Let's just say... I hate exams. And this was fun to write. Rob should nearly kill more people, it's fun. ;)

AND I have a favorite sentence, which sadly would not have fit for Rob to notice, so I couldn't include it: "Kristin, who'd put away her compact and was staring, transfixed, at the way Rob's muscles were bunched beneath his shirt sleeves (I'd have a word with her about that later)" ...It always made me laugh.

Oh, oh! And ALSO, I'm going out tonight in a few minutes to have dinner/watch How To Train Your Dragon with a friend, so I'm afraid all the chapter 10 reviewers who weren't anonymous will not get replies until after that's over. Sorry guys.

There was, following Jess's statement, a collective blink, in which I fell in love with her all over again.

Then the intercom buzzed.

Whitehead snatched at the distraction it provided, snapping, "God damn it, Thelma, I said no interruptions during this meeting!"

"I'm sorry, Randy," the receptionist said, sounding even less certain of her job security than before. "But there are about a half dozen police officers out here who say they need to see you right away."

Whitehead the elder copied his son from earlier in the meeting, his face turning from tomato-red to a sort of cauliflower color. Maybe a little pastier.

He glared at Jess, who smiled right back. "You conniving little bitch," he hissed.

Wax museum hopefuls took this as a cue to – in unison, very nicely done – pull out identical cell phones and start whispering into them. Unlike Randy, they managed to do so at a level too quiet for the rest of us to eavesdrop.

Randy decided to play puppet-whose-strings-have-just-been-cut, slumping bonelessly down into his chair. His dad produced some Mylanta and poured himself a capful, looking ill. Silence may have reigned, but once again Kristin saved us.

"I don't understand," she said in confusion. Why are the police here? Who is this Hannah person? And why does everyone keep talking about videotapes?"

Jess looked at her and said, bluntly, "Your boyfriend has been secretly filming the two of you having sex, then selling the tapes over the Internet on amateur porn sites."

Kristin frowned. "No, he hasn't."

I nearly groaned. Hannah again.

Jess, who hadn't argued with my sister and thus did not know the true level of frustration dealing with a Foolish Teenage Runaway could bring, soldiered on. "Yes," she affirmed. "He has."

"No, he hasn't," Kristin said. And then, unexpectedly, she smirked and used logic. Well, of a sort. "And I think I would know. I mean, I'd have noticed a camera in the bedroom."

"The camera was hidden in the bedroom closet," Jess informed her. "Behind the mirror – which was really two-way glass – over the dresser."

Kristin blinked. I held my breath. Okay, not really – in reality I just relaxed a little in my seat and watched with interest – but it's an expression, all right? "Nuh-uh."

"Uh-huh," Jess confirmed. "Kristin. I've seen the tapes. You're wearing a matching red tiger-stripe-bra-and-panty set. You also have a tendency to squeal."

Didn't need to know that. Really, could have done without.

Kristin spun to Randy, becoming the third person in the office to turn a deathly pale color. Now only Jess and I were left. Well, and the wax museum mobsters. I kept forgetting about them – guess that meant they were doing a good job.

"How would she know that?" Kristin screeched. "How does she know that?"

"Because I've seen the tapes, Kristin," Jess put in, still smiling. Then she added what turned out to be the clincher. "I've seen all the tapes. Carly. Jasmine. Beth."

Out of nowhere, Kristin slapped Randy. Hard. "You told me Jasmine was your sister," she hissed.

Randy pulled his legs up and bent his head down slightly, hiding. Pitiful really, but by no means was it an unwelcome sight.

"That's funny," Jess said. "That's what Jasmine says he told her about you, Kristin."

We all turned to stare at her (except Whitehead, who was chugging his capful of Mylanta, and the mob guys, who were still whispering into their phones). "You talked to Jasmine?" Randy asked in horror, conveniently voicing all of our confusion.

"Oh," Jess said, no longer smiling but still perfectly calm. "I talked to them all this morning, Randy. And you know, I have to say, even though you made sure to select such a wide variety of different girls – blondes, brunettes, short, skinny, tall – they all had one thing in common. And that was that they didn't know they were being filmed. And they're all pretty pissed off about it. Most of them pissed off enough to press charges."

Ah. So that was why she didn't answer the phone.

"Oh, sweet Lord," Whitehead moaned, dropping his head into his hands.

Randy took this moment to adopt the fetal position, hiding in his seat from the rain of slaps Kristin was aiming at him. I was… glad, I suppose, to see him get his due at least a little bit, but really, the whole thing was kind of pathetic. I couldn't believe he was being brought down by this.

Maybe it was a good thing Jess had made me agree not to touch him. One punch and his head would come off.

…No, actually, that would still be nice to see.

"You jerk!" Kristin was yelling – or rather, shrieking. "You lied to me! You lied! You said you loved me! You said I was the only one! You said you'd always take care of me! Where am I going to go now? Huh? Where?"

Uh. Wow.

"You could go home," Jess suggested, and Kristin stopped slapping briefly, sniffling. Randy did not uncurl, just in case.

"No, I can't," Kristin told Jess. "My dad kicked me out."

Jess shook her head. "He's willing to let you come back. At least, he was when I spoke to him this morning."

Kristin froze. "You… you talked to my dad?"

"If you're Kristin Pine from Brazil, Indiana," Jess said, "then yeah, I did. Your dad was pretty relieved to hear from me, as a matter of fact. He and your mom have been worried about you." Jess paused, then glanced over at Whitehead pointedly. "Well, who wouldn't worry about their runaway fifteen-year-old?"

A muffled "Christ," emanated from the head-in-hands man. I watched, amused.

"How… how did you know?" Kristin asked Jess incredulously. I rolled my eyes, and finally joined the conversation.

"She's Lightning Girl," I said flatly.

Jess glanced over at me and I resisted a shrug. What? It was true, right? Actually, this whole meeting was involving me less and less, though I was prepared to step in should it become necessary. But it was all going rather nicely, and even if I didn't get to attack Randy, at least someone did. Plus, jail seemed to be on the table, which (if less preferable than death) was pretty satisfying. So I was just kind of sitting there, watching everything happen.

Well. Until Whitehead spoke next, raising his head from his hands and saying in a deadly-quiet voice, "You're going to regret this, girlie. I know you did it to get back at my boy for what he did to your friend's sister. But dragging in all those other girls and the police… you're going to regret it."

Oh. Really. I leaned forward in my chair, muscles tensing as I glared at Whitehead. "Excuse me," I said – hey, there you go, that was polite! I'd managed it! "But are you threatening her?"

"Oh, you're damned straight I'm threatening her," Whitehead snarled back at me. "Her. You. Her parents. This," he turned to Jess, "is war, girlie. You crossed the wrong man, this time."

I was more than ready to step in at that, but Jess spoke up before I could make a move, still sounding calm and composed. "I don't think so," she said simply. "And here's why. The only person going down here today is your son. If anything happens to me, or to my family or friends, you're going to be joining your son in the big house. Or, in your case, I guess you'd call it the doghouse."

Whitehead, caught off guard, blinked at Jess in confusion. "Just what in the hell," he asked, "are you talking about?"

"Well, as the owner and developer of the Fountain Bleu apartment complex, you are, of course, ultimately responsible for the management of it, including who you employ to run it. …In this case, that would be your son, Randy, who, as we know now, took advantage of his position there to illicitly house underage runaways, then film them in sex acts with himself – " Jess cut her explanation off for a moment, saying, "Sorry," to Kristin.

Kristin reined in her reactionary sob to a mere sniffle. "It's okay."

Jess resumed her speech. "Obviously, this leaves you pretty open to both criminal and civil charges. You're in a very vulnerable situation right now."

Whitehead stared at Jess. No longer bursting with fury, he seemed a little perplexed. "Just what, exactly, are you saying? Are you trying to offer us some kind of deal?"

I did not like the sound of that. Negotiating with these guys – when we already had them – was neither a sound nor satisfactory plan. But before I could voice this opinion, the intercom crackled again.

"Mr. Whitehead," Thelma said in a strained voice. "I don't know how much longer these police officers are willing to wait on you…"

Whitehead didn't groan, but he looked close to it. Instead, he entreated his trusty museum friends' aid: "Go on out there," he said. "And see if you can stall them."

The one on the left of the door nodded curtly. "Will do," he said. Then both of them left, closing the door behind them.

It was a bit of a shame to see them go, as they had been an entertaining aside this whole time, but then it was probably a good thing that there were no longer any guns in the room. This way, if I felt the need to really get violent, there was no one who could stop me.

Well, physically. Jess could hold me back – was in fact doing so – without ever touching me. But, you know what I mean.

The door firmly shut, Whitehead turned back to Jess. "Now. Just what kind of deal are we talking about?"

"Oh, no deal for your son," Jess was swift to say, thank God. "Obviously. But for you… well, there's a piece of property I know you have your eye on – Pine Heights Elementary School?"

Whitehead met Jess's eyes calculatively. "That's right. You were at the city council meeting last night. That's where Randy said he met you."

"Right," Jess agreed. "Your plan is to convert the building to condos. If, however, you could see your way to abandoning the condo plan and put your support – and a sizable donation – towards establishing an alternative school there, I think I might be able to work out a deal with the offended parties that will keep you out of jail and civil court as well."

Slowly, very slowly, my horror at the thought of a deal began to leak away as I, staring at Jess (along with everyone else in the room), finally put the pieces together. What they then formed, might require a bit of explanation, as I haven't mentioned it at all up to now.

You see, Jess is the youngest of three Mastriani kids, and the only girl. The younger of her brothers is some sort of computer whiz or something, and he was one of the people staying with her in New York. I don't think I've ever really interacted with him, so I don't know much about him. But Jess's oldest brother has become a really good friend of mine. Doug – his name is actually Douglas, but he's never corrected me so I keep the nickname – is schizophrenic and used to be a complete recluse. People actually used to call him 'Boo Radley' and I for one thought very little of both his mental state and fitness as a brother – this last brought on by the way he led the Feds straight to us back at Jess's music camp.

But then, following my dinner at the Mastriani's house and subsequent 'break-up' with Jess, we began to talk a bit. And even more so when Jess went away to help in the war. He'd gotten a lot better in terms of leaving his room, and his new job at the comic store meant that I ran into him every week when I went to pick up a Spider-man. We often got to talking, and though it first started just as mutual chatting about Jess, we ended up being pretty good friends. Doug was the only Mastriani who believed the truth about what had happened with Nancy, and he's been the one responsible for my knowledge of Jess's current life. If it wasn't for him, I would never have known where to find Jess when Hannah went missing.

Doug is also dating Tasha, the sister of the black kid who got killed by those crazy True American militia a few years ago. Together, the two of them recently began heading an effort to try to build a new alternative school in place of Pine Heights Elementary School. It's a good idea, and a lot of people in the community support it, but Whitehead has a lot of money and his plan is less controversial, not to mention easier. Oh, and he has a lot of money.

But if Jess could use this as an opportunity to blackmail him to give up his efforts and to give Doug the money he needed, then Doug could actually build his school. It would make him ecstatic – the thing is pretty much all he's been talking about lately – and might just be worth letting Whitehead escape jail. Barely. As long as his son still went for a very very very long time. Life would be nice.

So anyway, there's the background. Jess's plan was actually pretty genius, if it worked, and there was no reason it shouldn't. After all, we already had them, and the police in the lobby were proof enough of that. Whitehead didn't have much of a choice.

He seemed to realize this, because even though he looked furious, he asked, "Just how much of a donation are we talking about?"

"Oh, nothing much," Jess said lightly, guaranteeing that it would be a lot. "To a man of your wealth, anyway. And you could write it off as a tax deduction, I'm sure."

Whitehead's voice was flat and cold. "How. Much."

Jess shrugged. "I think three million dollars would work."

Whitehead slammed the golf-ball paperweight down on his blotter again, and I really couldn't blame him. That was a lot of money.

"There is no way!" He yelled. "No way! Just who in the hell do you think – I have friends in this town, girlie. I'll take my chances in court! I'll pay off whoever I have to! I'll – "

Then again, he had money to spare. I stood up, and though I spoke quietly, he cut himself off abruptly to listen. "You'll do," I commanded him, "what she tells you to do."

I feel I should take a moment here to tell you something. Yes, I've been making jokes and being rather blasé about everything going on during this meeting. Sure, I've said I felt removed from it, and that since Randy was going to prison, I was as satisfied as I could be.

I haven't been completely honest with you.

The fact is, I was still furious. To use a stupid simile, my fury was like a volcano dormant for the moment but liable to erupt any second. The only thing holding me back, was Jess. And though she was doing an admirable job of it, and I had been able to joke about things and remain decently calm up until now, not even she could make me really any less angry.

Why is this relevant? Well, it's relevant because the next thing Whitehead did, after I told him what he was going to do, was look up at me, straight in the face. And laugh.

"Oh yeah?" he laughed. "Or what?"

It only took a second. I swear I wasn't even aware of moving. But the next thing I knew, I had one hand fisted around his shirtfront, pulling him forward across his desk, and the other had snatched up that heavy golf-ball paperweight and was pressing it into his neck.

"Or," I answered without changing my dangerous, quiet tone in the slightest, "I'll kill you."

Somehow, even in this position, Whitehead still failed to take me seriously, something that was honestly starting to piss me off. "Do you know who I am?" he demanded in a strained voice. "Do you know who I am? I can have you snuffed out like a candle, fella."

Yeah, on second thought it was a wonderful thing that the mobsters and their guns were no longer in the room. I pressed harder with the paperweight, cutting off his ability to breathe. "Not if you're already dead."

Jess stood up and walked over to join us, taking her time as Whitehead's face got redder and redder and he strained to escape, reaching feebly for the intercom button. It wasn't hard to hold him still, though. For such a big man, he had remarkably little muscle, completely unlike Chick.

She bent down slightly and spoke pleasantly to my captive. "You may know people in this town, Mr. Whitehead. But the fact is, Rob here probably knows more. And the people he knows are local. He doesn't need to send all the way to Chicago for muscle. So let's put aside the physical threats for the moment, because the fact is, you're going to do as I say, and not because if you don't, Rob will kill you. You're going to do as I say because if you don't, I'm going to tell your wife about Eric."

You have to hand it to her, Jess can always say something that will surprise sixty percent of the room.

"Who's Eric?" Randy uncurled and paused whimpering to ask.

"Who's Eric?" Kristin, stopped… well, whatever she had been doing, which seemed to be watching me choke Whitehead, to ask.

"Yeah," I said, not stopping the choking, but turning my head to look at Jess in confusion. "Who's Eric?"

"Okay!"

I must not have been choking him properly – or else he really didn't want anyone to know who Eric was – because Whitehead somehow summoned up the energy and breath to grasp tightly to my hands and say, "Okay. Okay."

I let go, and he collapsed to his desk, panting.

Watching him closely – not at all averse to choking him again if necessary – I confirmed: "Okay you'll do what she says?"

Whitehead nodded, red leaking out of his face. "I'll do as she says," he rasped. "Just don't… tell my wife… about Eric."

"Fine," Jess said. "But you should know, I'm not the only one who knows about Eric, Mr. Whitehead. And if anything should happen to me, my associates will –"

My guess is that she was bluffing, since I had never known Jess to possess any 'associates', but it didn't matter. "Nothing will happen to you," Whitehead promised, now turning pale again. "I swear it. Just don't tell."

"Deal," Jess said with a grin, and reach over the desk to shake his hand. Then she pushed the intercom button.

"Say it."

Whitehead coughed and straightened out his collar and tie for a moment before speaking more-or-less composedly into the microphone. "You can send the police in for Randy Junior now, Thelma."

This charming display of fatherly loyalty finally prompted Randy to react, and he leapt out of his seat. "No!" he shouted desperately. "Dad! You can't –"

"I'm sorry, Randy," his dad told him heavily. "But I don't have a choice."

"But I did it for you, Dad," Randy begged. "To show you I could handle more responsibility. You can't let them do this! You can't!"

The door opened then, letting in several policemen who marched right over to Randy and began to frisk him. But it didn't look like Whitehead had been going to say anything anyway.

Doug wandered in next, remarkably casual with an X-Men comic in hand. "Oh, hey, Jess," he said. "How'd I do? Did I get 'em in here on time, like you asked?"

"Perfect timing, Doug," Jess smiled. "Perfect timing."

I, avidly watching the protesting Randy be handcuffed and none-too-gently escorted from the room, had to agree.

Anonymous reviews:

Jadeee: Sorry, sorry! I am only human, you know. ;)

Kelsey: So do we all, I think. Thanks for the review.

Aussiegal: I love writing Rob's random quirky thoughts. It's quite possibly my favorite part of doing this series, so have no fear - I won't refrain from adding any more that feel appropriate or pop into my head. As for "lemons", that's always confused me too, but I seem to gather that it means smut. In other words, the stuff I do not write, so there's your answer. :)

Severity: Wow, thanks. However, these are the only MC books that I own the full series of or have read more than once/all of, other than the Mediator books. And as far as those go, there's already an excellent series of them as-told-by-Jesse out there, so there's not much point in me doing that. But thanks for the compliment, and I suppose you never do know if I may one day in the future buy the Princess Diary series or some other MC stuff and decide to do this again. Anyway, I'm working my way to the end, and thanks for the review!

YyyYYAYAYAY: Nice name, LOL. Thanks for the review.