Chapter 4

"Ah, I hate these things!" Blayne grunted as Rebecca pulled the laces tight.

"Oh, don't be such a baby," Rebecca suggested, tugging.

"At least it's bullet-proof," Blayne laughed. "Though how you wear one of these every day..."

"Price of beauty."

"Please!" Blayne snorted. "Really, Rebecca, what's your secret?"

"I wear one several sizes too large," Rebecca admitted, grinning.

"Ahhh!" Blayne grunted as Rebecca gave one final jerk on the laces. "Thank you."

"My pleasure." Rebecca sat on the bed as Blayne continued dressing. "That was a neat trick today."

"The walking on my hands? I used to do that when I was a kid. Surprised I still can, actually. Must be all the yoga." Blayne dressed in silence for a few minutes. As she was brushing her hair, she asked, "How is Fogg holding up?"

"Hmm?"

"Come, Rebecca. I'd be a fool not to notice that my visits disturb him. More."

Rebecca frowned. "You know how it is..."

She nodded. "Doesn't keep me from worrying. Really, Rebecca, is he okay?"

"He will be, I think."

"Man needs something, Rebecca."

Rebecca sighed. "I know. I just wish I knew what."

"A reason to live." Blayne considered herself in the mirror for a few minutes.

"He said a funny thing today, Brenna. I'm hoping you can shed some light on it."

"I can try."

"He said..." Rebecca blushed. "He said that he sees, in you, everything he hates about himself."

Blayne stared at Rebecca, smiling. "He said that?"

Rebecca nodded. "I can't understand what he means by it, though."

"Ah, Rebecca, surely you've noticed how alike he and I are?"

Rebecca started to shake her head. "You really aren't... Ah..."

"Yes. We both gamble too much, drink too much, use drugs too much, do stupid things because they might be exciting. We're both depressed, both haunted, both angry, afraid, waiting..."

"My Lord. When you put it like that, it's a wonder you aren't directly related."

"Closer than you think, maybe, Rebecca." Blayne walked over to her and took her hand. "Do me a favor, Rebecca."

"Yes?"

"Take care of him. Give him that reason he's looking for."

Rebecca nodded uncertainly. "Of course."

"Thanks, love. You're the only good thing that ever happened to this family. You know that?"

Rebecca shook her head uncertainly. "I don't--"

"No, of course not... I'm sorry, Rebecca. It was a silly thing to say really, wasn't it?"

"Yes, it was. Let's go before the others come looking for us."

*****

As Passepartout served dinner, the four sat in uncomfortable silence. It was Phileas who spoke first. "Blayne?" As Passepartout turned to leave, he added, "You can stay. You might wish to hear what she has to say as well. In fact, set a place for yourself and join us."

Jules stared at what he considered a highly uncharacteristic action on Phileas's part. Since no one else acted surprised, he supposed that he must have been mistaken.

Once Passepartout had settled into his hastily added place, Blayne took a very deep breath and pushed her plate back. She picked up her wine-glass and twirled it in her hand as she spoke. "You all know what brings me to you this time, yes? A Mole within the structure of Her Majesty's Secret Service. I was invited, though, which I'm not sure you knew."

"Invited by whom?" Jules asked curiously. He felt his face color as Rebecca and Phileas stared at him.

"It's a valid question," Blayne informed them. "And not one he had any reason to suspect that I am forbidden from answering. Jules, be content to know that it was someone very important. Nothing else matters. I was invited to locate this Mole and deal with him as I saw fit. Research indicated that this individual was someone very high up in the hierarchy, or else very close to someone very high. Initial suspicions focused on Phileas Fogg and on Sir Jonathan Chatsworth as the two most likely suspects. Failing them, Rebecca Fogg was considered. Then the valet of Phileas Fogg and the valet and assorted other servants of Sir Jonathan."

"And then on me?"

She looked at Jules thoughtfully. "And then on you. Having eliminated those close enough to Chatsworth and the Foggs to reasonably be able to perpetrate these crimes, we are now back where we started."

"Which is to say you know nothing," Phileas murmured thoughtfully.

She nodded slowly. "We know more than we did. I can confidently say that it was not one of the four of you, or Sir Jonathan, or any of his household staff."

"Who does that leave?" Jules asked.

"An Agent in the British Secret Service, or perhaps a clerk or secretary. One who works closely with Sir Jonathan."

"Why not one who works close to Rebecca?" Jules asked.

"You were right, Fogg. He's a smart one." She turned to Rebecca. "Becky, my dear, what is the first rule of intelligence work?"

"Never trust anyone with all the facts." Rebecca said quickly. "Not your friends, not your family, not your servants, not your own partner."

Blayne nodded. "That is why, Jules."

"Sir Jonathan has not learned this rule yet," Phileas noted idly. "He is proud enough of his accomplishments and plans to be willing to brag about them."

"This is a readily exploitable flaw," Blayne said, nodding. "He's an idiot, and those are always useful to the opposition."

"This idiot you're talking about is my boss," Rebecca reminded her, not seeming dreadfully offended on his behalf.

Blayne smirked. "Indeed? How many Agents would you estimate work closely with him? How many would he trust with sensitive information?"

Rebecca considered this for a moment. "Less than a dozen. It would not be difficult to isolate our Mole from among these."

"Always assuming one of these Agents is our Mole." Phileas added.

Blayne nodded. "Which is assuming an awful lot. But it is a reasonable supposition. The Mole is not a member of the upper echelon, thus he must be getting his information from a leak. If Sir Jonathan is our leak..."

"Then you were right all along." Fogg smiled grimly at her. "Which must be a source of enormous comfort to you..."

"Indeed so." She sipped at her wine, smiling enigmatically. "Certainly it must be gratifying to the researchers who informed me that the leak must spring from either you or Sir Jonathan."

Phileas stared thoughtfully at her. "How do you know that this 'leak' as you call it does not come from me?"

"Because I've gotten drunk with you, and you aren't a talker. Sir Jonathan is not only a talker, he is also an idiot." She fell silent as though this quite settled matters.

Passepartout jumped to his feet at the faint sound of knocking on the front door. Without a word, he rushed to answer it.

"Where does this leave us, Blayne?" Rebecca asked gently.

"With a strong list of suspects and minimal research required. Chatsworth has an inner core of trusted favorites, this is common knowledge."

"And you're certain it must be one of them?" Rebecca asked.

"I am hopeful." Blayne sighed and emptied her wine-glass.

"Allow me." Phileas quickly refilled her drink. "I'd say it's a strong possibility. It hadn't occurred to me that our Mole might be working from second-hand knowledge."

"Well, we had better hope--" Blayne trailed off as Passepartout reentered the room.

"Miss Brenna, is man at door for you. Says name is Ritz..."

Blayne sighed. "Riz." She rose swiftly, draining her glass. "Gentlemen, Rebecca, it seems I must now bid you good evening." She bowed and swept out of the room. "This had better be good, Rizzo," she announced grimly as she entered the front hall.

"Who's the frog with the funny idiom?"

"Jean Passepartout."

"Fogg's pet genius?"

Blayne nodded. "What is it, Riz?"

"A telegram just arrived for you from Alexandria." He handed her the envelope.

She quickly opened it and read aloud. "Report received, proceed as you think best." She crushed the piece of paper in her hand. "Typical."

"Is all being well?" Passepartout inquired, peering into the front hall.

"Just fine, Jean." Blayne assured him. "Anything else, Riz?"

"Finished the search you requested." He stared significantly at her.

"I must be going now, Jean. Convey my apologies and regards to the others." She followed Rizzo into the street. "Well?"

"Well, I have no idea what to make of half of the things we confiscated..."

"Damn."

They walked in silence until they reached the warehouse that was built over their headquarters. They entered silently, gave the password to the guards concealed in the shadows, then descended the stairs. Blayne followed Rizzo into a locked conference room. A number of items were scattered on the table that would have mystified the average scientist of the time. Blayne immediately recognized all of them.

She picked up a small gray plastic item. "Game boy."

"Beg your pardon?"

"It's a video game. Um, you play games on it." She gestured to the handful of cartridges. "These are the games. Burn them and discipline the owner. Dock him a quarter's pay as well."

"Yes ma'am." Rizzo picked up a notebook and began itemizing the objects and the penalties to their owners. "This?"

"Pocket organizer. Send it and the owner to Alexandria for discipline."

"Yes ma'am. And this one? The same?"

"Pocket translator. Give it over to Doctor Ross and disqualify the owner from further service."

He raised an eyebrow. "Harsh."

"Necessary. You use this to facilitate conversation, Riz. During conversation..."

"I see. And this thing?"

"A book light. Destroy it and put the owner on probation."

"Done." He nodded. "We also found a number of banned pharmaceuticals."

"Show me." Rizzo handed her a number of bottles and baggies full of pills. "Aspirin. Send it to the dispensary, put the owner on probation and tell him next time to use the damned willow salic. Codeine. Send it and the owner to the dispensary. Belay discipline pending their eval and recommendation."

"Done. This?"

"Shit..." She held the baggie up to the light. "Yeah..."

"Ma'am?"

"Crystal meth. Destroy it, disqualify the owner from further service. Six months in the Alexandria brig."

"Damn. What the hell? Why would anyone..."

"In an era where you can get heroine legally, no less..." Blayne shook her head and picked up a bottle. "Benzodiazapines. Send it to the dispensary, have the owner undergo a psych eval."

"Yes ma'am. We also found a substantial amount of heroine and morphine. Not contraband in this era, so we didn't confiscate it..."

"And rightly so. Keep an eye on those Agents, though. These things have a way of spinning out of control."

"Understood." He hesitated. "I'm sorry I interrupted dinner. God knows you could use an evening off."

"Think nothing of it. We were discussing business."

"Damn, woman, you're going to work yourself to death."

"Unlike you?"

"Hey! I'm actually scheduled for three weeks."

"When?"

"Tonight, actually. I'll be back by morning, of course."

"Where are you going?"

"Woodstock." He grinned at her. "I'm still pissed about missing it the first time, damned cheap German cars... Guess I couldn't convince you to join me?"

She smiled and shook her head. "As much as I might want to, I really can't right now. Maybe after this nonsense with the British settles down."

"Things are never calm on the British front, Bren."

She smiled bitterly. "Have we heard back from the Knights Templar yet?"

"No. Soon, I'm sure."

"They should be more considerate after all we've done for them..."

"Forget them." He muttered. "Let's talk about you."

"Let's not, Riz. My psyche is enough to scare the shrinks around here. You couldn't handle it."

He folded his arms over his chest. "Try me."

"Oh, it's this nonsense with the Mole. It's just all getting a bit overwhelming, I guess. Would you believe that I had actually started to suspect Fogg? Can you imagine that? Phileas Fogg, a traitor?"

"Or Rebecca Fogg for that matter."

"Or Jules Verne?" She shook her head, her eyes filling with tears. "I swore to protect him! My life for his if that's what it came down to, and I suspected him and threatened him and drugged him and questioned him like a common criminal!" she shouted.

"Hush," Rizzo rose and wrapped his arms around her.

"What am I doing?" she shrieked at him, pulling away. "Look at me!" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I am blind! I don't know what I am doing any more..."

"You are doing fine. You hit a roadblock. First in twelve years. I'd say that's still a pretty solid record."

"But something's missing now. I don't feel confident like I once did. That's bound to lead to mistakes."

"Bullshit." Rizzo shook his head and rocked her. "Nothing's changed except up here." He touched her forehead and smiled down at her. Then he placed his hand firmly over her heart. "This is the still same..."

She shook her head. "Riz..."

"It is. And that's what's always led you right in the past. You have a real gift for this, and you know it. Once you've caught the bad guy, you'll feel more yourself again." He pulled her close and stood there rocking her.

"Sing me a song." Blayne murmured into his chest.

Most would have chosen at a moment like this a tender song, something gentle or comforting. Rizzo remained true to form.

"So I'd like to know where, you got the notion.
Said I'd like to know where, you got the notion.
To rock the boat. Don't rock the boat baby!
To rock the boat. Don't tip the boat over!
To rock the boat. Don't rock the boat baby!
Don't rock the boat..."

As he sang, he danced her around the room, smiling and laughing.

"Thank you..." Blayne laughed when he finally stopped and allowed her to do so as well. "I needed that."

"I thought you might. If you need anything at all..."

"I think I can wait until noon tomorrow to have another crisis of faith, Riz. Enjoy Woodstock."

"Will do." Rizzo smiled and bowed before taking his leave. As he departed, he called, "Sail on, Silver Girl!"

Blayne smiled at this. "Thanks, Riz! Have fun! Bring me back a Grateful Dead T-Shirt!"

"Wish I could!" he called over his shoulder. "Peace!"

"At least get me Simon and Garfunkle's autographs!"

"Cretin! They didn't play Woodstock!"

"Bummer!" Blayne sank into a chair, resting her chin on her knees. She did not even notice when one of Rizzo's people came in to collect the contraband material and the notebook.

*****

"She makes a valid point, Phileas." Rebecca pointed out, pacing the sitting room.

"Oh, do stop that nonsense." Phileas sighed at her. "I know she has a valid point! I'm not a complete fool."

"Then what is your problem?"

He stared at her. It was not as if he could tell her what his problem was, since it happened to be a problem with her. She had that look in her eyes, again. The one she got before doing something utterly suicidal.

"I'm just tired, I guess." Phileas lied.

"Oh." Rebecca smiled and walked over to him. "Maybe you should lie down. You have not been sleeping well lately, I've noticed."

"Oh?" Phileas smiled up at her, an odd grin on his face. "Have you now?"

Rebecca smiled back. "As a matter of fact, yes, I have."

"Interesting..." He took her hands in his. "Because I have noticed that you have not been sleeping well either."

"So, for a change, only Jules is sleeping well?"

"It would appear that way. Of course, I wouldn't put it past Blayne to be drugging him." Phileas smiled at her and rose. "So, what shall we do about our inability to sleep? Shall we have a walk?"

Rebecca smiled and looked ready to say yes, but she suddenly shook her head. "Oh! I have it!"

Phileas winced. That look in her eyes had crystallized. There was no turning back as far as she was concerned. "You have what, exactly?" he asked warily.

"A plan."

He shook his head. "Now, Rebecca..."

"You haven't even heard it yet, Phileas, so don't object."

"Well, then, tell me your plan so that I may object..."

"Phileas..." Rebecca shook her head. "It happens to be a very good plan."

"I'm sure it is, which is what worries me, Rebecca." Phileas sighed and poured himself a tall drink.

"Phileas, it's really very simple, and not at all dangerous."

"Less dangerous, than, say, dropping yourself over a waterfall in a barrel?" Phileas stared at her, frowning.

"Substantially less dangerous, as a matter of fact. I know a way to get the Mole to reveal himself so that I may keep a close eye on him."

"By exposing yourself?"

"Or by seeming to, Phileas. I'm no fool, you know, and I do enjoy life too much to put myself needlessly in harm's way." Rebecca smiled to soften the impact of this jibe. "Honestly, though, Phileas..."

"It's dangerous, Rebecca," Phileas announced flatly. "And I..."

"What? Forbid me?"

"Strongly object," Phileas said softly. "And... want you to know how much I worry about you..."

Rebecca's face softened. "Oh, Phileas." She wrapped her arms around him. "I know you worry about me, but I have a job and a duty, and those things have to come first. if this were dangerous, which it is not."

Phileas sighed and looked down at her. "I suppose further arguing this point would be quite useless?"

Rebecca nodded and smiled up at him. "Quite useless. Besides, I plan on being fully backed up at all times. And then, there is the reputation that my undergarments are getting..."

"I beg your pardon!" Phileas gasped, shocked.

"Bullet-proof, Phileas." Rebecca smiled up at him. "Remember? The oddest birthday present I'd ever received, and they have proved infinitely useful."

"Always assuming they aim for your stomach or low chest."

Rebecca smiled at him. "My plan is not dangerous, Phileas. I will wear the bullet-proof corset to make you happy, but it is really not necessary..."

Phileas sighed and stared at her. "Promise me this isn't dangerous, Rebecca. Swear it to me."

Rebecca blinked and did something that she rarely did. She outright lied to Phileas. "It is perfectly safe, Phileas. I swear." She idly wondered if she could get to confession before work tomorrow.

Phileas sighed. "Thank you, Rebecca. Can I offer you a drink? Tea?"

She shook her head. "It's late. I should be going to bed now."

Phileas wanted to protest, but she was right. It was late. "Sleep well, Rebecca. Shall I have Passepartout bring up something to help you sleep?"

"Um, please. Thank you, Phileas."

He nodded. "Sleep well." He stood in the center of the room, watching her go, then he went to find Passepartout. He nearly bumped into the valet as he walked into the sitting room. "Ah, there you are. Kindly bring Rebecca something to help her sleep."

"Will Master be requiring such a drink as this also?"

He shook his head. "I think not, no. I do believe I will have a walk though."

"Ah, but Miss Brenna is here."

Phileas nodded and sighed. "Show her in, then."

Passepartout nodded and left. Phileas sank into his chair, holding his drink tightly in both hands.

"You'll break the glass if you keep squeezing it like that." Blayne announced from the door-way. "Besides, as a proper British gentleman, should you really be drinking your brandy out of a water-glass? Isn't there some special kind of glass just for brandy?"

Phileas stared impassively up at her. "There is, but I need more than a snifter can comfortably hold."

"I always find," Blayne said, walking into the sitting-room and pouring herself a drink, "that the times when I really need a drink are not the times when I should be having one."

"If there is some twisted wisdom in that, Blayne, I am far too tired to work it out."

She shrugged. "Don't suppose I could interest you in a game of cards?"

Phileas raised an eyebrow. "This wouldn't be for stakes, would it?"

"I'm dead broke at present, Fogg. So unless you care to play for something other than cash, I'm afraid I can't help you."

"Something other than money?" Phileas stared curiously at her. The more brandy he drank, the more she looked like Rebecca. He took another sip. "What did you have in mind, precisely?"

"Where I come from, we have a game called Truth or Dare. Never could abide the Dare bit myself, always such dreadfully childish stuff. 'I dare you to kiss Peggy-Sue O'Reilly' and the like. Still, the truth part has always fascinated me..."

"Truth?" Phileas scoffed. "Purely subjective."

"Not once the game starts." Blayne smiled. "It becomes a point of honor to speak the truth, the whole truth, nothing but, and et cetera."

"What could I possibly have to say that would be of interest to you?"

She shrugged. "There's very little that I don't know about you, actually. Most of it's already in your dossier, which I've become most thoroughly acquainted with. You simply seemed rather more interested in playing for stakes. Me, I prefer playing to win. But whatever floats your boat."

"I beg your pardon?" Phileas stared at her. What a remarkable turn of phrase.

"Ignore me. I'm horridly drunk just now you see, and it's rather affecting me. Or... Effecting me..." She shrugged and picked up a deck of cards. "Did you want to?"

Phileas nodded and walked over to the card table. "Just for points tonight, I think."

"Renewable later on, perhaps?" Blayne smiled. "For a favor, maybe?"

He shook his head. "You and your favors..."

"Never mind. It's base of me to exploit you on your weakest point. We'll play for chips."

Phileas nodded and sat down. He shuffled and slid the deck across the table to Blayne to cut. She slid it back to him, uncut. He gave each of them an equal, and rather large, amount of poker chips, then began dealing.

"How are we keeping track of points, exactly?"

She shrugged. "You know I'll win, so what do you care?"

He stared across the table. It was probably true, too. She was the only person he knew who so much as came close to being able to consistently win against him. And she had this infuriating habit of not taking advantage of the fact.

"Dealer takes two."

"Three, please. Whist is more civilized, you know."

"You can't play whist, Blayne." Phileas pointed out, dealing out her new cards. He stared down at his hand. A lesser man would have smiled. Three aces. Phileas was not even pleased. It was a strong hand, but not unbeatable. He eyed Blayne, whose face was set in a smugly confident expression that he knew from experience probably had nothing to do with her cards.

"Can't I? Oh, that's right!" Blayne smiled and smacked her forehead. She tossed a few chips at the center of the table.

Phileas smiled grimly. "Please do not take this the wrong way, Blayne," he said, adding a few chips to those in the middle of the table, "but have you taken something recently?"

"Indeed I have. I had a nasty headache." She smiled at him and raised the bet by most of her remaining chips. "It's gone now."

"I see..." Phileas looked at the chips, surprised but not showing it at the amount of the bet. Even if she was not playing for actual money, this represented most of her capital. He decided that it was time to call. Win or lose, it would tell him something about her style of play tonight.

"Two pair." She smiled and politely waited for him to reveal his cards.

He showed his aces and pulled the chips towards him. "Feeling bold tonight?" he inquired smoothly.

"Always."

"Well, at this rate, you may well be out of chips after this hand. Your deal."

She smiled and picked up the cards. She kissed the top card before shuffling.

"That is so quaint..."

She stuck her tongue out at him and dealt. "How many, Fogg?"

"Two."

She gave him his new cards. "Dealer takes four."

He raised an eyebrow. It was a legal move, but extremely unorthodox. It made bluffing near to impossible and told him that she was likely to have a weak hand.

He stared down at his two new cards. Four tens. Very nice hand. He threw half of his chips into the center of the table. Without blinking, Blayne added most of her remaining chips to the pile. She had only one chip left to her now. Actually allowing himself to smile, Phileas saw and called, since he had no more chips. He revealed his four of a kind to Blayne, who stared impassively at them for a few moments before revealing her own cards. A four, a five, a six, a seven, and an eight, all Diamonds. Straight flush.

"Unbelievable..." Phileas muttered.

"Maybe you should try kissing the cards, too." Blayne suggested, gathering the chips. "They seem receptive tonight."

"That must be some kind of new record..." Phileas muttered, shaking his head. He smiled at her. "Lady luck was with you tonight. I guess that's over, then."

She smiled and divided the chips evenly again. "In real life, you'd win by dint of having the capital to play longer. Once more?"

He picked up the cards and began shuffling. She reached out and stayed his hand. "What?"

"Maybe we should call it a night. You do look tired."

He shook his head. "I'm fine."

"Fogg, don't lie to me. You don't do it well enough to be effective."

He sighed. "I'm really not tired. Not... physically, anyway."

"Oh..." She covered his hands with her own. "Talk to me, Fogg."

He sighed. "Rebecca has some insane plan to use herself as bait to draw out your Mole."

She nodded slowly. "And you, of course, are thoroughly opposed to the whole endeavor?"

"Why shouldn't I be? Rebecca is not bait!"

"Of course not, but she is a good Agent, willing to do what it takes."

"She puts herself far to much on the line for that ingrate fop!" Phileas dropped the cards onto the table and rose, pacing the room.

Blayne sighed and stared at him. "Tell me about it," she suggested.

"What is there to tell? She's likely to get herself killed, you know!" Phileas spun on her. "And for what?"

"To serve the cause of justice and democracy."

"Bugger democracy!" Phileas shouted. "I care more about Rebecca!"

"If you do not keep your voice down, you'll wake Rebecca," Blayne pointed out.

Phileas lowered his voice to a whisper. "Damnit, Blayne, she is going to get herself killed for this, and then who is going to uphold these ideals of hers? Me? Verne? You?"

Blayne nodded carefully. "All of us if it comes to that, but we can continue to pray that it does not."

"You don't understand, Blayne!" Phileas hissed. "I need her..." He stopped, covering his mouth with his hands, composing himself. "There, I've said it. She is my reason for living, and when I think of life without her..." He shook his head abruptly and slammed the flat of his hand against the table.

"Feeling better?"

"No." Phileas sighed and stared at her. "Can you possibly understand what it is to love a person so much that you can not imagine life without her? Can you imagine a world without sunshine or laughter or love? No dreams, no magic, not even a smile ever again, because of one absence? And then there are the memories, Blayne, because the dead are never content to rest when they can come back and haunt the living..."

"I know all of these things, Phileas." Blayne muttered softly, taking his arm. Two breaches of etiquette for the price of one.

He stared at her. "I guess you would..."

"And it is exactly as you imagine it. Every happy feeling is gone, replaced by a bad one. But it won't happen to you because Rebecca cares too much for you to get herself killed."

"It's not a chance I want to take, Blayne."

"The choice is not yours, though."

"There are days when I want to handcuff her to a chair in the drawing-room at Shillingsworth Magna and never let her go out on one of those awful missions again."

"And deprive the rest of the world of her presence?"

"I don't care about the rest of the world! Her life means more to me than my own, more than anything..."

"And you have to let her live it, Phileas. You lock a rare bird like Rebecca away in a cage somewhere and it languishes and dies, and you've brought about what you feared the most. She's too special, too different for that, and you know it."

"She's not like other women, and there are days when I hate her for that," Phileas admitted. "And at the same time, if she were like other women, I probably wouldn't care one whit for her." He sighed. "What is wrong with me, Blayne?"

"Nothing at all." She took his hands gently. "I can not allay every fear you have for her safety, but I can promise you that I will protect her personally on this one."

Phileas sighed. "Thank you."

"Now go get some sleep, okay?"

He nodded and left. Blayne finished what remained of his brandy before showing herself out.