Although his heart is pounding like a big bass drum, Damon tries to stay calm, knowing inherently that panicking will only make his situation worse. His body is bobbing up and down, as the wave begin to carry him farther out to sea. The strong current has him in its clutches, and he struggles to stay afloat.

"He...help..." he wheezes. His eyes dart in every direction, hoping to see something, anything to grab onto, anyone to pull him out of the water.

The first time his head bobs beneath the waves Damon isn't worried. He knows how to swim, he has a life jacket, still he's surrounded by an endless body of water and what lurks below scares him more than drowning.

In a few moments though, he's sinking, his legs already tiring and struggling to bring him back towards the sun-speckled surface. His hair rises like seaweed upwards, rippling in the currents. With super human effort he breaks the surface, gulping at the summer air.

After only a few seconds his brain is in full panic, there are no coordinated movements, just clawing through the thin liquid that threatens to invade his lungs. From his lips comes an explosion of air bubbles, moving away from him at a peculiar angle. His limbs slow down, stop and he floats in the current like a doll.

Suddenly someone clasps onto his wrist and pulls him out of the water. He gasps in a big mouthful of air as soon as his head breaks the surface...

"What in the hell happened?" Dahlia asks once Damon snaps out of his stupor. She glances up to see the yacht which is closing the distance between them.

"Mason was pushing the throttle like he was trying to out run Satan himself when the boat flipped, and sunk," his head is between his knees, hoping the nausea will pass.

"This is bad, Alaric would just as soon see you drown. We're going to have set up a meeting on land."

"Shouldn't we call the Coast Guard or something to look for him?" Damon looks up to meet her eyes.

"I did when I saw you floating like a buoy here. Let's go before they start to question you. They don't know that he wasn't alone in the boat," she makes a wide turn and then they're headed back to the marina.

"What if someone saw the two of us leave?" Damon groans as his belly continues to roil.

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. I'm going to drop you off and then I'm going to contact Ric, tell him that I saw Mason's boat just before it sunk. He'll no doubt ask about you and I will come up with something to placate him. He's a dangerous man. He was using his job as a city auditor to make deals with foreign governments wanting to get a foothold here to spy on Americans and steal classified information, secrets."

"I'm an idiot, I never would have suspected," Damon chastises himself.

"Don't beat yourself up, it took us a long time to get this close to him too," she looks over her shoulder, smiling tightly.

Damon closes his eyes, hoping to tame the sea-sickness a little when the engine stops. He's a little surprised that they've already reached the marina. He wobbles for a few seconds when he stands but as soon as he gets his land legs, he takes the rope she hands him and ties up the boat, securing it in its berth.

"I'll be in touch," comes from behind him as he walks away, his shoes clacking over the various hues of the wooden boards, some newer planks with their bright unworn look, others dull and beaten by the salty air. Despite all that went wrong, he can help but savor the scent as the wind blows through his hair.

"What in the hell…" he fumes, looking over his shoulders, relieved that no one is behind him. Damon switches his focus to pulling together whatever information he can find on Alaric.

He's in a foul mood. What he really wants to do is go to Elena, bring her home and worship her all night and into tomorrow.

Raking his hand through his hair in frustration, he turns back to the screen. A couple of hours pass and he gets up to make himself a pot of coffee. While it's brewing, he sits back down and gets back to the tedious work. Something catches the corner of his eye. It's an obituary.

Isobel Saltzman - Alaric's wife - has been dead for six years. If that's true, who is the Isobel that Marcel and Dahlia are after? The spelling is peculiar so he can't help but ponder if the dead woman is really the Isobel; and if so, who is really dead and buried beneath the gravestone that bears the woman's name?

Damon pinches the bridge of his nose; he needs something stronger than coffee. He reaches into the cupboard for the bourbon, screws off the lid and takes a long swallow without bothering to get a glass...

Alaric has his back to her when Isobel enters the room. He's busy fiddling with something on his computer. She takes advantage of his distraction to study him. He's gotten more attractive in the years since she's known him.

"So, how's this going to go down? And what are you going to do with the reporter?" she bends over and wraps her arms around him for a moment before letting go.

Ric turns around to look at her. "I fed him the information to pin our work on Richard Lockwood. But the bastard got a little too curious. He's going to have to die," he pulls her onto his lap, watching her intently.

Isobel shrugs. "What about the girl?"

"She's laying in a hospital bed. She won't give us anymore trouble."

"You're sure about that?" she arches an eyebrow at him.

Alaric cocks his head to one side. "Absolutely," he winks at her.

"What's the plan; for us I mean?"

"Money, freedom, a safe haven on some private island in the Caribbean," Alaric snakes his hand under her skirt and into her panties.

She closes his laptop. "More," a groan escapes her mouth.

"Took you long enough to ask," he pinches her clit then stands up and carries her to the bedroom, slamming the door closed behind them.

Marcel looks up from the scope he's calibrating to find Damon approaching him.

"What's up?" he asks quietly.

"We're getting ready to move. Now look Damon, you're going to wear a wire and a Kevlar vest. They'll probably shake you down...the device is in this watch," he hands it to Damon to slip onto his wrist.

"It feels rather 007-ish," Damon looks at it closely before putting it on.

"You could say that," Marcel concurs.

Damon nods. As much all of this enrages him, especially what happened to Elena, Damon instinctively knows that he cannot allow his anger - or any of his other emotions - to burn out of control. He has to think clearly and not end up dead himself.

He listens as Marcel and Dahlia carefully go over the plan. Their mission is about to go live - Ric and Isobel are in a compound on Chincoteague Island. Once everything is understood, they pile into a van and head for the rendezvous with their targets...

Thanks for everything.

Chapter title: 'Live and Let Die' by the Beatles from the James Bond movie of the same name.