The crying had stopped and a moment later Warren heard Lynne come into the kitchen. Instead of turning, he watched her reflection in the window over the sink. She wiped her eyes and her nose with a tissue then just stood there.

Ball in your court, Daly, he figured. He turned around and sat against the counter, looking contrite.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm a mess, Warren. My life has just blown up into a million emotional pieces. I've lost my job, my home and now- and now—"

"Your heart?"

"I was going to say my good sense."

"Oh. Well, if it means anything at all, that last loss was found, and held onto as something very precious."

Lynne looked away. "Another of your . . ." She turned back and searched his face. "Is that how you really feel, Warren?"

"Would you believe me if I said yes?"

She moved toward him, twisting the damp tissue in her fingers. "I think I'd like to."

"Was I that good!"

Her face fell, and her lips retracted to a thin line.

"Lynne, I'm kidding. I'm trying to cover my own feelings." He took her arms and the resistance was minimal. "I've been nutty about you since that night in the taxi. You just had something- I can't explain it, but I- I want to say I love you."

She softened and leaned into him. "Then say it – please."

"This is not just because of your emotional turmoil is it? I mean, we barely know one another. I'm very sure of my feelings, I just don't want—"

"Warren, just say it please."

****

Lawrence tore a sugar packet open and poured the entire amount into his mug, stirring slowly as Rod updated him. They sat in a corner of the parliamentary cafeteria to take a break from the office.

"Bradford is touch and go, apparently another artery collapsed and they rushed him in to insert a stent, but the muscle had been deprived for some time. I'm not sure how it all works, this is from Peter, his aide."

"What about the bill?"

"Jack Edwards is his deputy minister and he was not one of the people in those pictures or on the tape – we may have to have another meeting."

"God, I hate this. They won't introduce it again until Bradford's condition is settled, so we have some time to rally our troops."

"I'll visit the deserters and see if I can convince them that the video is a fake. Of course one look at those pictures and I think we'd get our majority back."

"No. That stays strictly with the people who know now - nobody else. I don't want to be the one responsible for lighting that fire."

Rod drank some coffee and considered whether to broach his idea. It wasn't a sure thing but it had good odds. Lawrence would need guaranteed odds. It would be a hard sell. He finished his coffee and decided to wait.

"There's Nolan over there." Lawrence pointed to the stout man at the cash, paying for a tray of food. "He's seems to be alone."

"You want me to bring him over? I don't think this is the place to question members, Lawrence."

"No. You're right of course. I just- I just want this all to be done with and we can get back to the other business that's been shelved because of this fight."

"I'll catch up with him later. You worry about keeping our own people on side."

****

"I've got his name and address and dollars to donuts, the woman is with him there." Sabbi pulled on his jacket, checked his gun and jammed it into the shoulder holster. "I want you to drive and I want you to take out a camera that's over a convenience store, while I get into the building across the street."

"The actual camera or do you want me to get the recording?"

"The whole point of taking out the camera is so that we won't be seen."

"Got it."

The car pulled up and stopped where Sabbi had parked before. Both men got out, and stayed in the shadows, as much as possible, until they neared the store.

"There's the camera," Sabbi said pointing. "You know what you're doing?"

"Duck soup. I can lob this over the whole thing no prob."

"See that there isn't." Sabbi walked back out of camera view and crossed the street. He watched his man affect an exaggerated saunter past the store and swing the black sack up over the camera. Quickly he walked to the building door, and with a practised skill, bypassed the electric lock and slipped inside.

The mail boxes only had numbers, no names and Sabbi cursed under his breath. There was no way he could go knocking on doors to find the right one. He walked to the end of the first hall counting twelve units. Six floors meant seventy-two units in all. Why is nothing ever easy?

Taking out his phone, he dialled the number he found on his search, and listened at the doors as he moved down the hall. A frustrating twenty minutes later, on the fourth floor, he heard a ring and a man answered. Sabbi stayed silent and listened. A woman inside called out, asking who it was just before it disconnected.

"Yes!" You're about to find out, lady." He said to the empty hallway.

****

Warren turned up the volume on the TV and called Lynne to come and see the news.

"They're saying Bradford Aitkens is in critical condition and the prognosis is not good."

Lynne sat on her legs on the sofa, the memory of their earlier encounter flashed in her mind.

"Do you think that they showed him those pictures and this happened?" She gestured at the screen.

"It's a possibility. They said he had a history of heart trouble, but was managing it fine for a few years now."

"I would hate to think—"

The knock at the door made her jump and Warren gave her a curious look.

"Who can that be? I didn't buzz anyone in, must be a neighbour."

Warren went to the door and opened it, smiling. His smile left quickly as the fist connected with his cheek and he staggered back, tripping over the arm of the sofa. The door slammed as Lynne screamed Warren's name, and then she sank back down, holding her hands up as a shield from the gun aimed at her.

"Not a peep, Miss Kirk, and you," he spoke to Warren, "up and on the sofa. Now."

"Who are you? What do you want?" Lynne regained some composure, as the gunman pulled a chair over to where she and Warren sat.

"I want what you took from the Shropshire Hotel."

Warren stretched his jaw and massaged his cheek. "What are you talking about? Who the hell do you think you are, busting in here?"

"If you don't want a matching cheek, you won't waste my time."

"We took some papers—"

"Lynne!" Warren protested.

"Do you want another punch in the face, Warren?" She spat. "We took some papers but we don't have them anymore."

"Where are they?"

She ignored the glare from Warren, and told what they had done.

Sabbi felt his stomach sink. "What was on them, and don't make me ask twice." The gun wavered between them.

"Nothing we understood," Warren said. "But we saw the name Grainger, that's why we contacted his office."

"Good little citizens." Sabbi snarled. "Why were you there in the first place?"

"We found—" Lynne began, but Warren swung a cushion around and caught Sabbi unaware, on the side of the head. He jumped up and landed on the man, tipping the chair to the floor, as they thrashed about. Lynne yelled at Warren, a little late to prevent his rash act, and she joined the fray, trying to get the gun.

Unfortunately, Warren's crime fighting fantasies didn't match up with his abilities, and another blow to the head sent him into darkness.

Word Count: 13,019 Microsoft Word