hue and an untended thatch of dull hair. His attention faded in and out, filling his mind with bizarre scenes of Barton and Moira and fighting off hordes of rabid shareholders with glass ashtrays and trophies. This was not real. This couldn't be happening to him. Life didn't take these wild, sudden turns...did it?

He traced the line between the dirty beige paint that came up to waist level about the room and the sickly green that continued up and across the ceiling. In one corner a wire covered bulb flickered like a dying bird in a nest, desperately trying to brighten the murky room. What the hell was Moira up to?

"Brian, are you paying attention?" His lawyer snapped him back to the present.

"Huh, yeah. Evidence against me..."

"Yes, and it's substantial. Barton has a gash on his cheek from your wristwatch. He has bruises on his hip from slamming into the table in the boardroom and he has what the police are interpreting as defensive wounds on his hand-forget the fact that you beaned him with a statue; it looks like you beat the shit out of him... and those tapes, my God, Brian, what were you thinking?"

"I don't know anything about those tapes, I swear to God. And Barton and I struggled, sure, but he started it."

"You sound like a schoolyard kid, Brian." Gil Petchorik scolded. "Barton is the one with all the damage and all you have is your word."

"Shouldn't that be all 'we' have? You're still defending me aren't you?"

"Yes, of course but, Jesus Brian, I gotta tell you, I don't see a way around this stuff."

"But what about the charge? Surely murder is out of the question; I was defending myself! People heard the him yelling."

"They heard you both yelling, period. They can't say for certain who it was and no jury will give you the benefit of the doubt. You threatened him on tape, Brian."

"I told you-"

"I'm not the one we have to convince."

"But they're not true!"

Gil sighed and shrugged, gathering up his papers and stuffing them in his briefcase.

"So what happens now?"

"You'll be arraigned. I'll plead for bail and the judge will make his decision. Yes or no to bail with a court date some time down the road."

"You have to talk to Moira. She's done something- I told the police I never spoke to her except the night before while I was at the meeting. She called me! And it was her that started with the sexual stuff, I swear. I didn't know what she was on about." He almost giggled, thinking about how he had used that very ploy to get at her shares in the first place. The bloody irony!

"They've questioned her and she denies any phone call. I asked them if they checked the phone records and they said yes."

"And?"

"No record of a call to you on her cell or her land line."

"Then she must have gone out, a payphone, the lobby-something."

"The doorman says Moira Weston never left the building that evening."

"Gil, there has to be an answer, I'm telling the truth!"

"I'll do what I can, buddy. Hang tough."