Disclaimer : I own nothing of any interest. Except my copy of 'Red Dragon'. And they'll pry that from my cold, dead hands. So it wouldn't be worth the time to sue me.

Under Attack By Lyra Matsuoka Rated PG-13

Chapter 8 : Civil Danger

The first negative thing about being hit on the back of the head is that one never knows where one is going to wake up. Or how many body parts will still be attached when one does wake up.

I heard music first - soft, strumming, some sort of a guitar. Complimented by a harp and soon...yes, there it was, a piano. The chords wept in the air as I slowly drifted back to consciousness. I was lying on a soft, yielding surface, and the fabric beneath me slid across my skin.

Silk. Silk sheets. I opened my eyes slowly. I lay on a king sized bed in a room that looked like something out of a magazine. I knew the instant I opened my eyes that a highly skilled interior decorator had handled this room. There were no flaws - no two colors clashed. Everything blended perfectly. Of course, this isn't particularly hard to do with deep, cool colors. The furniture was black, of course. The carpet a pearly gray and the paintings that hung on the walls were generally in the same vein. There were some highlights using emerald green and sapphire blue. And I, in my deep sapphire blue gown, lying in the middle of the bed, became yet another accent.

I was alone. I'd known that before I opened my eyes. There were hushed voices somewhere...but nowhere particularly close. I smiled slightly as I reached up to assess the damage. I had been right. The food had been drugged, and when I refused to play along Marcus had been forced to resort to slightly more drastic measures. But Andre had been careful - there was a only a slight bump at the base of my skull, and a glance at the clock sitting next to the bed told me that I hadn't been unconscious for long. Two hours, if my calculations were correct. I lay still for several moments, assessing my present situation and possible options.

"Good evening, Alexandra."

I turned my head on the pillows to look at Marcus Verger. He was still in black tie, and he was holding a glass of water, which he offered me. I sat up slowly, watching for signs of nausea or disorientation and when I felt none, I took the glass and walked slowly into the bathroom. He followed me with enough time to watch as I poured the water down the drain, rinsed out the glass and filled the glass again using the tap.

"Distrustful as ever, I see."

"I had no reason to trust you two hours ago. Now I have a reason to distrust you. Surely you won't begrudge me that."

"You are welcome to distrust me. But it might grow awkward for you to continue in this vein, especially when it comes to eating."

"I can't believe you would shed any tears over my death, Marcus," I said, a wry smile on my lips.

"It isn't you I'm after, Alexandra."

"But it will be you my family is after. Are you quite sure you're capable of handling Hannibal Lecter, Marcus?"

"You have no notion of what I'm capable of."

"Untrue," I said, moving back into the bedroom. I knew he would follow me. He had to.

"I know a great deal about you, Marcus. As much or more as you know about me, I expect. After all, you knew enough to send your men after me."

"And you jumped off a cliff. Tsk, tsk, Alexandra. Surely being a guest in my house is not so terrible as all that."

"Your home is lovely. Compliments to your interior decorator."

"Thank you. She charged a small fortune, but the effect is well worth it."

"How much money did you put on my father's head?"

"As much as it takes. There is no specified amount."

"And unlimited supply of funds, presumably attracting the top bounty hunters in the world, and you haven't managed to keep a single one of us yet? How terribly frustrating for you," I drawled, sinking onto the bed. Marcus didn't sneer, but his gaze hardened a bit.

"Playing with fire, Alexandra. You might get burned."

"I think I can handle whatever comes my way."

"I have no trouble believing that. Now, you haven't had the chance to eat tonight, and you must be hungry. Would you do me the honor of joining me for dinner?"

"Our last dinner date ended so poorly. Whatever makes you believe that I will give you a second chance?"

"Arrogance."

I laughed at that. I admired honesty, and I admired audacity. Marcus Verger had them both in spades; in a different situation, we might have been friends. It was that thought, and the manners that had been trained into my very soul, that made me nod once and take the arm that he offered. I set the water glass down on a mahogany side table, careful to place it on top of a linen doily. There was no excuse for scarring such lovely wood. As Marcus escorted me through the hallways of his home, I attempted to determine where exactly we were. There were no sounds, no traffic or airplanes. Nothing. That meant we were out in the country and likely not near a highway. This was not good. Not bad, but not good. I wasn't exactly dressed for a late night trek across empty fields. We came to a sweeping staircase and walked down, my hand trailing lightly on the banister.

"We wouldn't happen to be at Muskrat Farm, would we?"

"Why do you ask?"

"I've always wanted to see that house. It is, after all, an intricate part of my family history."

"As it is mine. But since you ask, no. We aren't at Muskrat Farm. I haven't been there since I was a child - there are ghosts in those halls. No, this is my own home."

"It's lovely," I said, assessing the lower story carefully. It was one large, open space at the foot of the stairs, and I noticed Marcus placed a hand at the small of my back to guide me around the stairs and toward the back of the house, away from the front door. I was willing to go along with that, for the time being anyway, and so I devoted myself to appreciating the modern art adorning the walls and the elegant table setting that greeted us as we entered the dining room. I was hungry, but I knew that it was likely that a drug was lurking in the food. Though I wasn't dressed appropriately to make a run for it, I knew that Marcus wouldn't count on my wardrobe keeping me in his home. I had two choices. I could eat the food, enjoy myself and accept being drugged, or I could attempt to deduce which it was, pretend to eat that item and hope that I was right.

"Please, be comfortable," Marcus said, pulling a chair out for me. I smiled and sat down gently, scanning the table casually as I sat. Marcus reached for a bottle of wine and a corkscrew. He turned back to me and handed me the bottle for inspection. As best I could determine, it hadn't been tampered with, but just to be on the safe side I opened the bottle myself, poured a small amount into a crystal glass and handed it to Marcus. Without pause, he took the glass, drained it, and held it out for more. This time I poured us each half a glass and joined him. The fact that neither of us were of age to drink was apparently irrelevant; I certainly wasn't averse to having a glass with dinner. The courses appeared one after the other, and I made certain to mix them thoroughly and to watch until Marcus took the first bite. I kept this up for the first three courses, and finally began to simply accept the food that was served. Marcus noticed immediately.

"Beginning to trust me, Alexandra?"

"You've been very clear with me up until now. You've never drugged me. Knocked me out, kidnapped me, yes. But you've never drugged me. If you were going to do so, you'd have done it by now."

Marcus seemed to accept this, and we continued on with our conversation. It wasn't until dessert that I saw something suspicious. I had memorized the file my father provided me, and I knew that Marcus Verger was allergic to strawberries. And there, on the table before us, was a chocolate dessert with dollops of pink mousse on the top. I was willing to bet a large amount of money that was strawberry mousse, and that only the strawberry mousse was drugged. I knew that Marcus was only mildly allergic, so eating the mousse would likely cause him discomfort of some kind, but wouldn't cause a violent reaction.

Marcus served the dessert himself, and took the first bite, avoiding the mousse. I did the same. By the time my fork reached the mousse, I had a plan. It wasn't a good plan, nor was I certain it would work. But I had to give it a try. Marcus was watching me closely, and I was beginning to think that I would have to eat the mousse and get it over with when his cellular phone went off. I dropped it down the front of my dress. I managed to do this without wincing. I promptly stuck the fork into my mouth.

Marcus turned back, and the mousse was gone. I smiled at him and finished the dessert. He did the same. When the coffee was gone, he escorted me back to my room.

"I assume I'll be spending the night?"

"Naturally. You'll find everything you need in the bathroom attached to your room."

I smiled, and frowned slightly as my limbs began to feel heavier than normal. The lamp that I was looking at seemed farther away, and as I reached for the wall I felt someone catch me before I fell and lift me up. I was being carried down the hall, and I looked back at Marcus, who had managed to sit down in a chair and was now being pulled to his feet by what looked like a bodyguard. He had drugged himself to drug me. I tried to smile, but the darkness claimed me before I could.


I awoke in the same room I had been in before, lying on the same sheets. The only difference was the lack of music. It was not morning as yet, but I was clambering up through the drugs to consciousness. I was neither rested nor exhausted, as has always been the case when I've been drugged in the past. I rolled over and noticed that I was clad in a white silk nightdress. Who had dressed me in it did not bear thinking about. I opened my eyes slowly to see the blank wall and listen to the sounds of night outside the window.

And, in a flash of melodramatic perception, I knew I wasn't alone.

I knew that the moment I opened my eyes. There is a subtle difference in the air whenever another person is in the room, and I knew that someone was watching me sleep. I rolled over slowly and faced the room.

My father was sitting in an armchair near the door.