Helsinki
"Holly, what's wrong?" Roger asked his wife as they were lying in bed side by side, a few days after they had arrived in Finland. Blake was due to arrive at the Helsinki's airport that very evening, and they had locked themselves up in their hotel room that afternoon to enjoy as much of each other's body as they could before they had to act civilized in front of their daughter. That oversexed crazed look they had been sporting for the last weeks just had to go.
To Roger's dismay, however, he was finding Holly strangely unresponsive, absent even, as he made love to her. She turned away from him, but not quickly enough for him to miss the expression of embarrassment creeping in her face. Roger reached for her and laid a hand on her shoulder. "Hey, it's okay if you don't feel like it. Just don't pull away," he asked, unsettled by her attitude, which was so unlike what he was used to, coming from her.
Holly flipped her legs out of the bed and sat for a moment, then silently got up and went to her suitcase. Roger's eyes followed her naked body as she came back to him, holding a letter. "This was in the mail that you brought the other day. I'm surprised that you haven't noticed it," she said in a flat voice, handing it to him.
Roger sat and took the letter, and shock registered in his eyes as he realized that it came from Russia. He shot a quick look at his wife, but her hands were covering her eyes, as if she was trying to rub away the tension from her face. "I suppose that this is from Paul?"
"Just read it."
Roger took the letter out its envelope and unfolded it. He first noticed the date; the letter had been written three months ago. Several sentences had been crossed out and rendered illegible, but the rest went as follow:
"Dearest Holly,
This may be the last chance that I have to tell you what's in my heart. Although our time together was much too brief, it is embedded forever in my memory. No woman has ever measured up to you in my eyes; you are the love of my life. Please remember me when I'm gone,
Paul"
Roger resisted the urge to tear the letter to pieces and tossed it aside roughly on the bed. "May I just say, first of all, that this guy is a royal pain in the ass?" he finally hissed through his teeth.
"You may," Holly said, kneeling in front of him and resting the palms of her hands on his bare thighs.
Roger looked at her accusingly. "Why didn't you show me this before?"
Holly shook her head. "Because I was afraid that you would react this way. I didn't ask for this letter, Roger, and surely you know that I did not enjoy reading it. It's been eating at me for days."
"And made you not want to make love to me."
Holly did her best not to roll her eyes in frustration. Roger's jealousy was the thing she felt the least able to handle. Had she not proven to him countless times how much she loved him and wanted him, and only him? She had gotten engaged to him mere weeks after they had been catapulted back into each other's life, she had dropped her entire life to follow him, and gladly, to the end of the Earth. What more could she do, really?
"I understand that reading this is upsetting. I'm not happy to show you this, believe me, but I thought it might help Jack in his investigation, somehow."
Roger took a deep breath and reached for the letter once again. "You're right; there might be a clue somewhere in there that could help us." He perused it carefully a couple of times, then put it down.
"Clearly, the letter has been read by someone else before it has been sent, and it was that person that crossed out these sentences here, and here," Roger said, pointing at the blotted parts.
"Because they revealed information as to his whereabouts or as to who had kidnapped him?"
"Exactly. My feeling is that Paul wasn't dumb enough to flat out name his jailers, but that his censor didn't feel like taking any chances."
Holly ran a hand through her hair. This did not make any sense to her.
"Then why let him write to me at all? Why not just destroy the letter?"
A gleam came into Roger's eyes. "Ah, very good question, and this is where it gets interesting. My theory is that Paul has found, not a friend exactly, but someone who cared enough to take pity on him and who agreed to mail this letter on his behalf. If we could only find out who this person is, then we could relay the information to Jack, and it might be of tremendous help to get them both out of there safely."
"Maybe it was the servant that Jack was referring to the other day."
"Maybe. We know that this person works at the mansion and is able to read English, so that should narrow it down considerably. Alexandrov and Vasiliev are out of the question, obviously. I'll leave a message at the ranch later today, and hopefully, Jack will be able to figure out the identity of this mystery helper."
Holly prompted herself on his knees and planted a kiss on his lips. "Are you sure you still want to be involved in this? You have absolutely no reason to be worried about Paul and I, but still, I could understand if you wanted to back out."
Roger ran a hand down her back and grabbed her waist, pulling her to him. "Let's just say that I'm doing this to help Jack, okay?" He kissed her with such force that her head tilted back and she had to clutch at his shoulders for balance.
"And I'm sorry that I lashed out at you earlier, but when you didn't want to make love, I just assumed that it was because of the letter, and that made my skin crawl," he added in a low voice, cupping one of her breasts and bending to kiss her neck.
Holly inhaled sharply before replying. "It was keeping a secret from you that made me feel guilty, not the content of the letter. Now you know about it, so it's all good," she said, nestling more deeply between his legs.
"It is? Show me then, before that daughter of ours gets here," he said before lifting her up on the bed and rolling on top of her.
Clayton
Daniel St. John sat at the tiny desk of his hotel room just outside of Clayton, wondering what Samantha might be doing at that precise moment. How he missed her! He got up and faced the opposite wall, which was covered with tens of pictures of the brunette.
To this day, he still wondered why she had deserted him. If he could only talk to her, he knew that he could make her see that he was right for her. He lovingly traced the contours of her face, pinned against the wall, before his brow darkened. There was no use trying to see her at her uncle's house, nor at their office. Ross would do anything to prevent it, and there was also the matter of that preposterous restraining order. He grabbed a glass of scotch on his night stand and emptied it in one gulp. No one was ever on his side; nobody wanted him to have what he wanted.
He would have to get to her in a public place, like a restaurant or a park. Towers was too risky, as well as the country club. The Diner maybe, or Company?
He walked to his bed and rummaged through several bags, taking out a beard, thick glasses, a hat and a set of false teeth. He could not believe that he had to resort to such cheap tricks to see Samantha, but he had no choice. He had to see her, and when he did, he would make her love him again, whether she liked it or not.
French Riviera
Jessica picked up a picture of Ethan in her wallet and gazed at it with troubled eyes. She would be seeing him in a just few days when she flew back to Springfield, a prospect that seemed almost unreal to her, after all this time. Would she know if she loved him more than Christian simply by laying eyes on him? And if she did want to stay with him, would she confess her attraction to another man? Would he forgive her?
She dropped on her bed and put the picture back in her wallet. She had made good on her own promise to keep away from her teacher for the remainder of her vacation, in an attempt to clear her head, and Christian had respected her decision, but nothing seemed to help. Wherever she was and whatever she was doing, all she could think about was the two men in her life. Sometimes, at night, she would almost hope that Christian would barge into her room and profess his love to her, leaving her no choice but to fall into his arms. Other times, she would fall into a troubled sleep, dreaming of Ethan's smile, and the way he would put his arms around her.
Maybe the next few days would finally bring her some answers. She would have to face the music soon enough in any case.
