HOT DAMES AND HOT LEAD

I knew she was trouble the second she walked into my office. And if I'd had any sense at all, I should've thrown her pretty little ass right back out onto the sidewalk - and then locked the door and put a bullet into the phone to make sure I never heard from her again. But I'm better known for being lucky than for being smart. Just ask anyone in this town.

She was blonde and beautiful, the ice-cold and damn-near perfect kind of blonde and beautiful that haunts dreams. And she was wearing a designer dress that pretty much screamed, "I'm rich!". Hell, her shoes probably cost more than I make in the average month. People like her - the rich and the beautiful - they aren't like the rest of us. They really don't have to play by the same rules, and more than a few of them don't even pretend to try.

But this dame wasn't just trouble. It was pretty obvious that she was in trouble, too. I could see it in her eyes. She was scared - and her kind of person isn't used to being scared.

Unfortunately, I'm not good at telling people who need help to go away. Maybe it would be better if I was.

"Can I help you, ma'am?" Marie asked coldly. Marie's my Gal Friday, and I couldn't imagine having anyone else doing my typing and filing. Sometimes, when business is particularly slow, the way Marie leans over the desk to pour me a cup of coffee is the only reason I bother to show up at the office.

"You must be Miss Domino," the blonde said to me - completely ignoring Marie.

"Domino," I automatically corrected her. "Or just Dom for short."

She flashed a smile at me. It was a quick and tired smile, but (no surprise) she was one of those people who had the ability to light up a room. I found myself wondering how many men and women had made fools of themselves trying to get a second glimpse of that smile.

I nodded towards where Marie was sitting, "And this is Marie."

The temperature in the office seemed to drop about thirty degrees as Marie and the blonde made minimally polite nods in each other's direction. Neither of them actually bothered to say anything.

"Let's get down to business," I continued hurriedly. "What's wrong?"

"My name is Emma Frost. And I need your help," she said quietly.

I knew the name, of course. The Frost family is big in this town - real big. And Emma Frost's name is a regular in the society pages. And sometimes in the regular news section as well.

"Why don't you sit down, Miss Frost?" I said as I slid a chair in her direction.

"Call me Emma. It's so good to finally be able to talk to you, Domino. You come highly recommended."

Marie gave me a long, hard look that pretty much made it clear what she was thinking. Then she went back to her typing, her eyes glued to the paper as her fingers hammered rhythmically at the keys of her typewriter.

Yikes.

My prospective client gingerly settled her very fine-looking bottom into my least ratty chair, as if she was afraid of catching something from it. My office is pretty small and not exactly expensive furnished. Emma looked way out of place in my office - like a swan in a particularly dank Chicago back-alley.

"So what's wrong, Emma?" I asked carefully.

Emma frowned and said, "There's a man I need you to find. He's a friend and I fear that he is in a great deal of trouble. His name is Dr. Charles Xavier."

That didn't exactly ring any bells. "Never heard of him," I said with a shrug.

Emma nodded, "He avoids publicity. And he runs in social circles that are a bit... different... than those you might be more familiar with. But Dr. Xavier is a good friend, both of myself and my family."

A single perfect tear appeared in the corner of one of Emma's eyes. "He vanished a few weeks ago. And I fear that he's ran afoul of that brute who runs the criminals down on the docks."

Marie was still typing. But she suddenly missed a key. There was a pause. And then she backspaced and began typing again.

"You're talking about Logan?" I asked slowly. I didn't dare look at Marie.

Emma nodded emphatically as she wiped her eyes with a tiny lace handkerchief, "Yes!"

"Why would Logan be involved with a scientist?" I asked with a confused shake of my head. "That's not his kind of thing."

Emma shook her head, looking like the picture of puzzled confusion. "I don't know! But Dr. Xavier told me that he was interested in Logan and his gang. And then he vanished! I think Charles asked one question too many about Logan. I only hope that Charles is still alive!"

I didn't say anything as I considered what Emma had told me. Her story had one thing going for it - it was so weird that it was probably true.

Emma was gone and her very generous retainer fee was safely tucked into my otherwise empty wallet - minus the fine rendition of Andrew Jackson that I'd given to Marie.

Thanks to the wonders of modern technology, I'd just finished the first part of the case. That was the part they should teach you in Detective School, but don't. The part where you check out your client's story. After hanging up the phone, I stared at it thoughtfully. I'd made a series of calls that had revealed a startling fact - my client was probably being at least minimally honest with me. A Dr. Charles Xavier had recently arrived in town, and then vanished. In fact, a missing persons report had been filed on him. He was apparently both a friend and an occasional business partner of Emma's father. And the good doctor had been asking a lot of questions about Logan and his gang the week before he pulled his vanishing act - or a vanishing act got pulled for him.

Marie was looking more than a little worried. It was an hour past quitting time and she kept finding excuses to stick around the office.

"Ah don't trust this Frost woman," she finally blurted out. Her southern accent always becomes a little more obvious when she's worried or angry.

"Her story checks out so far," I mused.

"So are you gonna go talk to Logan?" Marie asked worriedly.

I pulled my M1911 .45 automatic out of my shoulder holster and racked the slide to chamber a round. Then I gently lowered the hammer and pulled the magazine out of the grip. Taking a cartridge from a box of ammo that I kept in my desk, I refreshed the clip. Then I slapped the magazine back into the weapon. Normally, it's not a good idea to carry an automatic with a round actually in the chamber, but this was an exceptional circumstance. That extra shot might come in really handy. Grabbing the ankle holster from my bottom drawer, I checked the load of the Smith and Wesson Chief's .357 Magnum Special that was tucked into it. Six hollow point bullets looked back up at me, neatly nestled into their snug little beds and looking strangely eager to come out and play. Snapping the cylinder shut, I strapped the holster onto my left ankle. After that, I grabbed two spare magazines for the .45 and made sure they were fully loaded. I clipped them onto the forward strap of my shoulder holster. A six-inch switchblade completed my ensemble. I tested the action - it flipped open with a clear 'snap' - and then I closed the blade and put it into my pants pocket.

Marie was giving me a fairly deadly look by the time I was done.

"Yeah, I'm going to go have a talk with Logan," I said to her.

"Dom..." she began nervously.

I stopped what she was going to say with a kiss. Like always, she tasted like a slice of heaven. Like always, whenever she was in my arms, I wished I didn't have to ever let her go. Like always, I took my time tracing my fingers along the side of her face, enjoying the smooth freshness of her skin.

"I'll be careful," I said to her. "I promise."

Marie hugged me and didn't say anything.

There's some history between Marie and Logan. Once upon a time, they were incredibly tight. But she left him because he was never around - the guy has a permanently ingrained restless streak. And Marie isn't the kind to sit around and pine for her missing man.

There's also some history between me and Logan. It mostly consists of a this ongoing cycle in which we fuck like mad for a few weeks, and then try to kill each other for some reason for another. It makes sense if you're not looking at it from the outside.

In our crazy sort of way, Marie and I both care about him. And we're pretty wary of him, as well. I suppose they both come with the territory.

Really, the situation between the three of us is a mess and I don't like to talk about it. But it meant that I was one of the few people in the city who could ask to see Logan and not have to explain why. So that's exactly what I did. I picked up the phone, called Logan's right-hand man - a hulking beast of a man named Hank McCoy - and told him that I needed to talk to his boss.

"You gotta be kidding me," Hank growled back at me.

"It's important," I said back into the phone.

"Dom... you know you ain't exactly Logan's favorite person right now?"

"I know," I said impatiently.

"Look, Dom, you're a smart lady. So why do you keep pushing things with Logan? He's given you break after break. The kinds of breaks he doesn't give anyone else. You know that, don't you?"

Some people call Hank "the Beast". And they have a point. But the guy uses violence to get things done, not because he likes to hurt people. Otherwise, he's a lot smarter than he looks and can be a surprisingly reasonable guy. Sometimes, I find myself wondering what would have happened if Hank had gotten a few different breaks in life.

"I know," I growled, not wanting to admit anything. "Yeah, I'm pushing my luck. But that's what I do, Hank. Pushing my luck is how I make a living."

Hank was silent for a few seconds. And then I heard him sigh. "Okay, he'll be at Remy's tonight. Be there at nine. But you mind your damn manners, Dom! You hear me?"

"Hey, when have I ever been anything less than courteous to Logan?" I asked innocently.

"Does that count the time you shot him?"

"That was self-defense!"

"All he did was kiss you!"

"I don't like it when he kisses me!"

Hank paused and then he chuckled, "Wasn't always like that. Remember that time I caught you and him buck-naked in the backseat of that Packard?"

I could feel my face flush. Conversations with Hank always seemed to go off the rails. Like I said, he's smart.

"That was then. This is now." I snarled back.

"Whatever you say, sweetie," he said dismissively. "But I suggest you keep something in mind: you surprised us last time, Dom. Now we know better. You pull a gun on Logan this time and you'll find yourself on the bottom of a layer-cake made up of hairy, smelly, heavily-armed hard-cases. And I promise I'll be the first guy to jump on top of you."

"Promises, promises," I sighed.

At first, Hank seemed a little shocked at my response. I marked that up under the "win" column. But then he just laughed and hung up the phone.

Remy's is an establishment that occupies a special place in this burg. It's a legal nightclub and an illegal gambling den. Prohibition doesn't really seem to have any effect on how the place is run. The costumers dress to the nines, while some of the most beautiful women you'll ever see dance on the club's side-stages wearing nothing more than winning smiles. And the music is fantastic - some of the best musicians in town got their start performing on the main stage. I'll say this for Remy, he has both an eye and an ear for talent.

Decent people never admit to going to Remy's, but they go anyway and pretend not to notice the other decent people that they see there. Indecent people, on the other hand, make a point to being seen in Remy's. It's a sign that you're someone of importance. Remy was the place where those two parts of society connect with each another. The deals that are struck in the darker corners of the club can make or break the most important men in the country. And rumor has it that you can buy anything at Remy's. That rumor is more correct, and more ominous, than most people know, because most people don't seem to realize just how scary of a concept "anything" can be.

When I entered the club, a striking black woman named Ororo Munroe was performing on the main stage. She was wearing a floor-length gown of pure white and singing a low and sad tune. She's pretty good. Surprisingly good, given that she's not a professional. In fact, she's one of Logan's more dangerous hitters.

As I walked into the ballroom, Ororo looked directly at me. Her smile was sweet as candy, yet so carnivorous that it would have looked right on the face a tiger. Her presence onstage was a not-terribly-subtle warning from Hank.

I carefully scanned the club. Through the smoky haze of cigarette and cigar smoke, I could see that the place was packed. Ororo didn't perform that often and her fans had turned out for the event. However, it wasn't the normal customers that I was looking for. I wanted to know just what kind of security Hank had set up for his boss. I wasn't looking for trouble, but it was never a good idea to assume that trouble won't come looking for you.

I have to admit that Kurt looked good in a tux. He was sitting at a table near the stage and drinking champagne as he chatted with his usual bevy of pretty young ladies. He nodded pleasantly at me and I nodded back.

Bobby was sitting at the same table as Kurt. He looked like some kid who was hanging out with his more worldly older brother. But they don't call him "Iceman" for nothing. He's one of the coolest costumers you'll ever see in a fight. Oddly enough, when he wasn't kicking down doors and breaking legs for Logan, Bobby kept the books for the gang. Believe it or not, he has a freaking degree in accounting.

I tell you, sometimes there's no figuring people.

Then a nearby cigarette girl deliberately caught my eye. It was Kitty. The outfit she was wearing only involved minimal skin coverage. Despite all my disagreements with her, I couldn't help but enjoy the view.

"Hi, Dom," she said quietly, but with a bright and innocent smile. "Maybe tonight's the night, huh?"

The last time we met, I broke Kitty's nose and she promised to kill me for that. If you knew Kitty, then you knew she wasn't the kind of person who made idle threats.

"Maybe later, sweetie," I replied with a shrug. Kitty just grinned mirthlessly at me as she sold a sweating fat man a fifty cent cigar from her tray of smokables. Kitty may not have been wearing a lot of clothes, but I was willing to bet that there was some serious hardware hidden in the tray she was carrying. The kind of hardware that makes loud banging noises and creates large holes in people. In a fight, Kitty is like a ghost - hard to see and harder to hit. But she didn't seem to have any problem finding her targets. Because she looks like a kid, a lot of people didn't seem to realize just how dangerous she can be.

As I approached Logan's table, I could see that he was wearing his trademark white suit and he was watching me through narrowed eyes. Hank was standing next to Logan's table, looking like a shaved gorilla who had been stuffed into a circus-tent-sized dark suit. He was keeping an eye on everyone who made the mistake of looking for a split-second too long in Logan's direction. Another tough-guy named Scott was brooding in the shadows behind the table. It was dark, but I could barely make him out by the glint of his red sunglasses. You never see him without them.

Just to complete the picture, there were a couple of hotties sitting at the table with Logan. One of them was Mystique. She's an out-and-out assassin - a killer-for-hire without mercy or qualms. She was dressed, as always, in nothing but her trademark blue. Even her eyeshadow and lipstick was blue. That was strange, but I had to admit that she somehow made that work. She and Logan went way back. The other chippie was a Japanese woman in the traditional garb of a geisha. I didn't know her name. And as near as I could tell, she never spoke in anything other than Japanese, and I'd never heard her speak to anyone but Logan. But people call her Deathstrike and the word on the street was that she was just as dangerous as Mystique.

I didn't bother to ask permission before I sat down. Once I was settled into a chair, I looked up at Hank.

"All this for me? I'm flattered."

Hank snorted, "I thought about asking the Mayor to loan me the National Guard, but I wasn't sure where to park the tanks."

Then Hank gave both of us a dead serious look, "You two play nice. I mean it."

Logan's only reply was to give Hank a crooked smile. Then he looked me and asked, "How's Marie doing?"

Like I said, there's a lot of history revolving around me, Marie, and Logan. And that means there's one subject that Logan and I have to be polite about, no matter what.

"She's fine," I replied. "She said to say 'hello'."

That last part was true. Marie had asked me to tell him that just before I left the office.

You know, I can see Logan with either Mystique or Deathstrike. I can see Logan and Ororo. I can even see Logan with me - after all, that's actually happened. But, dear merciful God in heaven, I'll never be able understand Logan and Marie. Or maybe I just don't want to.

Logan nodded slowly as his two lethal and elegantly-dressed bitches tried to stare holes into me.

"I wanted to talk to you about a guy named Xavier," I continued. "Dr. Charles Xavier. The word is that you've had dealings with him."

Logan didn't even blink, "Yeah. He has some crazy ideas about eugenics or something like that."

"'Genetics' not 'eugenics'," I corrected.

Logan shrugged, "Not exactly my thing, Dom. I run a gang. The mad-scientist stuff is for other people. So why're you interested in this guy?"

A pretty waitress was standing next to me. "Bourbon. Straight up," I ordered without looking at her.

"You bet, ma'am!" the waitress answered brightly. I managed to stop myself from turning my head. It was the new girl in Logan's gang. Her name was Kristy Nord. The word was that she was a real up-and-comer. Logan had a good percentage of his heavy hitters here, but despite what I'd said, all of this security wasn't about me. Logan and his bunch were keeping together for a reason. It was going too far to say that they were scared, but something was making them put on a pretty impressive show of force.

"Someone's hired me to find this Xavier guy - he's gone missing. What did he want from you?" I asked.

Again, Logan didn't hesitate. If he was lying, he was doing a fantastic job, "Xavier talks a lot about a race of super-men. But it ain't the usual bullshit - it's not about color, or religion, or crap like that. He thinks something's happened - something to do with that 'genetics' stuff - that's making people be born who are special. People who can do things that regular folks can't."

Kristy put a shotglass in front of me. I immediately downed it and handed it back to her. After all, Logan was buying.

"You say he's not political?" I said slowly. So far, Logan hadn't said anything about the Professor that I hadn't already heard. But it never hurts to have other people go over the same ground again. They might provide a few details you didn't know.

Logan shook his head, "Nah. I can smell a Nazi or a Commie a mile away. He ain't into that, but he's a bookworm with an idea, Dom. And those guys... well... sometimes those bastards can be the most dangerous people you can imagine."

I knew a little about what had happened to Logan just after the Great War. He didn't talk to many people about it, but there was a time when we did. Mostly in bed.

"So this guy's a scientist with a cause," I said reasonably. "What'd he want from you?"

Logan grinned tightly, "He thinks me and my people are what he's looking for - special people who can do special things. He calls it the 'X-Factor', and he says we have it. He wanted to do the lab-rat routine on us: medical exams, blood samples, that kind of thing."

The shotglass was back and I put it to my lips without drinking in an effort to hide my expression. This Xavier guy had come to Logan - of all the damned people on Earth - and then asked him to pee in a bottle, turn his head and cough, and then hop onto an exam table? Dear God in heaven, he obviously didn't have a clue what had happened to Logan up in Canada...

I drank my whiskey and carefully put the empty glass back on the table. Then I asked the only possible follow-up question.

"Did you kill him?" I asked quietly.

Everyone tensed - even the pretty blonde gangster who was reaching for my glass.

Logan took a deep breath before he answered, "No. The guy didn't mean any harm. And he didn't have anything to do with... Look, the guy didn't mean any harm. So I let it go."

Not saying anything, I stared into Logan's eyes, looking for some clue of what to believe.

"Do you think I killed him?" Logan asked. Mystique shifted slightly in her chair. The Japanese woman simply stared at me. Kristy left the shotglass and took a step back, keeping her hands free as she balanced on the balls of her feet, ready for anything.

"I don't know," I answered honestly. "There was a time when you didn't much hesitate about that sort of thing, Logan. And it sure sounds like the Doc said just about the dumbest thing anyone could say to you."

"Logan was pretty ticked off," Hank interrupted from off to the side. "But he didn't kill Xavier. And he didn't have anyone else do it."

It's never smart to look away from people like Logan, Mystique, and Deathstrike. So I didn't. Which meant that Logan and I were staring into each other's eyes as I kept asking him questions.

"So why didn't you kill him, Logan?" I asked that so softly that you could barely hear me above Ororo's singing. "He said pretty much the one thing anyone could say to you that's an immediate death sentence."

Logan actually blinked and looked away first. Hey, there's a first time for everything.

"Ororo cooled me off," he said with a nod towards the stage.

I nodded slowly. "So do you know what happened to Xavier?"

Logan shook his head, "No, but I figure he might have tried someone else after I said 'no'."

My eyes narrowed.

"Talk to Pietro," Logan suggested. And that did make an awful lot of sense.

I got to my feet, "Thanks for the drink, Logan."

"Dom..." Logan said suddenly as I began walking away.

I paused and looked back over my shoulder.

Logan seemed to consider his words before speaking again, "Tell Marie that I said 'hi'."

I nodded. "Sure."

Hank tucked my chair back into Logan's table. "If you ever decide that you're tired of free-lancing..." he whispered to me, letting the rest of the sentence hang unsaid.

"I'm not a team player, Hank," I replied. "Even when I try to be one, it just doesn't work out in the long run. I'm not good at doing what I'm told."

Hank just smiled. The man has huge teeth.

As I walked out the door, Ororo and I exchanged glances. She was singing a slow and smoking-hot version of "My Silent Love", a song that had become fairly popular lately.

"I reach for you like I'd reach for a star,
Worshiping you from afar,
Living with my silent love.
I'm like a flame dying out in the rain,
Only the ashes remain,
Smoldering like my silent love.
How I long to tell all the things
I have planned.
Still, it's wrong to tell,
You would not understand.
You go along never dreaming I care,
Loving somebody somewhere,
Leaving me my silent love."

As I walked out into the parking lot, it occurred to me that out of all the women who had drifted in and out of Logan's life as either lovers or friends, only a few had never given up on him. Unlike the rest, they'd made themselves a part of his constant struggle to be more than a snarling animal. Ororo was one of them.

I definitely wasn't a member of the club. And that suddenly didn't feel right.

The gunsels who jumped me outside of the club were better than average. And against most people, they would have gotten the job done.

Unfortunately for them, I'm not "most people".

The headlights of a car pulling into the parking lot flickered into a row of parked cars. And that was all it took for me to catch a glimpse of the guy with the shotgun who was crouched between a couple of parked sedans. I immediately dove for cover, yelling at everyone else around me to do the same thing.

Maybe the guy with the shotgun just didn't have a clear shot at me. Or maybe he was too nice of a guy for his line of work and hesitated because of all the people who were crowded around the front of the club. But he had a couple of partners who were carrying handguns, and they either had a better view of me, or didn't care about the possibility of others getting caught in the crossfire.

A storm of bullets split the air around me as I scrambled behind a tall decorative stone wall that framed the walkway into the club. My .45 was already in my hand as more shots slammed into my cover. Bullets were spalling chips of stone and concrete in all directions as I planted the toe of my size eight onto a waist-high decorative lion-head and used it for leverage to pop myself up over the top of the wall. The guys who were after me had assumed that I would appear from one of the sides of the wall. So they never saw me coming. I took out the shotgunner with one shot - he never really did get a chance to shoot - and then dropped back down under cover. I'd seen my shot hit the target directly in center-mass. He was out of the fight, and probably either dead or dying.

I was getting ready for my next scoot-and-shoot when everything went white and my eardrums seemed to cave-in.

It took a few seconds to recover. When I finally got my act together, spots were dancing in front of my eyes and my ears were ringing like distant church-bells.

The night's entertainment was standing in what was left of the front-door of the club. Residual lightning played around her body and ruffled her hair. Some decorative wooden molding on either side of the now shattered front door had caught fire.

Ororo gave me an inscrutable look and said something. I couldn't quite make it out and I shook my head and pointed to one of my ears with the hand that wasn't holding my gun.

"They are gone," she said louder.

That's when I realized that Kurt was standing next to me. With his help, I painfully climbed to my feet. Then I surveyed the wreckage in the parking lot - at least two cars were on fire. Then I turned and gave Ororo a long, steady look.

She wordlessly turned around and walked back into Remy's.

"Are you all right, liebchen?" Kurt asked with a fang-filled grin as he brushed dust off of me - with special attention to the front of my jacket and the seat of my pants, I might note. As per usual, he had appeared out of nowhere. He does that a lot.

"You people have to learn how to be a little more subtle," I groused as I dropped the hammer on my automatic and tucked it back into my shoulder holster. Then I firmly removed Kurt's hands from my body. Maybe under other circumstances...

Kurt grinned at me, and then bent over and retrieved my hat.

"We are indeed not very subtle, Domino. And that is why we are the best we are at what we do. Assuming that it is still intact, may I escort you to your car?"

"Not yet," I said tiredly. "I need to check the bodies and see if I can figure out who they are."

Kurt wordlessly nodded towards the parking lot. Following his gaze, I could see one of the guys who had been shooting at me. Or rather, I could see what was left of him. The only reason I knew he was one of the shooters was because I recognized the little bit of his jacket that was still on his body. There was another body in the middle of the parking lot. A heavy revolver was laying next to it and the clothing on the body was burning merrily.

"Have fun," Kurt laughed. "But I recommend you hurry. The polizei will be here soon. Oh, and it goes without saying that Logan will not like it if you ever again bring one of your fights to his doorstep."

Then Kurt turned on his heel and walked back into the club. I stared daggers into his receding back, but it didn't have much effect.

It was about then that the gas tank in one of the burning cars exploded.

The parking lot was in flames, but I managed to find one of the guys who'd tried to kill me who was still moderately-alive. There wasn't a lot left of him, but I dragged him away from the blaze anyway. A quick search of his pockets didn't turn up anything except for a tiny amount of cash and some reloads for his handgun.

Actually, that was kind of interesting. This guy was completely clean of any kind of identification. That was a kind of professionalism that wandered away from "I kill for a gang" and into "I kill for a government".

The shooter coughed and whispered something. I put my ear next to his mouth.

"Who are you? Why did you try to kill me?" I asked.

He moaned something and then died.

Sitting next to the corpse, I considered what he'd said.

Phoenix? What the hell was that about? Had I heard him correctly?

There was now quite a crowd standing in front of "Remy's". Some were watching the fire. Some were doing their best to get away. I could see that some of Logan's people were also watching the crowd - looking for anyone whose reaction didn't seem right. They were looking for accomplices to the attack.

Remy himself came out and mingled with the crowd. He gave me a long, dirty look as waiters and waitresses began serving free drinks to the people who were sticking around. I suppose this little incident had cut pretty deep into the night's profit margin.

Off in the distance, I could hear the first sirens.

Marie sniffed suspiciously, wrinkled her nose, and then said, "You smell like you've been to the world's worst barbecue. What were the serving - hotdogs soaked in gasoline?"

"That's as good a description as any," I replied as I flopped into a chair. In fact, except for the bed and a dresser, the chair was the only furniture in her tiny apartment.

Then Marie suddenly looked nervous, "What happened?"

I shrugged as I kicked off my shoes. My feet were killing me. Wiggling my toes was an almost spiritual experience. "I went to see Logan. We talked. Then, after I left, somebody took a shot at me. Three guys, as a matter of fact. I got one. Ororo took out the other two. Cars burned and exploded. And then the cops came and everyone took turns lying to them. In other words, it was just another epic and marvelous day in Loganland."

"Anybody hurt?" Marie said evenly as she poured me a stiff drink. There was a time when she had been a full-time occupant of "Loganland". In fact, I was the person who'd talked her into leaving.

"Just the shooters," I growled. "Bunch of damned fools, if you ask me. Even if..."

I stopped there because I'd been about to say, "Even if they'd killed me, then they would have had to deal with Logan and his people." There was no point in talking about getting killed. It would just worry Marie.

"Who were they?" Marie continued as she handed me the glass and sat down on the edge of her bed. She was wearing a short and thin robe. And I was pretty sure that - at best - all she had underneath was a pair of panties. You know, having pretty girls who weren't wearing much in the way of clothes hand me whiskey wasn't a bad way to kill time. It was definitely better than having people shoot at me.

"No idea," I answered with a shake of my head. "Thanks to Ororo, there wasn't much left to ID."

"And what did Logan have say?" There's always something in Marie's eyes when she talks about him. I wish I could say that it didn't bother me.

"He did talk to Xavier. It turns out that this Xavier guy is a bug on the subject of people with powers. He wanted to examine Logan and the other people in Logan's gang. But Logan said no."

Marie's eyes narrowed as she considered what I'd said.

"Logan said that he didn't kill Xavier. And I believe him," I added.

Marie nodded and relaxed a little.

"Then he said I should talk to Pietro," I added.

Marie pursed her lips as she thought that over. I have to stop myself from kissing her whenever she does that.

"That makes sense," she said. "If this Xavier guy wants to talk to people with powers, and Logan said no, then Pietro and his bunch are the next best bet."

"Yep," I agreed.

Marie subsided as she thought it over.

Then I got to something I really didn't want to do, but I'd pretty much promised...

"Logan says hello," I said through gritted teeth.

Marie smiled as I did my best to keep a neutral expression on my face. Then she got to her feet.

"You need a bath," she said. Then she vanished into the bathroom and I could hear water splashing into the tub.

I dozed off, but when I awoke, Marie was in the middle of pulling off my pants. She was already heart-attack naked, and I have no idea why God was thinking when he decided to make one woman so perfect.

Then my pants were past my ankles, and Marie efficiently stripped off my used-to-be-white-now-sorta-gray socks. Standing up, she dropped the pants on the bed and tossed the socks in the general direction of her overflowing laundry basket. And I was no longer even a little sleepy as I began fumbling with the buttons of my shirt.

Marie stopped me with a gentle touch.

"I like undressing you," she said with a smile that was as old and mysterious and inviting as Eve.

I nodded and leaned back in the chair.

Really, the bathtub was too small for both of us. And when we get... uhm... "active", we sometimes splash lots of water onto the bathroom floor. And that pisses off Mr. Mortimer, who lives downstairs. So we try not to do that, but it isn't always easy.

It was hot and humid when I woke up. I slid carefully out of bed so as not to disturb Marie. Then - naked as the day I was born - I padded over to the only window in Marie's apartment. It looked out over the neon-lit downtown.

It was raining. I cracked the window open to let a whisper of rain-cooled air slide over my bare body. My reflection was visible in the partially-opened window. I stared at my light blue skin, the darker blue birthmark that circled one of my eyes, the stiff hair that I had to keep cut so short, the thin features, the too many scars, and the hard body that didn't really fit the conventional idea of attractive.

I didn't really know what Marie saw in me. And that scared me. Because maybe one day she'd look at me and see what I saw, instead of whatever it was that she thought she was seeing. And what would happen then? Would she leave me?

Would she go back to Logan?

Closing my eyes, I rested my forehead against the glass of the window. It was wonderfully cool.

"Dom?" Marie quietly called out.

I turned around. "I'm here, sweetie."

She threw the covers off of the bed and sat up. The neon red and orange light that was coming through the window made her body seemed to gleam. And the white streak in her hair looked like a tendril of fire.

"Come back to bed," she ordered. From the way she said it, there was no doubt what she had in mind.

I did as I was told. She took me into her arms and kissed me.

Maybe someday Marie would finally wake up and realize what was real and what was illusion, but tonight wasn't the night.

"Have you found anything?" Emma asked. The worry she was feeling was obvious even over the phone.

It was just past nine and Marie and I were back in the office. Marie had poured me my first cup of coffee and delivered it with a kiss that could have doubled as a tonsil inspection. Ever since a near-incident involving a surprise visit by the landlord while Marie was performing some under-the-desk amateur gynecology on me, we'd put a strict "no-sex-in-the-office" rule into effect. But kissing and touching was still okay. In fact, we both agreed that it was a necessary part of keeping up office morale.

I shifted the phone to my left hand as I picked up the coffee cup with my right hand. I'm ambidextrous, but some habits persist despite that.

"Logan says he talked to Xavier, but nothing much else happened. Xavier left unmolested and that's the last Logan heard of him," I reported.

"Do you believe him?" Emma asked.

"I don't have any reason not to," I said warily. "And Logan's not given to lying. I sometimes think the cops could close his operation down if they just hauled him in and started asking questions. He has a habit of looking people dead in the eye and saying just whatever the hell is on his mind. And besides, someone tried to kill me right after I talked to Logan. That's probably not a coincidence."

"What!?" Emma yelled.

I took a sip from my coffee, "Three hitmen tried to toe-tag me right after I talked to Logan. Which I guess means that someone's picked up on the fact that I'm looking for the Professor. And they apparently don't want me poking my nose into the wrong places."

"Are you all right?" Emma gasped.

Despite the fact she couldn't see me, I shrugged, "Sure. Actually, one of Logan's people shut down the fight before it got too nasty. That's one of the reasons I don't think Logan's involved."

"So now what?" Emma persisted.

"I'm gonna check on a guy named Pietro. He's a small timer with a lot of big ideas. And he's someone that might have caught the Professor's eye."

"Anything else?"

I thought for a while before responding, "By the way, does 'Phoenix' mean anything to you?"

Emma was silent for a moment, and then said, "Do you mean the town in Arizona?"

"Maybe, but I don't think so. It was something one of the guys who tried to kill me said just before he croaked."

"I'm sorry, Dom, but it doesn't really bring anything to mind."

"Well... maybe it's nothing," I said thoughtfully. "People do say a lot of strange things towards the end."

"Very well, Dom. Thank you for the report. And please keep me posted," Emma replied.

"Will do," I shot back. Then I hung up the phone. You have to keep in touch with the clients, but it's a good idea to be as brief as possible. Otherwise, the clients began to get the idea that they should be a more direct part of the investigation. And that could get awkward in a hurry.

I drained my coffee cup and got to my feet.

"Pietro?" Marie asked, looking at me as she filed away receipts on some very recently paid bills.

"Pietro," I replied.

Pietro was soaking wet, naked, and more than a little surprised.

"Don't even think about running," I said as I pressed the muzzle of my automatic between his eyes.

Pietro gave my gun a cross-eyed look... and then he looked past it at me and gulped.

"Domino! Uhm... hello?" he said hesitantly. Actually, he wasn't doing too bad for a guy who'd just stepped out of the shower and had a gun shoved into his face. Pietro's brave and stubborn. It's just that he's not very smart.

It's usually tough to find Pietro. And it's even tougher to hold onto him once you've got him. So you have to set the stage and play all of the angles if you want to catch him and keep him.

In this case, the stage was the small and very messy bathroom in Mortimer Toynbee's small and very messy apartment. Pietro and Mortimer were pretty close, so it was a good bet that Pietro would eventually show up there for a booty call. In this case, I'd gotten lucky (big surprise) and Pietro just happened to be at Mortimer's place when I checked it out.

That's how Pietro came to make the acquaintance of my automatic as soon as he got out of the shower. The bathroom was pretty tight, and that meant Pietro didn't have any room to maneuver. That was definitely in my favor, but even that wasn't enough. Just to make sure I had him, I reached down with my free hand and took a firm grip of a part of Pietro's anatomy that's very near and dear to him.

"If you try to run off, this stays behind," I said flatly.

Pietro swallowed hard.

"What did you do with Mortimer?" he asked nervously. What do you know? Pietro actually does think about somebody besides himself.

I jerked my head towards the bedroom, "He's handcuffed to the radiator. By the way, thanks for the ball-gag. It came in handy."

Pietro winced and then he shook his head, "Come on, Dom! What the hell is wrong with you? We used to be friends!"

The was the wrong thing to say. I squeezed and Pietro yelped. I'm pretty sure it was more a matter of surprise than pain - I hadn't really been too rough on him. But Pietro is one of those guys who has to learn everything the hard way. I had to make sure he understood who was in charge, and that I wasn't screwing around.

"We used to be on the same team!" I yelled back at him, my anger finally bubbling to the surface. "But you sold me out, Pietro! Remember?"

Pietro took a shaky breath, "That was a misunderstanding!"

This time I went for pain instead of surprise. Pietro's scream was much more heartfelt.

"You know something?" I snarled at him. "You sound just like a little girl when you scream. And if you keep jerking me around, I just might make that into a permanent condition. And just for the record, leaving me to face a big chunk of the Mexican Army all by myself was not a damned 'misunderstanding'! You hung me out to dry!"

He held his hands up helplessly, "For pity's sake, Dom! Let's talk about this like reasonable people!"

"Sure," I said as I kept a good grip on the family jewels and a gun in his face. I could be completely reasonable while not giving him an inch of leeway.

Pietro sighed.

"I'm going to ask you some questions, Pietro," I said sweetly. "But before I do, I want you to ask yourself the following question: what am I going to do to you if I decide that you're lying?"

There was a brief pause as Pietro considered the range of terrible options.

"What do you want to know?" he asked resignedly.

It turned out that Pietro had heard of Xavier. And he was definitely interested in talking to him. But he swore to me that he'd never actually met Xavier and hadn't even known that he was missing, much less who might have snatched him. Since his generative organs were at stake, I was pretty sure Pietro was telling the truth.

I handcuffed Pietro to the radiator, right next to Mortimer. Then I took off the ball-gag that was in Mortimer's mouth. Hey, there's no point in being needlessly cruel.

"Uhm, Dom?" Mortimer said timidly. He wasn't wearing much - a black-leather harness-thing was around his surprisingly well-defined chest and a matching pair of shorts. Crotchless shorts. I made him wrap a sheet around his waist before I locked him up.

"Yeah?" I replied. Actually, I was surprised that Mortimer was willing to talk to me. I was pretty tough on him back when we were on the same team. Towards the end, he seemed terrified of me.

"These cuffs are a little loose. Just thought you'd want to know."

"Oh, for God's sake, Mortimer!" Pietro snarled.

I checked the cuffs, and Mortimer was right. The problem was that the cuffs were the kind you use for playtime, not for serious restraint.

"I don't think there's anything I can do. They're just not very good handcuffs," I told Mortimer.

Mortimer nodded understandingly, "Yeah. That's okay, Dom. Business hasn't been so hot. We're having to cut corners."

"Mortimer..." Pietro said through gritted teeth.

I gave Pietro a hard look, "Hey, cut it out. Mortimer and I are having a civilized conversation here."

Still fuming, Pietro subsided.

"I'll call Fred and tell him to pick you guys up," I said to Mortimer.

He sighed in relief, "Thanks, Dom. Uh... could you tell him it's no hurry?"

Feeling strangely virtuous, I replied, "No problem."

"I'm surrounded by idiots and maniacs," Pietro said mournfully as Mortimer snuggled up against him.

I turned to leave.

"Can I at least have some clothes?" Pietro shouted after me.

I looked over my shoulder.

Mortimer caught my eye and said with a sly grin, "No. He's just fine."

Okaaaaay...

"Uhm, yeah," I said.

As I walked out the door, Pietro was muttering curses and threats. On the other hand, Mortimer seemed pretty happy with the situation.

Walking away from Mortimers's apartment building, I couldn't help but notice that my case was increasingly getting nowhere. So far, the only sign of progress was the fact that somebody had tried to kill me. And there weren't that many people that fit the criteria of being the type that Xavier would find interesting. I was running out of people to talk to.

Except for one. One that I'd rather avoid.

I took a deep breath, and then let it out slowly. I really didn't have a lot of choice.

This was going to be dangerous. And I better not tell Marie what I was planning. She wouldn't let me do it.

Visiting Erik is always an experience. Like a lot of people, he had pretty good set of reasons to be unhappy with me, so I knew he wouldn't be receiving me with open arms and a big smile. And I wasn't terribly surprised when I eventually found myself manacled upside down to an iron wall. A very cold iron wall, I might add.

"Domino... it is such a surprise to see you," Erik said thoughtfully. He was wearing one of his specially tailored dark-purple suits. Yeah, I know that sounds kind of fruity, but believe me, Erik makes it work.

Erik Lensherr was the only guy who had an organization that was comparable to Logan's. So far, they'd more-or-less kept their distance from one another. But when you got down to it, this town really wasn't big enough for the two of them. One day, they would inevitably duke it out. My plan was to be on an extended vacation with Marie when that finally happened. Maybe in Hawaii or Tahiti or someplace like that.

"It's funny," I said as calmly as I could manage - Erik has an almost pathological respect for coolness under pressure - "just a little while ago I was talking to Pietro. The situation was strangely similar."

Erik raised an eyebrow. Pietro is his son.

"And how is Pietro doing?" he asked interestedly.

I decided that it wasn't time to tell Erik that his only son had a boyfriend - and was dressing him in a crotchless black-leather pony-boy outfit. Complete with tail. You don't want to know the details about the tail.

"He seemed a little put out the last time I saw him," I replied honestly enough.

Erik made a disgusted face, "Is he still associating with those... individuals?"

"You mean Mortimer, Fred, and Dominic?"

"Yes."

"Yeah. He is. Uh, Erik, this upside-down bullshit is giving me a headache."

He didn't say or do anything, but I slowly rotated right-side up. It was a relief to feel the blood draining from my head. Of course, 'do the prisoner a small kindness that could be easily reversed,' was one of the first lessons of 'Interrogation 101'. Erik and I had apparently read the same manual.

"You know, letting me all the way down would be kinda nice..." I suggested.

Erik just shrugged and said, "You have demonstrated a tendency to manifest unpleasant suprises, Domino. I prefer having you in a position where you cannot suddenly bring concealed weapons into the conversation."

I sighed, "Are you still pissed off about Boston?"

He paused and took a deep breath before replying, "You beat me with a baseball bat, Domino. Then you kicked me in the face while I was lying on the ground. Then you stole my wallet."

"That was just business," I declared heatedly. "It was nothing personal."

"None-the-less, I took it quite personally," Erik said in a tone of voice that managed to combine offended dignity, hurt feelings, and the distinct possibility that he was going do something really horrible to me.

"Have you ever heard of a guy named Charles Xavier?" I asked hurriedly. I needed him to be thinking about something - anything - else than past disagreements.

"I'm asking the questions here, Domino," Erik said mildly. The manacles on my wrists - which were really just short lengths of chain controlled by Erik - tightened suggestively.

"Okay," I said quickly.

He nodded, "So... why did you come here?"

"To ask you about Charles Xavier," I answered without hesitation. Hey, it was a completely correct answer.

Erik sighed, closed his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Headache?" I asked sympathetically.

"Yes," he said slowly. "Oddly enough, I tend to develop one whenever you are around."

"Sorry."

Then Erik opened his eyes again and looked at me, "You know, Domino, the 'in the clutches of a master villain'-experience usually involves a little more fear on the part of the prisoner. You simply are not doing your part."

I shrugged. That's hard to do when you're spread-eagled, but I managed. "Sorry. Do you want me to cry or something?"

He thought about that, "No. I wouldn't believe it was real."

"How about if I begged for mercy?"

He sighed, "Likewise. That's just not you."

Then Erik made a negligent-looking gesture. The chains around my hands and feet fell away and I dropped about a yard to the stone floor. I landed on the balls of my feet, in a crouch.

"What do you want to know about Charles Xavier?" Erik asked interestedly.

"Do you know where he is?" I asked as I rubbed the kinks out of my shoulders.

"He has isolated himself with a young lady named Jean Grey."

I raised an eyebrow at Erik, "They're shacked up?"

Erik actually looked offended at what I'd said, "I believe their relationship is more one of student-and-teacher than what you are implying. As I understand it, Miss Grey has manifested some abilities that are of interest to Doctor Xavier."

"So where are they?"

"The last I heard, in a rented estate just outside of town. I do not know the address, but I'm sure you can unearth it. Apparently Doctor Xavier prizes his privacy, so he's being quite secretive."

I frowned at him, "Why do you know all of this?"

"That is none of your business, Domino."

There wasn't really a lot I could say to that.

Erik turned away from me. The door he was walking towards swung open on its own. "Get out," he said. "And do not come back here. Ever."

"Nice talking to you, Erik," I said to his back as he left the room.

"I should kick your ass!" Marie yelled at me. Trust me when I say this - Marie can yell with the best of them. Come to think of it, she can also kick ass with the best of them.

"Not now, Marie. Please," I answered tiredly.

"It's bad enough that you went to see Logan! But, ERIK!? Are you out of your mind?"

"I had to do it," I said as reasonably as I could manage.

Marie sat down in her chair with a defiant thud. Her arms were firmly crossed over her breasts and there were tears in her eyes. "Oh... bullshit! You like that sort of thing, Dom! You like taking crazy chances!"

I opened my mouth and then slowly shut it. What was I going to say? Tell the truth and agree with her? Or lie and say she was wrong? Neither one seemed terribly smart at the moment.

"I'm sorry," I said - well aware of how lame that sounded, "but I am who I am, Marie. The trail was getting cold, and it was going to just plain freeze solid unless I talked to Erik. And he gave me what I needed."

She didn't say anything. But she wasn't giving me an inch. She never does.

"I called in some favors and talked to some of Logan's people," she finally said.

I... didn't like the sound of that, but Marie was a grown woman and had a right to talk to whoever she wanted to. And she still had a lot of friends in Logan's crew - like Logan himself.

"You were right about how tense they are," Marie continued, running a hand through her hair as she did so. "The word's been out for a while - people with powers have been disappearing. Somebody is after psychics in particular. But every now and then they pick off somebody who has abilities that are psychic-like - precogs, and far-seers for example. That's why Logan and his people are travelling in packs."

"I see," I said with a short nod of my head. "Thanks. That's interesting."

Then I sat down at my desk and picked up the phone. I knew a guy down at the county records office.

Believe it or not, Xavier had bought a mansion. The place was located just outside of the city, and it was huge. Once upon a time, an "old-money" family had lived there, but the family line more-or-less died out a few decades back. According to my source in the records office, Dr. Xavier got a darn good deal.

"I remember talking to the realtor," my contact told me. "He said working with Xavier was just plain scary. It was like the guy could read minds or something."

I said something suitably bland in reply. Then I got the address information and hung up.

"I got 'em," I said to Marie after I was done. She'd come down far enough from her snit to look interested.

I told her what I'd found out.

"Now what?" Marie asked.

"I get my muscular - yet lovely - ass out there and check it out," I replied reasonably enough.

"Why?" Marie asked bluntly. "The job was to find Xavier. You found him. Give Frost a call, tell her what you know, and that she owes you the rest of the payment for the job by the end of the week."

That made me hesitate. After all, Marie was mostly right...

Then I shook my head, "I've got a strong lead here, but I need to make sure. I have to check everything out and see if there hasn't been any confusion or mistakes. And I have to make sure that Xavier is actually in residence. Then I can call Emma."

Marie examined me closely as I mentally kicked myself for calling our rather attractive client by her first name.

"Okay," Marie said with a wary nod. "That makes sense."

"Damn right it does," I said busily. Then I gave her a long kiss and bolted for the door.

My guy at the county office wasn't understating the new Xavier place. It was huge. Of course, a place that big normally needs a staff to run, clean, and maintain it. As far as I knew, Xavier and his "student" were the only people there. So all I had to do was wait for sunset, and then look for the lights.

The mansion itself was dead, but there was a small house separate from the mansion itself. Back in the day, it had probably been quarters for the grounds-keeper or some other kind of servant. There was light coming out of a couple of first-floor windows.

I ghosted my way across the grounds of the mansion. I'm good at that sort of thing. Then I peered through a ground-floor window that was obligingly not shuttered.

Bingo.

An older man, bald and in a wheelchair, was seated at a table with a pretty redhead. A pair of floor lamps provided light, a ceiling fan rotated lazily, and a radio was softly playing a Glen Miller tune. They were running through a test of some kind using Zenner cards. You know... those cards with the symbols on them? One person looks at the symbol, while the other person tries to guess what the other is looking at?

Of course, for some people, there's no guessing involved. Instead, it's something else.

Which brought me to "enough is enough." I was trying to be sneaky around two people with powers of the mind. That's not a good idea. Since I had what I needed, I immediately began backing out of the area.

And that was when all hell broke loose.

How do you deal with someone like Xavier and Grey? Obviously it wouldn't be easy. And the dumbest way to do it would be to send men in after them. Purely as a tactical exercise, I'd considered the issue over the years. I kept coming back to the same answer: you hit psychics from a distance. You don't give them a chance to bring their special abilities to bear. You strike from outside of the range of their powers, and you strike hard.

As I was trying to pull out of the area, I heard the distinctive "ka-chunk, ka-chunk" of light mortar fire. The mortars must have been pretty close, because within just a few seconds the first gas shells began impacting around the house.

I managed to get a few hundred yards away before the gas finally knocked me out.

I woke up in disorganized stages, fading in and out of reality multiple times. To this day, I don't have a clue what kind of gas they used. But whatever it was, it did quite a number on me - and gave me one hell of a hangover to boot.

With a groan, I rolled over. A chain padlocked around my neck clinked and clattered. It was secured to a heavy metal staple that was set into the concrete floor. I was lying in what looked like a really big basement. A bare-bulb hanging from the ceiling provided some stark light, but I couldn't see the full extent of the room. My clothes were gone and I was cuffed at the wrists and ankles. My hands were secured behind my back. Taking a good look at the cuffs around my ankles, I noticed they were pretty good quality.

"You know, this job features a little more bondage than usual," I muttered to myself.

"I'm afraid that tends to happen around me," a woman's amused voice said from off to the side.

Looking up, I saw my lovely client sitting cross-legged in a battered wooden kitchen chair. The chair looked like it had been used to tame lions. However, I must say that Emma looked fantastic. She was wearing a daring outfit - kinda 19th centuryish - that showed a lot of creamy white skin among scattered bits of white leather and satin. It was definitely a good look for her.

The chain running from my neck to the floor rattled as I struggled into a sitting position. The floor was cold and gritty under my bare skin.

It occurred to me that karma was getting me back for what I'd done to Pietro and Mortimer.

"Hi, Emma," I said tiredly. "Don't you think this is just a little too much?"

Emma firmly shook her head, "Domino, I have far too much respect for you to even consider giving you the slightest semblance of a chance."

"Then how about telling me what's going on?" I shot back at her.

She shrugged, "The Inner Circle - the organization that I am a member of - has a considerable interest in Dr. Xavier and Miss Grey. Especially Miss Grey. We knew Xavier had contacted her, but we lost all track of them afterwards. Finding them was a very high priority."

"So you hired a detective to track them down," I finished for her.

"As a matter of fact, I hired the best detective in town," Emma said with catlike amusement.

"I'm flattered, but I'm here to tell you that it wasn't that hard to find Xavier and the girl. It doesn't look good for you and your outfit that you couldn't figure it out on your own."

She didn't seem insulted, "Actually, I have to agree. If the Inner Circle has a serious flaw, it's a certain tendency to look for esoteric explanations and solutions instead of commonplace ones. We assumed that two missing psychics would have to be found via more exotic means than asking questions and checking real-estate listings."

I frowned, "How do you know how I found them?"

Emma didn't respond. She just smiled. And suddenly, despite all the fuzziness in my head, something clicked.

"You're a psychic, too," I said.

She seemed delighted at my cleverness, "I periodically read the mind of your charming secretary and lover. Since you tell her everything, actual reports from you weren't really required - although I did appreciate the ones you gave me. It was from Marie that I got the address where Dr. Xavier and Miss Grey were staying."

"Okay... but who were the guys who tried to take me down at the nightclub? They don't seem to fit in anywhere."

Emma looked disgusted, "There are other groups besides the Inner Circle who are interested in Charles Xavier and what he is seeking. Apparently there was a leak somewhere on our side - and one of those groups found out that you were working for us. They decided to slow us down by killing you. Fortunately, they underestimated you and only sent a few common thugs. My apologies for the mistake."

"Gee, thanks," I grumbled.

"If it makes you feel better, the individual responsible for the leak has paid a very high price for his foolishness."

I nodded slowly, "Great. But there's a more immediate issue - now that I've found Xavier and Grey, what happens to me?"

For the first time, Emma seemed to hesitate.

"The Inner Circle doesn't like loose ends," she finally said.

My mouth went dry as I took another look at the cuffs on my ankles. Yep, they were really, really good handcuffs.

"But there is one way out," Emma continued.

I sighed, "Let me guess: I have to work for you."

Emma nodded, "I'm quite impressed with your talents, Dom. You're very useful."

"Go to hell," I spat.

"Oh, stop it, Dom. In the end, you're going to agree to work for me."

"And why's that?" I challenged,

"Because Marie is another loose end," Emma said calmly. "And neither one of us wants anything to happen to her."

And just like that, she'd won the argument. I slumped in defeat, and it was real. I was out of plans, tricks, and - apparently - wild lightning-strikes of luck.

"What does working for you mean?" I asked bitterly. "Do I end up being your personal gun-slinger, or do you have something kinkier in mind? Something else that goes along with your 'Betty Paige in White' look?"

Emma gave me an enigmatic look, "I'm sure I'll find all sorts of uses for you, Dom."

Then she put an image in my mind. It was... intimate. And sexy. And scary.

Me and my big mouth. And why the hell had I said that anyway? The idea of Emma and me...

"Actually, you really don't mind the idea at all," Emma added seriously. "I've put a lot of time, effort, and money into becoming a very attractive woman, Dom. And everyone has a submissive streak. In fact, I excel at finding it. Like many people, you just want an excuse to let yours out - like saving someone who's dear to you. That way you can be a virtuous martyr who has no choice but to serve me with complete devotion."

Oh, for Pete's sake.

"You're nuts," I growled. "And, by the way, get the hell out of my mind!"

"Actually, I do rather like that fantasy you keep having," Emma mused. "The one where you and Marie bathe and massage me - and then afterwards perform for my amusement on a candle-lit stage."

"Cut it out," I said dismissively. I wasn't thinking about any such thing until she mentioned it. She was putting things in my head. Right?

Right?

Emma laughed and got to her feet. Standing next to me, she ran a gloved hand through my hair. I tried to bite her, but I was still weak and woozy from the drugs.

"I'll tell you what," she said archly. "Once this matter with Xavier and Grey is settled, I'll be back. And then the two will discuss your future as my servant and agent. I think it will be fun. We'll make a day of it."

Then she knelt next to me and pressed her lips to mine. I resisted for maybe a second. And then my body was pressing eagerly against hers and my tongue was enthusiastically probing her mouth.

Emma purred in surprised delight.

I nuzzled against the side of her face, my tongue sliding through her long hair so I could tease her ear. She had one hand on the chain around my neck, so she could control me better. The other hand was cupping one of my breasts as her thumb flicked my nipple.

"Really, Dom, I assumed this would take a little more time," Emma laughed. And then her free hand slid slowly down my body and between my legs. I spread my knees so it would be easier for her to do whatever she wanted to me.

I lost myself in sensation, blanking my mind and letting raw passion and pure heat take over. As I gently bit and nibbled Emma's face and shoulders, she expertly teased me to orgasm.

It didn't take long. Crying out as I reached climax, I buried my face against Emma's shoulder.

Emma laughed and used the chain around my neck to pull me back. For a long moment, she simply looked into my eyes. Then she kissed me long and hard.

"My turn next time," Emma whispered. Then she put an image in my mind that made me gasp in a combination of lust, surprise, fear, and eagerness.

Emma kissed me again, and then she got up and walked out of our circle of light and back into the darkness. A very solid-sounding door slammed behind her.

After she left, I spat onto the floor the pin I had pulled from Emma's cloak with my teeth. It was a pretty and expensive-looking thing: an inch-long length of silvered steel pin topped with a cloudy-white, but flawless, diamond.

It's hard to fool a psychic. After all, they can look right into your head. But there are things that will distract anyone made up of flesh and bone. Emma wanted me. So I gave her what she wanted, and Emma lost track of a few details in the process.

I could smell Emma's perfume still on my body. That was... distracting, but I gritted my teeth and firmly ignored the part of me that wanted Emma to come back and start all over again.

Damn, she did that to me on a cold concrete floor. I didn't dare imagine what she was like in an actual bed. Psychics like Emma can do incredible things to you. After all, they know exactly what you're feeling. They know what's working and what isn't. They can play your body like a master musician can work an instrument with which they've had long and intimate experience.

Sitting on the floor seemed like too much effort, so I collapsed down onto my side. It was crunch time. I needed a break and I needed it now. I carefully tested the cuffs on my wrists and ankles, but there was no joy. Whoever had cuffed me - probably Emma herself - knew what they were doing. The cuffs on my wrists were wide enough, and put on just tight enough, so that the trick where you break your thumbs in order to wiggle loose wouldn't work.

Likewise, the wrist cuffs didn't have a lot of play between them. That was deliberate. That was to make it hard for a prisoner to shove their wrists down and around their legs. A prisoner with their hands cuffed behind them has a lot less options than a prisoner with their hands in front.

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then another one. What I was about to do was going to hurt.

Using a trick a New York boy named Savage taught me, I deliberately dislocated my left elbow. And... yeah... that hurt like a son-of-a-bitch. I didn't even try to hold back my scream. After that, I wiggled around until I managed to twist and squeeze my lower body through the loop of my arms.

I was sobbing by the time I reset my elbow, but my hands were now in front of my body.

After letting myself rest for a minute, I painfully picked up Emma's pin and began working on the lock in the in my wrist cuffs. Contrary to what a lot of people think, it's actually pretty tough to pick the lock on a good pair of handcuffs. In fact, it's more a matter of crazy good luck than skill.

I laughed out loud as the left-hand cuff clicked open.

I was free, but the only thing I was wearing was a few traces of Emma's perfume and lipstick. The idea that she had somehow marked me was stuck in my head. I actually think I would have held off on my escape attempt if I'd come across someplace to wash-up.

The door to the cellar wasn't locked, but there were two guards in the hallway. They were wearing some kind of blue and red uniforms. The way they moved and held their weapons suggested to me that they were the real thing: trained soldiers, not uniformed thugs.

Damn.

I opened the door just as one of the guards walked past. I was naked. He was male. That gave me all the time I needed to kick him in the face.

The other guard was either more dutiful or gay. A bullet burned past me and slammed into the corner of the door. He was shooting high because he didn't want to hit his buddy, who was currently slumped in my arms. That was admirable enough that I made a mental note not to kill him. I did a fast-draw on the pistol the unconscious guard was carrying in his belt. It was a .44 revolver. Not my weapon of choice, but a very serious and respectable shooting-iron none-the-less.

The slug from my new revolver hit the other guard in the thigh as he was lining up his second shot on me. He went down with a scream, frantically clutching at his now-spurting leg.

I took off at a run, vaulting over the other guard on my way to the stairs.

The grease monkey gawped helplessly at me as I pointed my revolver at his face.

"Give me your clothes and a dime," I ordered. I was standing in a lonely gas-station on the edge of town. It was about a mile from the old textile factory that Emma had stashed me.

The old man gulped and then did as he was told.

"Been a while since a women told me to strip," he said with rueful shake of his head as he handed me his pants and shirt. He was left with a pair of boxers and a sleeveless t-shirt. If I had to guess, I'd say he was in his sixties.

"Was she pointing a gun at you?" I asked as I pulled the pants on.

"Nope. Didn't have to."

I glanced down. He was a small guy and his feet were about the same size as mine. "The shoes, too. You can keep your socks and underwear. In fact, I demand you keep your underwear."

"Gee, thanks, lady," he grumped as he kicked his shoes towards me. "Oh, and there's a dime in the left front pocket," he added.

I pulled it out, then I hurriedly stuffed it into a nearby payphone.

It started ringing as I waited impatiently.

"C'mon!" I finally yelled on the eighth ring.

And then - thank God - Marie picked up the phone.

"What?" she said irritably.

"Sweetie, it's me," I said as fast as possible. "Get out now. Right now. And get to Logan."

There was a split-second silence.

"Dom, are you..." she began.

"I'm in the Lewiston Garage on Highway 7! Now go find Logan!" I screamed into the phone and hung up. There was no time for talking.

I caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of my eye.

The gas station had a big plate-glass window. It exploded inward from a Tommy-gun burst. I managed to drag the old guy down with me when I hit the floor. Otherwise, he would have been shot to pieces,

I shoved the old guy under the counter. "Stay down!" I screamed at him as I rolled towards the garage. I'd noticed a back door behind the service pit.

Two guys in blue and red smashed through the front door while their buddy with the Tommy gun kept firing short bursts of supressive fire into the front office. I shot the first guy in the face. The second tried to dodge off to the side and took two slugs to the chest.

Then I finished rolling into the garage and lunged for the back door.

I led the Inner Circle soldiers on a merry chase for about a half-hour. What the cops were doing while a running gun-battle took place all up and down that highway, I can't tell you. But they didn't bother to show up. I figure the Inner Circle must have long-since paid them off.

But they finally cornered me about a mile away from the gas station. I'd dodged down an alleyway that turned out to be dead end. I'd long since had to trade in the .44 revolver for a panty-waist .38 revolver - the second guy I managed to scavenge a weapon from didn't have the good taste of the guy back in the factory. And unfortunately, his carbine - a much better weapon - had been smashed by one of my .44 rounds.

I'd killed enough of the Inner Circle troopers to know that they weren't going to be in a forgiving mood. Flipping open the cylinder of the .38, I confirmed that I only had a single round left.

There was a throbbing ache in my right thigh where I'd been creased hard by a rifle slug. It wouldn't stop bleeding. The knife wound running down the left side of my torso was also bleeding merrily. My left elbow still hurt from when I'd dislocated and reset it. And I had easily a dozen cuts - big and small - from back when the plate glass window of the gas station was shot to pieces. Ignoring all of that as best I could, I aimed my gun at the mouth of the alley. There wasn't much light and the Inner Circle shooters couldn't see me, but they would be backlit by streetlights when they entered.

The first man did a short dash to cover behind a dumpster. A second guy tried to follow and I shot him. He went down with a yell. Shooting the second or third guy in a rush is always more effective - it causes more confusion. Then I immediately fell back deeper into the alley just before a half-dozen weapons opened up roughly in my general direction.

By the time I finished backing up, my back was literally up against a wall. I had broken bottle in one hand and a snarl on my face. And the only thing going through my head was a prayer the Marie was with Logan. He'd protect her. He'd...

And then the shooting from the mouth of the alley turned into shouting and screaming.

There was a loud crack and a flare of lightning, and silence descended. And then Logan walked into the alley.

"Jesus Fucking Christ, Logan! It took you long enough!" I yelled at him.

Looking right at me - he doesn't need as much light as most folks - Logan said dryly, "Bringing a busted bottle to a gun fight? That's not like you, Dom. You're usually smarter than that."

"Screw you and the snikt you rode in on!" I snarled as I dropped the bottle. It hit the alley floor and smashed to pieces.

Logan just chuckled as two more members of his crew entered the alley behind him: Warren and Ororo. That made sense, of course. On the surprising side, they were holding hands. I swear, there's just no telling with people.

Marie followed them. She looked anxious as all hell. And she was wearing the outfit she used to wear when she was a part of Logan's gang.

"Dom?" she called desperately. Unlike Logan, she couldn't see me.

"I'm fine," I said to her just before I collapsed.

We were holed up in a fair-to-lousy hotel. I was lying on a bed whose light-yellow coverlet was steadily acquiring dark-red smears. I was sipping some really crappy whiskey from a cracked water tumbler. Meanwhile, Marie and Mystique dressed my wounds as Logan and Hank asked me questions. Ororo and Warren were outside - and probably a couple of hundred feet straight up - keeping an eye out.

"So who the hell is this 'Inner Circle' outfit?" Logan demanded.

"Damned if I know," I replied impatiently. "But they want Xavier and Grey for some reason. And they've got 'em."

Logan and Hank looked at one another. Then Logan shrugged.

"None of our business," he growled. Great. Mr. "what's it to me?" was about to walk away from this mess just as it was finally breaking open.

"You're probably right," I said with a nod of my head. "It's not really any of your business."

Logan looked at me suspiciously. "I'm glad you agree," he said eventually.

I took a long slug from my glass. It burned down my throat like a rivulet of fire. "They probably have both of them chained up, just like they had me," I added.

Logan didn't say anything as he looked right at me. Next to him, Hank rolled his eyes upwards, but didn't say or do anything to stop me.

"They took my clothes and cuffed me hand and foot. And they had a chain around my neck. The other end of the chain was secured to the floor," I continued.

Nobody said anything, but now Mystique's hands were shaking so bad that she dropped the first-aid kit. Then she gave me a long look and picked it up off the floor. Logan was still staring, but it wasn't exactly at me. He was staring beyond me. Staring into a past that I didn't really want to imagine. I...

I didn't like what I was doing to them. In fact, I felt more than a little ashamed. But it had to be done.

"It was like I was some kind of animal," I continued softly. "And that's probably what's happening to Xavier and Grey."

Logan and Mystique looked at one another. I didn't even try to guess what kind of silent communication they exchanged.

Hank didn't bother to ask Logan what to do next. He just got to his feet and reached for the phone.

"I'll get everyone together," he said quietly.

Still not saying a word. Still staring back at some hell that would never quite go away. Logan nodded.

They sent me home. And Marie insisted on moving me into her place. Believe me, I didn't fight the idea.

Back in her apartment, Marie promptly began fussing over me; fluffing pillows, straightening blankets, and fetching things. And all the while she was going on and on in her worried southern accent, asking me if I needed anything. Anything at all.

I thought about that and grinned as I made a request. With my hand to God, I swear I actually made her blush.

"Maybe when you're feeling better," she said eventually.

"Okay. But don't forget the whipped cream," I chuckled.

She smiled at me. And everything was suddenly right in my world.

Eventually, Marie and I would need to have a conversation that would sort of boil down to, "Honey, I think you should know this: Emma stripped me naked, chained me to the floor, and then did terribly degrading sexual things to me - it was great!" It wasn't too hard to figure what would happen next. Marie would get mad and call me a slut while I protested that I hadn't had any choice. Then she'd ask if I loved her, and I would swear that I did. Then she would stop talking to me and I'd have to spend a few nights in my own apartment. And then she'd forgive me and we'd have incredibly hot, sweaty, make-up sex for a solid week - over and over again. Sex in the bed, in the bath, on the floor, on the fire-escape, in my car, in the office (screw the rules), and probably in a few random alleyways, doorways, and rooftops.

I could hardly wait. Damn, it was good to be alive.

Then Hank knocked on the door and walked into Marie's apartment.

"Hi, Rogue," he said to Marie. She grinned and kissed him on the cheek.

"Hey! Quit making time with my girl!" I yelled at him. "And what the hell do you want?"

He looked at me skeptically. "Huh. Since you're feeling so fiesty, then you won't mind taking care of something for us," he said.

I gave him the evil eye. He ignored it. It's just about impossible to intimidate Hank.

"We took care of your Inner Circle problem," Hank said gruffly. Just a reminder that I had, after all, put myself in Logan's debt.

So I settled back into my bed. Marie's bed. Our bed. And I asked, "What do you want, Hank? I'm not going to be doing any running, jumping, and shooting for a while. And how did it go with Xavier and Grey? Are they okay?"

"We got them," Hank said. "And they're fine. In fact, it turns out Grey is quite the cutie. Right now, she's hanging around with us. On the other hand, Xavier is still a stuck-up pain-in-the-ass. We're putting up with him for now."

"Any idea what the hell the Inner Circle was doing?"

Hank shrugged, "They had some kooky idea that psychics can summon a powerful thing that kicks professional-league psychic ass. They call it the 'Phoenix'."

I saw no reason to mention that I'd heard that word before, so I sighed and said, "That sounds suspiciously like some sort of religious nut-job bullshit."

Hank nodded, "Looks like it."

I noticed that he hadn't exactly agreed 100% with what I'd said.

"So what does Logan want from me?" I asked.

Hank smiled savagely, "Most of the Inner Circle decided to fight us. I got to admit, it was a tougher than I thought it would be. But we won in the end."

No surprise there. I continued looking at Hank.

"But we did get one prisoner," he continued. "And Logan wants you to talk to her."

"Who's the prisoner?" I asked as neutrally as possible. Actually, I had a pretty good suspicion who it was.

"The lady who set you up. Emma Frost."

I made a point of not looking in Marie's direction, "And what makes Logan think I want to talk to her?"

Hank's eyes were bottomless pools of darkness as he grinned and said, "The lady says she wants to talk to you. And for some reason, Logan is going along with that. And besides, she's really your problem. So Logan figures that you get to choose if she lives or dies."

They were holding Emma in a warehouse just off the docks. I'd heard of the place before, but I've never been there. That's good, because people who go there have a habit of never being seen again. In fact, I wasn't too thrilled about making this little visit, but I didn't have a lot of choice. Hank escorted me in, past some of Logan's bruisers - a pair of cold-eyed youngsters named Sam and Dani.

Christ, Logan is recruiting 'em young!

Emma was sitting in a rusty iron chair, behind a tiny wooden table. She was barefoot and dressed in a knee-length, threadbare, summer dress. An intricate-looking steel collar surrounded her neck. To say the least, she wasn't up to her usual standards of dress.

I gave Hank a quizzical look.

"The collar controls her psychic abilities," he said without me having to ask.

"Where'd you get a gizmo like that from?"

Hank shrugged, "We've got a guy working for us who can put together some amazing stuff."

I nodded and sat down across the table from Emma. Her eyes cooly met mine. Emma is the kind of woman you can beat, but not really defeat. I suppose I'll always admire that in her. However, in this case the "beaten" part was pretty literal. There were bruises on her face, and she had a black eye and a split lip. And some of that was obviously fresh - like within the last few hours.

Kitty was leaning against the far wall, watching us both. She had her typically amused and more-than-slightly-crazy look on her face. A glance at her knuckles told me that she was the one who'd been beating Emma. Kitty noticed that and smiled at me as she licked the biggest cut on her right hand. I wish to hell Logan would do something about her - she's a psycho who was only barely in control. And if he didn't do something, it will end badly for her, and for anyone else caught in her blast radius.

"Emma..." I began, then paused.

"Hello, Dom," she said calmly.

"I was told you wanted to see me," I said quietly.

She nodded.

"What do you want?" I asked.

"I'd like to live," she said simply.

I nodded, "Yeah. I can understand that. You know, I might not have the last word on that. Hell, I'm not really sure if I have anything to say about it at all."

Emma looked up at Hank, who was standing right behind me.

Hank put a huge hand on my shoulder, "Logan says it's up to you."

Thanks, Logan, I fumed to myself. Just freaking thanks. You know, I shoot people all the time - but that's in a fight. It's what I do and I'm more than used to that. But I've never had to look someone cold in the eye and make this kind of decision before. I barely stopped myself from cursing out loud.

"You lied to me and used me, Emma," I said more than a little coldly. "Why shouldn't I let Logan's people settle things with you?"

She didn't even hesitate, "Because I protected both you and Marie. The rest of the Inner Circle wanted to kill you and I wouldn't let them - I said you were too valuable. And I never told them about Marie. That's why she stayed free after you were captured."

"Okay," I said slowly. "I'll ignore the obvious fact that you 'protected' us from the organization of nutcases that you involved us with in the first place. And I'll just ask... why? Why did you suddenly start giving a damn about our safety"

She sighed, "I never wanted either of you to be hurt. I never wanted anyone hurt. Unfortunately, I was working with the type of people who enjoy exercising that sort of power. So I had to play a two-faced game to keep you and Marie safe while doing what had to be done. After you found Xavier and Grey, my plan was that you would work for me until I could reasonably let you go, while Marie remained completely out of the picture."

"If you didn't have that high of an opinion about the rest of the Inner Circle, why were you working with them?"

Something angry flared in Emma's eyes, "Because whatever else they might have been, they were right about the Phoenix! It's real and it's incredibly dangerous and it has its hooks into the Grey woman! That's why I did so many things that you think are questionable! They were fucking questionable! But they were also necessary!"

That sudden burst of energy caught Kitty's interest. She was standing behind Emma now, and she smiled as she put her hands on Emma's shoulders and delicately ran her thumbs along the muscles of Emma's neck.

Emma took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Behind me, Hank stirred uneasily.

"Someday you will all need me, Dom," Emma said in a calmer voice. "I'm the only person left alive who's studied the Phoenix and knows what it is and what it can do. If you let them kill me, than I'll merely be the first of many to die!"

"Hush, sweetie," Kitty said with easy authority, brushing her fingertips across Emma's cheek. "Don't get all excited and angry, or else I'll have to punish you again. You remember last time don't you? Wasn't it fun?"

"Get you hands off of her," I ordered Kitty. My voice was so hard I almost didn't recognize it.

Kitty looked at me and smiled, but she didn't back off.

"Kitty, get out of here," Hank said from behind me. If anything, he sounded even colder than I had.

Kitty looked past me at Hank. And for a brief second I thought she was going to tell him to go to hell. And there I was, stuck in between them. But then Kitty smiled brightly at all of us and let go of Emma. Then she turned on her heel and walked out the door.

"Well?" Hank rumbled at me.

I stood up.

"Let her go," I said to Hank.

He nodded as Emma let out a deep sigh of relief. Taking Emma by the hand, I led her towards the door. Sam and Dani stood away as Sam opened the door wide.

"You better not be lying to me, Emma," I told her.

"I wish I was," she answered softly.

Together, we walked out of the dim shadow of the warehouse and into a sunlit morning.