Salem, Donovan House, Present Day
She could smell the heady aroma of freshly cut flowers. Roses. Dozens and dozens of roses -- and not just any roses. They were a rare light ash pink, like the first rose Shane had given her in England. She recalled her surprise at seeing the spring flowers arrayed like a blushing still life in the boutique window. She had inquired after them, only to be told someone had purchased nearly all of them less than an hour before. She remembered buying one of the remaining blooms as a birthday treat for herself and treading the short distance back to her hotel in the summer heat. Paris in July, the summer season. The city was deserted -- and hot. Hot and sticky and not at all where she wanted to be on that particular day. "It's only for a few days," Helene had pointed out to her. "You are more than welcome to return to Nice and enjoy a real vacation after you've dazzled the Left Bank literati with your divine pictures."
It was Kimberly's first photography book, and she was immensely proud of it. It had taken five years of painstaking work to compile and annotate. Some of the black and whites were over twenty years old and harked back to a life that seemed foreign to her now. It had helped her greatly to focus on the project following Shane's...disappearance. His funeral had made it final; yet, almost two years later, she still couldn't bring herself to say the word.
She crossed the narrow alley, catty-corner to the fence-rimmed park, dotted with sun-dappled trees and a small running fountain. Europe, especially Paris, produced mixed feelings in her, even now.
Click, click, click.
In her mind, Kimberly heard the clatter of the rickety old lift as she took it to the third floor, walked the slim hallway, and inserted the gold key in the lock. She opened the door to her elegantly furnished little room. The late afternoon sunlight streamed in through latticed windows. Roses. They were everywhere. Delicate pale pink roses...
She opened her eyes, clearing the filigrees of her dream away and gradually returning to the present. She sat up in bed and glanced at the clock. It was nearly eleven. She never slept in this late. It must be the room-darkening shades in the guest bedroom. That, and the fact she had stayed up half the night waiting for Shane to return...which he never did. She reflected on their conversation from the night before. She kept seeing that look in his eyes, like he'd been done in. No, Kimberly. I don't deserve forgiveness from you or anyone else. She wondered if he had actually given up and what could have possibly made him do so. Then her thoughts drifted to Andrew. She got up, dressed, and went in search of him. Before descending the stairs, she peeked into the master bedroom. Shane's bed hadn't been slept in.
She could hear a muffled voice downstairs. "I know, I know." Andrew was seated on the sofa in the living room, cell phone in hand, as Kimberly entered. He looked up at her and smiled. "Yeah, I'll tell her. Thanks. Take care." He hung up as Kimberly came to sit beside him. "Paul says hi," he began, preempting her question.
She nodded. "How's he doing?"
"Andrea was taken ill again a couple days ago. They had to rush her to the emergency room and intubate her." Andrew sighed. "And I thought I had problems."
Kimberly reached for his hand. Andrea was Paul and Lisa's youngest. They had adopted her just over a year ago. Kimberly had always known Paul Stewart to be a wonderful man. After leaving Salem, he relocated his contracting business to Colorado and fell in love with a beautiful, young architect from Aspen. Andrea was the second child with special needs they had adopted, and they had two boys of their own besides. They were truly wonderful people -- a good reality check and source of inspiration for her and her children when they needed it. And Kimberly had kept her promise to Paul that, like an adopted son, Andrew would always be a part of his life.
"What advice did he give you?" she asked gently.
"Mama..." His tone of voice told her all she needed to know. Paul must have said something he didn't like, or wasn't yet prepared to hear.
"So," Kimberly chirped, "have you eaten breakfast?"
He rolled his eyes. "I think I can manage a little toast and jam."
"Good, because that's about all I can manage." She winked at him.
Andrew smiled. She could be so self-deprecating. He never understood why. In reality, she was quite accomplished at whatever she set her mind to. She just never had the time to devote to cooking.
"I'll grab something quick before I go to Mom and Pop's to change." She stood and started for the kitchen. "Can I get you anything?"
"Mama?"
She turned back. "Yes?"
"Why don't you move in here?" he ventured. "I mean, with Jeannie gone..."
"I'm not sure that's such a good idea," she began slowly.
"Why not? It's not like he can object." Andrew looked around. "Where is he, by the way?"
She shrugged. "I'm sure your father will be back soon. Probably some business to take care of."
"Big surprise there."
"Stop it." She tossed him a hard look.
The strength of her response startled him, but he knew not to push it.
"Andrew..." she sat back down. "When did you start playing rugby? It wasn't until college, right?"
"Okay. Major non sequitur there, Ma."
She smiled. "Just indulge me, counselor. It's something I'm trying to figure out."
He thought for a minute. "Yeah. I guess that's about right. Some of the guys convinced me to try it my freshman year. I didn't think I'd like it as much as soccer, but..."
"That's what I thought." What kind of father would willingly miss their school plays and rugby matches... How had he known? she wondered. And, come to think of it, Jeannie hadn't acted in her first play until last year. Peachy could have filled him in, she supposed.
Andrew leaned forward, waving a hand in front of her face. "Hey. Where'd you go?"
She looked over at him and smiled. "Nowhere. Just thinking. Dangerous past time, I know."
"You know I've always been against it," he returned, elbowing her playfully. Then he sighed. "Will you at least think about moving in here with me?" His eyes pleaded with her. "I could use the company."
She tickled the toes poking out from his cast. "Okay, okay. We'll see." She stood and headed for the back hallway but stopped when she heard the front door.
Shane entered the foyer, followed closely by Steve and a group of men carrying computer equipment and armfuls of wire and electrical devices. "In through there," Shane instructed them, pointing past the living room to the alcove off to its side. "You remember where, Stan? Let me know if you need anything."
The bespectacled Stan nodded. "It should be a pretty straightforward install, Commander. We'll be out of your hair in a jiff." He joined his men. Andrew watched as they paraded through the living room and disappeared into the office.
Kimberly met Steve in the foyer. "Morning, Kimberly." He moved in to hug her.
"Hi, Steven." She exchanged a wary look with Shane. "What's all this?"
Steve clapped Shane on the back. "The commander here has been reinstated. You can't stay dead forever," he continued. "I should know." He smirked and walked through to the living room to greet Andrew.
Shane turned to her. "I found out this--"
"When did you find out?"
He looked down awkwardly. "I'm sorry. You first."
"No." She motioned to him. "You go ahead."
He ran a hand over his mouth. "They, uh, told me the news this morning. It's just a formality, really." He raised his head. "I thought you'd be at your parents'."
"I slept here," she said quietly. "I wanted to make sure..." her voice trailed off and she gestured behind her. "To make sure Andrew was all right."
"Is he?" he asked, knitting his brow with concern.
"I think he'll be fine."
He let out a slow breath. "Good." After a few minutes of silence, he smiled tentatively at her. "Thanks for staying."
She returned the smile. "You're welcome."
"Well, I'd better get..." he pointed toward the living room.
"Oh. Sure." She took a step, and he took a step, and they bumped into each other. "Excuse me," she said softly.
He put his hands on her shoulders to steady her. "Sorry." He let go of her.
"That's all right," she chuckled nervously.
Their eyes met and lingered.
Discomfited by the weight of his stare, she looked down a moment. "I'm headed for the kitchen," she announced. "Can I get you and Steve anything?" She slowly raised her eyes to his. "Maybe a little English breakfast tea?"
He cocked his head to one side. "I think Steve would prefer coffee."
"Oh." She glanced in Steve's direction. "Yes. Of course."
He stepped back and swept an arm in front of her. "Ladies first."
"Thank you, sir." She grinned despite herself and passed in front of him. He watched her step through the living room to the back hallway, then stuffed his hands in his pockets and strolled over to Steve.
"Duty calls." Steve got up from the couch and looked at Shane. "I guess we should talk privately?"
Shane paused, considering: "I'd like Andrew to hear this," he said, eyeing his son. "That's if you have no objections."
Determined to appear unaffected, Andrew shrugged nonchalantly. Steve sat down, and Shane positioned himself in the chair opposite.
"Well," Steve began, "my contact in Johannesburg confirmed it. She's dead."
Shane sighed heavily. "I figured. Do we know when it happened?"
"Around four months ago."
"Just before I was attacked," Andrew piped in.
"Yes," Shane responded, grateful to know Andrew's curiosity was still strong enough to win out over any other emotion he was feeling.
"Do you think there's a connection?" Steve asked Shane.
"Could be."
"Who are we talking about?" Andrew asked.
Shane looked at him. "Do you remember Eve's mother Gabrielle?"
Andrew nodded. "Sort of."
"Well, she and Eve were last seen together in South Africa. She was working on a case there. Eve must have tagged along." He leaned forward, rubbing his hands together. "What I can't figure out is why now. What would suddenly render her a liability to the organization?"
Steve shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe she had something on him. From what I could find out about your brother, he doesn't exactly inspire loyalty. His whole operation is riddled with thugs and ex-ISA agents who would turn against him in a New York minute for the right amount of cash." Steve eyed him pointedly, "I guess you found that out the hard way."
Shane returned his knowing look, but responded, "Actually, I'm not certain it was one of his operatives who found me out. It would have required too much handling...and connections beyond the average duffer's pay grade to arrange for Drew's release."
Feeling like he'd been dropped in the middle of an ongoing conversation, Andrew followed them intently with his eyes.
"So you think his accomplice is someone higher up the food chain," Steve offered.
Shane stood to his feet and walked to the bar, running a hand along its edge. "I'm certain of it now."
"You don't think that Mitchell..."
Shane turned to face him, cutting him off mid-sentence. "No, I don't." He leaned back on the bar. "I wouldn't have gotten this far without his help. He's the one who authorized my little bait and switch." He narrowed his eyes. "No. I've worked with Frank before. After what he and his family endured in El Salvador, I don't question him. He's seen this kind of thing firsthand."
Steve nodded. "Yeah. Frank's a stand-up guy." He chuckled. "Hey. Who'd have ever thought the ISA would put an American in charge? I say it's about time." He winked at Andrew. "Guess they got tired of tea and crumpets."
Shane raised an eyebrow at him. "More likely they grew tired of the steady stream of influence peddling and incompetence." He shook his head. It never took much to dupe Tarrington -- first Simon Prescott, then Drew. There was Vaughn before that; he had been corrupt to the core. And Shane would never forget Nickerson's traitorous betrayal. He crossed his arms. "Believe it or not, honest Brits do still exist within the ISA."
"I know." Steve met Shane's eyes evenly. "He's just been pretending to be someone else."
Andrew grasped Steve's meaning immediately, but before he could interject, Steve continued, "Something I've had a little practice at myself."
Steve's mind drifted back to their earlier conversations in Cincinnati. Shane had been among the first to question Steve after they discovered him alive, the first to express sincere regret they hadn't located him sooner. It was a shame it took a tail on his little brother Jack to alert the ISA to his existence at all. The more he thought about it, the more he knew that if Shane had been in charge, things would have worked out differently. But he couldn't blame the guy for what he'd given up to protect his family. And, Steve realized, Shane, more than anyone else, understood what it felt like to lose your past. "At least you knew who you were this time."
"Most days," Shane smiled wryly at him, then turned back to the bar. "There has to be more to Gabrielle's murder, though." He ran through several scenarios in his head. "The timing of it is just too coincidental."
"Gabrielle was murdered?" Kimberly entered the room with a silver tray and set it down on the coffee table. "By who?"
Shane turned to her. "When was the last time you heard from Eve, Kim?"
Ignoring his intense gaze, she pushed the plunger down in the French press and poured the steaming brew into earthen mugs. "It's been awhile." Her eyes met Andrew's briefly. She lowered her voice. "Not since your funeral."
Shane shifted uncomfortably from one leg to the other.
Steve cleared his throat. "Should I tell her?"
Kim grabbed a mug and settled into the chair next to Steve. "Tell me what?" she asked, blowing softly on her drink.
Shane returned to his chair. "It seems Gabrielle was not who we supposed she was." He looked at her. "And I'm beginning to suspect that neither is Eve."
"What do you mean?" Kim asked, not completely certain she wished to know the answer.
Shane rested his elbows on his knees and folded his hands. "You are far more intuitive than I or anyone else has given you credit for, Kimberly." Andrew watched his mother's face closely as Shane continued, "After Gabrielle left Salem and the ISA, she worked as an attorney for the U.N., ostensibly finalizing currency exchanges, third party agreements between governments, and the like. As you know, Eve spent a lot of time with her when she was in west Africa..." He paused. "But, in recent years, they were all seen together -- Eve, Gabrielle...and my brother."
Andrew knew from experience how quickly his mother could piece things together.
"Gabrielle was with the U.N. ostensibly," she said. "You mean she was really working for someone else?" She returned her untouched coffee cup to the table.
Shane nodded and looked over at Steve. "Did your contact say how she was killed?"
"Strangled, dumped in a lake," Steve replied. "Quick and dirty."
Shane stood and walked round the back of the sofa. He folded his arms. "What do we know of Eve's whereabouts?"
"No one knows anything." Steve leaned forward and snatched a mug. He took a quick sip. "She could be with your brother, but since we don't know where he is..."
"Yeah." Shane moved to the French doors and looked out, rubbing the base of his neck. "But she's still alive. I'm beginning to wonder..."
Kim watched him closely. "You think there's a reason they killed Gabrielle and left Eve alone."
"Yes." Shane turned to her. "A reason I hadn't considered before now."
Andrew watched his parents look at each other as if no one else was in the room. Something flashed into his mind -- a memory of when his father came to take him to England seven years ago. At the time, he had thought nothing of it. Hey, he had the chance to travel the country with his dad and skip a grade of school at the same time. He was looking forward to the change of scenery and the adventure of it all. It hadn't occurred to him there could be any other reason than that his father wanted to spend time with him. Just before they boarded the plane, he recalled his parents looking at each other that way. Not to say it was the first time he had noticed it through the years, but this particular time was important enough to leave an imprint.
Seizing his opportunity, Andrew craned his neck back at his father. "Seems Gabrielle wasn't the only one leading a double life, was she, Dad?"
Shane turned to him.
"What do you mean?" Kimberly asked.
"Uncle Steve said you've been pretending to be someone else."
Shane's eyes lighted on Kim's once more. She saw hesitation in them, but only for a moment, quickly replaced by stolid determination as he walked past his son and seated himself in the chair opposite him. Shane expected to see bitterness, an open challenge reflected in his son's eyes, but found avid interest instead.
"You were pretending to be Uncle Drew, weren't you?" Andrew asked. "Why?"
Shane exchanged a careful look with Steve.
Kim took note of it, then stated simply, "That's what you weren't telling me." Snippets from their contentious conversation just before Shane took Andrew to England came to mind. "It wasn't just a cover in Prague." She blinked at him incredulously. "Drew was behind this all along?" Shane watched her stand to her feet and cross to the fireplace.
Steve smiled to himself at how easily these two communicated across the years, sometimes without saying a word. It reminded him of how Kayla could always see right through him, down to his very soul. It was a rare and beautiful thing. And scary, he realized, glancing at Andrew's stunned expression.
"Can we be talking about the same man?" Kim folded her arms and pivoted to face Shane. "The masquerade artist and philanderer? It's just unbelievable that he could be so...so..." she stammered.
"Devilishly cunning?" he finished. He arched an eyebrow at her. "It's absurd, I know. It seems he's learned a great deal over the years from Stefano...among others." He looked down briefly, then took a breath. "Kim," he looked up at her. "I couldn't be sure. As you said, it seemed too incredible to be true; I had only partial confirmation of my suspicions back then."
She nodded, unconvinced.
Shane let out a withered sigh, then stood and paced round the back of the sofa, coming to a stop just inches away from her and adopting a professional manner and tone. "After Drew left Salem, I didn't find out what became of him until...just before I rejoined the ISA." Kim peered at him through veiled eyes; he turned away abruptly and addressed Andrew, who sat upright, rapt with attention. "Unbeknownst to anyone in my confidence at the time, he'd returned to Europe, specifically Dublin, to assume leadership of one of the most notorious crime syndicates in the world." Andrew's eyes widened, but Shane moved forward with his debriefing undaunted. "His organization encompasses everything from illegal arms sales to international trade in stolen art, money laundering, narcotics, even counterfeiting." He stole a quick look at Steve. "Rather, it did until we were able to infiltrate the operation and systematically dismantle everything..."
"With the notable exception of arms sales," Steve finished for him.
Momentarily taken aback, Kim walked to the chair in front of Andrew and lowered herself into it.
"Since learning the truth about him," Shane continued quietly, "we were able to thwart his organization's activities on a case by case basis." He stepped behind Kim's chair, keeping a watchful eye on her. "And...while working undercover, I was beginning to gather information concerning the real head of the organization." He cleared his throat. "That is...until..."
"Until Uncle Drew surprised me on the pier that night," Andrew concluded.
"Yes." Shane acknowledged, his look matching Andrew's in somber awareness.
A new silence set in.
"Your family's really screwed up, dude," Steve said to lighten the mood.
Shane rolled his eyes. "You have no idea."
"All set, Commander," Stan trumpeted as he and his technicians flooded the room. "Just sign here." He stepped up to Shane and handed him a clipboard.
Shane perused and signed the papers quickly. "And my password is the same as before?"
"Until you change it, yes, sir."
"Thank you very much, gentlemen. I'll show you out." He led them to the foyer.
Steve stood up, glancing at his watch. "I should be going, too."
Kimberly took his coffee cup from him and leaned in to kiss his cheek. "Thanks for your help. It means a lot."
He blushed slightly at her gesture. "I'd do anything for you guys," he said, recovering himself. "And besides, I know what it's like to be messed with like someone's messing with Shane. It's not right."
Kimberly nodded as they passed Shane, and Steve headed for the door.
Shane shook Steve's hand. "Thanks again," he said, then faced him squarely. "You know this goes both ways. If you need anything at all..."
"Yeah. I'll let you know. Later." Steve ducked through the door and left.
Shane sighed heavily as he closed the door.
Kimberly eyed him carefully. "You should get some rest, you know."
He smiled at her. "Do I look that bad?"
"Let's just say you can't pull an all-nighter quite like you used to."
"Tell me about it," he said stretching. "I think I'll head upstairs to sleep for a few hours. Will you and Andrew be all right?"
"We're fine," she assured him.
He took a deep breath. "I'll see you a little later then." He began to climb the stairs.
"Shane..."
He turned back to her.
She wavered a moment, then raised her eyes to his. "Thank you."
"For what?" He squinted at her.
"For letting us in."
One look from her still leveled him to the ground. "I suppose I've finally learnt my lesson," he conceded. "I can no longer go it alone."
"You're not alone, cap'n. And don't you forget it," she smiled kindly.
A lump formed in his throat. Unable to respond, he just nodded, then turned and walked slowly to his room, shutting the door behind him.