Chapter 2:

Kristina Davis

Kristina considered herself a patient woman; lord knows that wasn't an inherited personality trait. With Corinthos and Cassadine blood pumping through her veins she had more than her fair share of temperament. The patience she prided herself in having was starting to wear thing and her temperament was threatening to bubble to the surface. Both were because of the woman sitting across from her. "Mrs. Rowland, if you are having second thoughts about your case, tell me now". Court was tomorrow and she did not want her client to change her mind in the middle of the hearing.

"I'm not changing my mind", Mrs. Rowlands said. "It's just. I don't know how Peter and I got here". She shook her head. "I thought we were happy. I don't understand it".

Kristina resisted the urge to rub the spot, on the side of her head, where a headache was beginning to form. They had gone over this conversation countless times, yet here she was again. She'd entered the reception area and found her waiting, unexpectedly. "I know this is difficult for you, Maryann. You feel like you've failed but you didn't. You didn't do anything to desire what he did to you. You were a good wife. He is a bad husband".

"He said he was sorry", she countered. "And that he doesn't want to lose me; that is why he is contesting the divorce".

Kristina bit back the harsh retort that was on her tongue. "You told me that he's said that before", she said softly. "But he did it again Maryann. He cheated on you for the third time and you're fed up with it. That is why you sought me out".

"I know", Mrs. Rowlands said weakly. "I know".

"I'm not one to push anyone into doing something that they do not want to do, so you say the word and I'll call to drop the case". It was, she thought, a mistake but it wasn't hers to make.

"You'd do that, after all your hard work?"

"If it's what you want". She waited for her reply.

"I have to take back control of my life. I've let Peter have it for far too long. He isn't going to change. He doesn't want to, does he?" She shook her head, "Don't answer that, I already know he isn't. Oh, he will change for a while but then some, woman, much younger than I, will catch his eye again. I cannot live like that any longer". She got to her feet slowly, "I'm going through with the divorce".

Soon as Mrs. Rowlands left, she took the bottle of Tylenol out of her desk and popped two in her mouth. Being a divorce lawyer gave her a first hand look at just how ugly a business divorce could be. It left her wondering why people bothered with getting married in the first place. Her mother had done so with Rick Lansing and look where that had gotten her. Her father had done so, numerous times, three of those times to Michael's mother, and look where it had gotten him. There were fights, adultery and custody battles, which left behind scars unhealed. She closed the file and pushed it aside. Marriage, she decided, was an unnecessary evil and it was a road that she would never travel down

She checked her watch. Her next meeting was in less than an hour and it was across town. She rose, went the closet in her office and opened the door. She stood in the full length mirror, smoothed down the front of her suit and took a long hard look at herself. Her hair fell past her shoulders, a cloud of dark waves. Eyes, bright brown with flecks of gold, holding intelligence and a sense of maturity beyond her 26 years, stared back at her. Always, her skin had that look, as if it had been kissed by the sun. She was a slender woman, but she was far from a waif. Her body was fit and curved in all the appropriate places. As her father had often told her, she looked like her grandmother with an exception or two here and there, thanks to her Cassadine side.

Sometimes it amused her to think of the odd mix pumping through her veins, Russian, Greek and Latin, come together. Then there were those other times, when she thought about the rest of the picture and it wasn't so amusing. Neither Corinthos nor Cassadine had the most admirable history, especially in Port Charles. If not for the reputation that her mother built under the name Davis, she would have had no chance to get out from underneath the weight of those two names. There were those, who still looked at her as Sonny Corinthos's daughter or a descendant of the wicked Helena Cassadine but they were few.

Kristina did not let people like that bother her, not any more. Her hide was thicker than that now and as thick as her cousin Spencer's, who always held his head high, no matter what people said about his family. He, unlike she, had no name he could use to detach himself from the Cassadine and he was straddled with the responsibility of stepping into his father's shoes as the head of the clan.

She closed the closet door. She should call Spencer to see how he was doing. They had a habit of letting too much time pass between talks; Molly too, for that matter, she reminded herself thinking that she had not heard from her little sister in over a week. She sighed, she'd make a note to call the both of them after she closed the Rowlands case, maybe she'd invite them both over for dinner, have one last celebration before she sold the mansion. She checked her watch for the third time. The realtor should be on his way there. She had better get going if she hoped to meet him on time.

--

It was a warm, sunny afternoon in Port Charles; too perfect a day to be cooped up indoors, even for a bite to eat. He took his order, a turkey and cheese on rye and chose one of the small, round wooden tables outside of Kelly's. He removed his suite jacket and draped it over the back of the empty seat beside him before sitting down. As he sat, he noticed that he wasn't the only customer making use of the outdoor seating. A few feet away an older woman sat, sipping an iced tea while flipping through a file. She glanced at him briefly and he nodded his head in greeting then her attention returned to whatever it was that she was reading.

He removed his shades from the pocket of his suit jacket, slipped them on then opened the newspaper he'd brought with him. Automatically, he went to the financial section first, once he'd finished he moved on to read other news. He turned the page and there on the society page was his mother Julia Santos-Keefer and his aunt Maria Santos-Grey, along with announcement that they had donated a new wing to Pine Valley Hospital. The wing, he read, would be in dedication to his father, Noah Keefer and his uncle Edmund Grey, both of whom died through acts of violence. At the end of the article was a small picture of each man and a captioned statement from his mother and his aunt. He stared at his father photo. He looked a lot like him; he knew that but at sometimes it hit him harder than others.

He'd gotten to spend so very little time with his father, having lost him so young but he remembered moments with him. The one that always came to mind was when he'd taken him out early one morning, drove him to the beach, walked him out onto the sand and asked him, "What do you see?"

He'd shrugged. All he saw was sand and water, so that was his answer. His father looked down at him and smiled then took the camera he had around his neck and handed it to him. "Look through this", he'd told him. He did what his father said. "Now what do you see?" He leaned down and whispered in his ear. "Do you see the way the sky and water meet on the horizon? Do you see the way the waves rise, one after the other, in harmony with one another?" He focused his attention, as his father continued to paint a picture in his young mind, and he could see it. Then Noah had revealed a truth to him; one he made him promise to keep secret and when the time came, to uphold. From that moment on, he looked at everything differently.

For years he carried around this secret, while he watched his mother struggle to understand why his father had been taken away from her, so suddenly, so violently. There was an underline feeling of guilt in that but that changed nothing. The secret and the burden of his father's true life were his to carry.

He rubbed his hand over his face. His mother had told him about the hospital wing, the last time they had spoken but she neglected to mention that she'd be making a dedication to his father. He'd known that she was holding back something from him but he hadn't pressed her to spill it. She should have at least called him before it hit the paper. Wait, she had called him, yesterday but he had missed her call and was too busy to call her back. The ceremony was in a few days, he'd make certain that he was there.

Noel turned his attention from the paper he was reading and caught sight of the woman heading full speed in his direction; his pulse jumped. Her hair was a mass of black waves that fell to her shoulders; it bounced a little with each step she took. She was rummaging through her purse as she walking, head was down, so he could not see the color of her eyes but he took a gamble and guessed that they were probably dark, and exotic. She wore a navy pinstriped suit that consisted of a jacket and knee length skirt; the suit fit as if it had been made specifically for her body. He never knew a business suit could have such appeal. Who was he kidding; it wasn't the suit, it was the woman packed into it. He removed his shades, placing them beside the paper. Without thinking, he rose when she reached his table; stepped out into her path.

--

Kristina's meeting with the realtor had gone well. The decision to sell her father's mansion was not definite but she was giving it considerable thought. She had been thinking about selling it for quite some time now. He seemed very positive about finding a buyer once he listed the property on the market but she told him to hold off, no longer as eager as she was earlier. Greystone was a beautiful home, too big for one person to live in, but it was her father's wish that it be hers, so he had willed to her. Selling it was a decision she was truly yet to make. Then there was Michael and Morgan to consider. Maybe, she should give one of them the opportunity to take over residence. She had lots to consider, lots to do but she wasn't going to do either on an empty stomach.

She neglected to eat that morning and she needed fuel, so she had made a beeline straight for Kelly's. Lunch would be a late one for her, a sandwich to be eaten at her desk while she prepared to for court in the morning. That did not concern her, she ate at her desk often enough.

One minute she was walking, lost in her own thoughts and rummaging through her purse for the twenty dollar bill she'd stuffed in it, the next, she hit a brick wall. At least that was what it felt like, but it wasn't. Momentarily stunned by the sudden collision, Kristina found herself staring at an expensive dark tie. As she regained her faculties, she realized that the wall was actually a man. Annoyed, she lifted her head prepared to verbally cut the idiot to shreds for not watching his step but the words died on her lips. Yes, he was definitely a man, a very handsome man, African-American with smooth light brown skin, no tan. His complexion was tan, leaning towards brown, and his eyes were the color of whiskey. Her stomach fluttered at the tug of instant attraction hit her. Surprised she sucked in an involuntary breath. She would have stepped back then but the hand on her arm, his hand, prevented her from doing so.

He was shocked right down to the bone, when he realized who she was. It fascinated him to watch her eyes go from brown to dark chocolate to nearly black in a matter of seconds. In them, he saw both intelligence and strength. Her face was a masterpiece with its combination of features, a small straight nose, a small square chin and a full wide set mouth that sent a bevy of erotic thought swirling through his mind.

Her photo had knocked him for a loop but up close and personal, she ripped into him. Not having expected to bump into her at Kelly's, he hadn't to chance to steel himself against this kind of primal reaction that she incited. He needed to get a grip. Lust, had no place here. He told himself to let her go; his hand tightened on her arm.

There they stood staring at each other.

Finally regaining her composure, Kristina wrenched her arm out of his grasp. "Do you make a habit of manhandling strange women?" Her arm tingled were he had gripped it.

Noel took a step back. He hadn't come close to manhandling her, but oh how he wanted to, when the urge to taste her mouth had filled him. "My apologies, I was merely trying to steady you".

"I appreciate that but what I'd appreciate more is if you'd be more careful where you walk, excuse me". She stepped around him and walked, briskly through the door to Kelly's.

He watched her, the woman looked as good going as she had coming. He needed to leave, right now, before his perspective became even more skewed. He was in Port Charles on business, he reminded himself, and Kristina Davis was a part of that business. The next time they met, he would be in complete control. Sandwich long since forgotten, he scooped up his jacket, put his shades on again and hurried off.

--

Kristina's conviction to her sentiments about marriage were reaffirmed after spending the last hours of her day pouring over her case for tomorrow. She closed the office just after six and made her way to her car with the documents she needed for her case, tucked away in her briefcase. She'd go over them again, just once more when she got home then she'd relax with a nice glass of wine and some music.

As she drove home, she could already tasted the pungent favor of the red Pinot Noir on her tongue, could already hear the slow sultry sounds of Billie Holiday coming from her CD player. With the surround sound she had installed, Billie's voice would echo off the walls.

The music and the wine would help her settle her restless mind, which was especially churning this evening. She wished she could blame all of her restlessness on her workload but that was only a part of what was swimming around in her head. He, the man outside of Kelly's, was in there also. He, with his exceptionally handsome face, had managed to invade her thoughts, to the point that the sandwich she'd purchased went half eaten.

She scowled, "You've met handsome men before Kristina". That was true but none had pulled that kind of reaction out of her, that combination of attraction and fear. Part of her had wanted to step closer and part of her had wanted to run.

She parked her car and climbed out of it. What was wrong with her? He was just a man, a man; that was all. She reached into her purse, took out her house key and pushed it into the lock, as she opened the door, her foot kicked something and she looked down. In front of the door was a 4 x 4 box.

She bent down and retrieved it. On top was her name and nothing more; no senders name or address. She tucked it under her arm and entered the house, heading through the foyer and into the living room. She set the box and her briefcase on the black leather chair then toed off her shoes and turned on the music.

She hummed the lyrics as she went to the kitchen to pour herself a glass of wine. Returning to the living room, she curled up on the sofa, took a sip of wine and closed her eyes as the flavor exploded in her mouth. Her eyes opened slowly and went to the box. A tiny voice inside her told her to ignore it but she was already on her feet again going to it.

What was inside? She set the glass down on the coffee table and pick up the box, shook it. Unable to resist, she peeled away the seal and opened it. Inside the box was a small, black velvet case. She lifted the lid. The large, dark, ruby winked out at her. It was set inside a platinum bracelet that was decorated with beautifully craved designs. She removed the bracelet from its case. It was exquisite. Who sent it she wondered? She turned the bracelet over and on the back where the initials M.C.

She flipped through her mental database attempting to place the initials but came up empty. "You're tired Kristina and you already have too much inside her head". She replaced the brooch, closed the case and sat it on the coffee table and picked up her glass once more. She swayed to Billie's voice while she drank the contents. She took the glass back to the kitchen, rinsed it, dried it and put it away. She was half way back to the living room when it hit her. M.C. stood for Mikkos Cassadine.