Chapter 10: High Limits, High Risk

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Rachel stepped back from the clean surface of her vanity with a feeling of pride. It was about time she decluttered. She settled down on her bedroom floor to sort and seal up three boxes of discarded cosmetics and skincare products, many of which had never been opened. It was sunset by the time she had finished her project, but it was well worth every hour.

Rachel stood up and reached into her desk drawer to find the address of the local women's shelter where they were accepting donations. Her heart sank a bit as she recalled a time when her own mother had taken her and Nicki to stay at Bethlehem Haven in downtown Pittsburgh.

She was startled by a knock on her door. Assuming it was Fletcher, she opened the door, ready to tackle her son with a hug. Her heart caught in her throat when she instead found the stoic face of her bodyguard on the other side.

"What do you want?" she asked curtly.

"Can I come inside?" The warm red glow of sunset from the windows glistened in his eyes. She normally would have told him to go pound salt, but there was something so arrestingly intimate about the fact that he wanted to enter her bedroom out of nowhere. Intrigued, she wordlessly stepped aside to let him in.

She followed the direction of his gaze as he glanced around the room, taking in the boxes by her vanity, the collection of dolls by her bed, the stack of sordid romance novels on her nightstand. Her heartbeat hastened as he walked across the floorboards, his eyes narrowed as he squatted down to inspect the faint red stain on the area rug in the center of her room. He looked up at her in concern and she explained, "It's just nail polish."

He seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, then quickly got back up to his feet. He moved to the other side of her room and opened her closet door first, then her bathroom door, with all the confident force of one to whom the bedroom belonged. But it wasn't his.

Rachel cleared her throat pointedly as she watched him step inside her bathroom. "Setting up cameras in my shower now, Farmer?"

"No," his answer echoed from the small, tiled room. He emerged again, reaching into his inside jacket pocket to pull out a piece of paper and a pen. "I need to get an idea of the layout of the house." He held the paper up to her wall and made some sideways scribbles on it with his pen.

Once he was satisfied, he folded up the piece of paper, tucked it back into his pocket, clicked his pen and muttered "Thanks" before he left.

Rachel stood in her place, staring at the spot where he'd just been standing, confused and annoyed, and somehow wishing he had stayed longer to inspect every wall and window.

Curious, she peeked out into the hall just in time to see Fletcher welcome Frank into his room next. She was about to follow him when she noticed the dead flowers in the vase on the hallway table. Shaking her head in disapproval, she reached over to gather the sorry bouquet, ready to berate whomever was responsible for not replacing the flowers sooner. That was when she saw the stack of papers right next to the vase.

On the top piece of paper was an elementary sketch of the lowest level of the mansion. A mess of semi-straight lines and squares in black ink, which made up a rough 2D blueprint of the house. It was marked up with illegible words, and mysterious 'X's' – perhaps where he'd identified weaknesses in the structure, or possible points of entry.

Underneath the top page was another piece of paper, one which had been printed from a computer: a column of small checkboxes, neatly labeled with various nouns in sans-serif font. Rachel tilted her head to read the first few on the list: 'phone lines,' 'cable,' 'promenade,' 'upper balconies,' 'lower balconies,' 'car ports…' The list went on and on; some spots Rachel herself wouldn't have even thought of having been compromised. She didn't know whether to feel disturbed or comforted by his attention to detail. She was in awe of this man's idiosyncrasies, which both frustrated and fascinated her.

Maybe, just maybe, he was worth three grand a week.

}0{

Rachel smothered her son as soon as she arrived home on Saturday afternoon. He was glad to see her, and she savored the closeness with him. Not every teenager was so attached to his mama, and she counted her blessings every day that she had been lucky enough to have such a wonderful son. She told him that the rest of the day was all his. He had asked to go visit the zoo. She rounded up Scott and Bill, and they all went along with Fletcher's plan for the day. She had hoped spending some quality time with him would make up for how guilty she felt.

"Flamingos are funny looking, aren't they?" Fletcher asked his mom as he leaned over the railing to watch the tall pink birds splashing in the pond.

"They probably think you're funny looking," Rachel poked him. He rolled his eyes and laughed.

"I know what your favorite animal is," he said with a grin as they approached the lion enclosure. High up on a flat gray rock, a majestic lioness yawned in the broad sunlight.

"I love the lions," Rachel agreed. "They're so beautiful."

Fletcher nodded, watching as a male lion emerged from its hiding spot behind a thicket of trees and approached the female. It seemed to survey their surroundings with a protective eye before settling down beside its mate.

She and Fletcher leaned against the glass wall, watching the lazy pair of lions for a while in wonder, chatting amongst themselves. Rachel glanced over her shoulder to see where Bill and Scott were hanging back, in a conversation of their own. Suddenly she felt self-conscious, almost certain they were discussing her behavior at the hotel.

Rachel turned away, pretending not to be bothered. This was a time for relaxing with her son; she wasn't about to let them get to her. She shifted uncomfortably, trying to ignore the oddly heavy weight of her cell phone where it rested in her purse. She couldn't remember the last time she had felt that telltale vibration. She hated herself for peeking inside her purse to check. She hated the quiet agony she felt when she saw that there were still no missed messages from him.

All the rest of the day, Rachel felt distracted. She was only half there while she shared a bowl of ice cream with Fletcher, laughed at Bill as he attempted to feed the giraffes, and gave the occasional obligatory wave to a fan who recognized her from afar. They stayed in the zoo until closing time, and only then did her distraction turn into anger.

On the ride home, Rachel was quiet. Fletcher hadn't been too bothered by his mom's uncharacteristic silence as he rattled off some of the plans he'd made with friends over Christmas break. Her spirits were lifted when she felt her phone vibrate in her purse. A few precious minutes passed where she laughed and engaged in conversation with the others in the car, until she peeked to see who the text was from.

It was Tina.

Hope you made it back to Cali safe and sound!

Rachel sent a quick reply and sank back into her private depression.

She knew she was acting petty. She knew she was better than this. But she was mad. Mad that he didn't even care to text her after everything that had happened between them. She couldn't just seem to move on after seeing Frank again. He occupied about eighty percent of her head space, and the other twenty percent was just trying to make Fletcher happy.

At six o'clock they arrived back at her mansion, and Fletcher requested pizza for dinner. Because her baby was getting everything he wanted today, Rachel called to place the orders. Maybe the fact that she was so hangry was why she couldn't wait any longer. She finally caved and texted Frank.

I feel bad I didn't get to say goodbye.

His replies didn't normally arrive right away. So she was surprised when she received a text back almost instantly.

I didn't realize you'd flown back already.

Her entire mood lifted in the one second it had taken her to read it. He hadn't ignored her on purpose. She was ashamed of how relieved she felt.

Shortly after she read his first text, he sent another.

Can I call you tonight?

Rachel felt a current of excitement rush through her as she answered back with a simple 'yes.'

Fletcher noticed his mom with her face down in her phone. "What are you so smiley about?" he asked with a suspicious grin.

"It's nothin'," Rachel lied as she flipped her phone shut. She was sure Fletcher would have kept pressing for information, but the conversation was forgotten as the security guard announced the arrival of their pizza.

Rachel fully relaxed for the first time all day, enjoying the company of her son as they ate dinner together out on the balcony.

"How many pieces is that for you now, Fletcher?" she asked in disbelief as she watched another slice of pizza disappear from his hand.

"Six," Fletcher replied proudly.

Rachel shook her head. "Don't give yourself a belly ache, now."

"I'm not a kid anymore, Ma. I don't get belly aches."

Rachel smirked as she took a sip of her diet coke. "Whatever."

"So, what'd you do in Pittsburgh that whole time if you never ended up singing in that concert?" Fletcher asked.

She hadn't anticipated the question, so she found herself at a loss for words. "Well . . . I guess I just went to the dress rehearsals, and uh . . . went swimming, and . . . yeah."

Her son was no idiot. His eyes were trained on hers, searching for some nonverbal meaning behind her fragmented excuse of an answer. "I thought you said Frank was there."

"Oh, yeah," Rachel feigned nonchalance. "Yeah, he was there."

"So you spent some time with him?" Fletcher sounded hopeful.

"A little bit," Rachel replied before noting the forlorn look on her son's face. "He was busy, honey. He was working."

She decided to conveniently leave out the dinners they'd had together, the impromptu dance they'd shared, the flirtatious text exchanges, and most especially the several heated hours she'd spent in his hotel room. She also excluded the fact that Frank was the one who had discovered the bomb threat which had caused her trip to end early. Fletcher didn't need to know all of that.

Pushing down her guilt yet again, Rachel changed the subject. "I have an idea. How about you and me go play some video games together?"

Fletcher couldn't help but laugh as he chewed the crust of his final slice of pizza. "Are you serious? You hate video games."

"I said it was gonna be your day, didn't I?"

Fletcher grinned. "GTA?"

Rachel resisted the urge to cringe as she shrugged. "GTA it is."

}0{

"You know how much gas it'll take you to get from here to Vegas in that thing?" Devaney pointed to Rachel's limousine in outrage. Rachel couldn't bother to even look affected as she stepped onto the cobblestone drive, dressed in a shimmering gold and black dress and three inch heels.

"I haven't seen my girls in almost six months," Rachel whined. "Besides, it's too late to get a flight."

A heated argument had broken out amongst Rachel and her manager a few minutes prior as to whether driving to spend an evening in Las Vegas just to meet up with a couple of her friends was worth the hassle. As it happened, using a limousine for a three hour drive across state lines wasn't enough of a deterrent for Rachel, who always got her way.

Tony seemed excited for the spur of the moment trip, and Sy was naturally always thrilled for Rachel to be seen in high profile places. Nicki had reluctantly agreed to come along, though she had insisted she wasn't keen on gambling, and Henry had agreed to drive them without a flinch. Frank was continually impressed by the young man's commitment to his simple yet tiring job as Rachel's chauffeur.

Everywhere Rachel seemed to want to go was a place Frank would have never normally set foot on his own. She seemed to pick the most hectic venues imaginable — loud bars, cramp restaurants, crowded parks — always places where it would be hardest for him to do his job. After the first couple weeks of working for her, he began to wonder if she was doing it on purpose.

The drive was torturous. If he had to listen to any more pop music, he was going to put a bullet in his own ears.

It was a different world with a celebrity. While a president or diplomat would certainly be recognized everywhere he went, there was at least usually an understood sense of decorum and respect among the crowd. People seemed to lose all decency when a superstar walked into the room. He had already needed to aggressively block two women and one man from physically throwing themselves at Rachel when she and her entourage entered the Bellagio.

When the guards had stopped her to check her ID at the entry point to the casino, Rachel flirtatiously waved them off as if they were flattering her on purpose. She had every one of the guards melting in the palm of her hand by the time their short conversation was over. As soon as they made it through the checkpoint, Frank pulled Rachel aside.

"Rachel, make sure you stay with Tony tonight. I'll be here, but I'm going to need to check exits and cameras first."

He had thought she would be thrilled that he wasn't going to be pasted to her side all night, but on the contrary she looked agitated. "Exits and cameras?" she repeated.

He explained as patiently as possible, "Yes, when we're at a new venue, I need to check in with the building's security office and familiarize myself with the easiest escape route in case something should happen."

Her lingering look of confusion told him all he needed to know. Tony never did those sorts of things when they went out. Suddenly, Frank felt a twist of nerves in the pit of his stomach.

"We also should probably have… a word that you could use… You know, if you're in a situation and you need me to intervene." He knew it was a risky suggestion. He held his breath as he waited for her to shut him down.

She again surprised him with a reaction that was not at all hostile. A devilish grin broke across her red lips as she lowered her voice. "You mean like a safeword?"

Frank's brows knitted together, though he had some inkling from context clues what her reference had meant. He cleared his throat. "...Like a code word."

It happened every time. Every time he tried to help her understand the precautions they needed to take, she twisted the conversation and either played up the implication that he was demanding something inappropriate of her, or that what he was suggesting was ridiculous and not worth taking seriously.

Still smiling impishly at him, she touched his forearm and murmured, "Well, you get back to me when you think of our word, Farmer."

He squeezed his eyes shut in frustration as she walked away from him.

The excessive marble pillars, the dizzying carpets, the mirrored walls, the blinking lights and clinking sounds of slot machines from every direction – he hated it all. He felt like a ball in a pinball machine. Every suspicious glance from a stranger was like the trigger that set him off, and he had to work tirelessly to keep from sliding down the pitfall.

Rachel sauntered around in her skimpy outfit, which in Frank's opinion looked like someone had pasted gold Christmas tree tinsel only onto the places which were necessary to cover. Nicki, in contrast, had dressed much more modestly – enough to look as if she could have been Rachel's mother and not her sister. She frowned the entire time, a glaring upset to Rachel's brilliant smile. They could not be more opposite to one another if they'd tried.

Frank followed several paces behind Rachel and her group, as her friends and fans alike seemed to create an impenetrable cloud around her wherever she traveled. Despite the chaos, he never let her out of his sight. She was the glowing nucleus to her circle, and in her golden dress she seemed to become a beacon of her own light in the dimly lit casino.

As he observed her group over the course of time, they began to take shape as unique personalities and not just names with faces attached. Sy was almost always mingling with people that he seemed to know, his signature cocky smirk plastered in place. Nicki would occasionally break her pout to give a forced smile if she thought that someone was looking, and she only seemed to speak if spoken to first. Tony seemed as much a friendly older brother to Rachel as he was a protector. He didn't seem to care how many people crowded around his principal, he only seemed concerned with keeping her happy. He laughed at all of her jokes, made sure her drink never got empty, and helped clear a path for her when she wanted to change direction.

Not one of them was aware of anything that was happening outside of their eight foot radius.

What Frank found the most irritating was when strange men approached her. Rachel was not shy around the opposite sex, and she seemed to welcome male visitors to her group so long as they were good looking and well-dressed enough to be seen in her vicinity. A star she certainly was, in the swirling galaxy that was the crowded casino, eclipsed by all of the simpering bachelors caught in her orbit. Any one of them could have been the stalker who had written those letters, and she would have no idea.

It angered him to think of how deceived she had been. Perhaps in some way it wasn't her fault that she was so whimsical with her travels. She hadn't the faintest clue how serious those threats had gotten. She hadn't read those violent notes or seen those graphic illustrations. It was a painful situation all around, and he deeply regretted taking this job.

After they made their rounds, they ended up in the high limit room – a long, luxurious space decked with red tartan carpet, cherry colored wainscoting, and golden chandeliers. Rachel insisted on hauling her crew into the poker lounge where they huddled together around the table, tipsy and turbulent. Frank still lingered behind so as to observe the scene from a safer vantage point. Nicki gestured to him shyly, showing that she had saved a space for him. The alcohol had seemed to warm her a bit, and she was smiling about thirty percent more than when they'd first arrived. He gave her a weak smile and shook his head, indicating that he had to maintain a visual from afar.

He circled about the room, occasionally stopping to stand a bit closer to suspicious looking characters, enough that he could overhear their conversations. Of course there were plenty of people who were abuzz with the gossip that Rachel Marron was in the casino tonight. It seemed to spread like wildfire through the place. Frank only wished that he could throw water on such a fire. But it was hopeless.

He charted the room in his head as if it were a map of the ocean, marking each table its own island, and singling out the inhabitants of each island in their designated space. He had made note of the burly pair of men laughing a little too hard near the bar, the gray-haired leather-faced short man in an Armani suit who must have been a business mogul of some sort, and a young blonde woman at the opposite side of Rachel's table who would not stop staring at him. She barely looked old enough to be allowed in the casino.

Frank was so in tune with Rachel's voice, even above all of the chatter and the clamoring noises of coins and machines, he still heard her – her words carried themselves to him like a dove across the flood.

"Where the hell is he?"

She had to beckon only but once and he was at her side. Tony looked petulantly over to watch Frank arrive at their table.

"Oh, there you are, Farmer," Rachel said loudly. "Where have you been? Draining the bar of all their orange juice?"

Her circle of sycophants all laughed at her joke. Half of them, he was certain, didn't even understand the meaning behind it.

"I reached the limit; they won't serve me anymore," Frank said dryly.

Rachel eyed him approvingly before attempting to sneak a glass of bourbon into his hand. "Have a real drink for once."

Her tone was somewhat inviting, and it tempted him. He glanced down at the glass, then at her face, his eyes helplessly drawn to her lips. It was the briefest moment of weakness where he realized she must have reapplied lip gloss at some point during the night. With tense fingers he rejected the glass of alcohol and swallowed hard.

"I'm working."

He tore his eyes away from her face, but he had chosen the wrong direction. In the same moment, they both turned to see the young blonde woman whose attention had remained unwavering on Frank since the start of the night. The color of the woman's cheeks suddenly rivaled the tartan carpet as she looked down at her partner's cards. Frank made the mistake of looking back to Rachel just in time to see her lethal glare.

"Put another five grand down for me," Rachel announced over the table, never taking her eyes away from him.

}0{

He'd almost sensed that she was no longer in the hotel. He didn't have to see her walk out the doors, or hear her confirm that her flight left that morning. He just knew. It was the same as it had been back in Miami. The lack of her presence could be felt in the very air he breathed.

She had not notified him of her departure, and he assumed it was purposeful. It left him feeling emptier than he had in a long time.

He had a conversation in his mind of what to say to Knox before they left. It would be another battle entirely to get the words out. He wondered if he were making the right decision. He wondered so much to the point that he'd already spent months wondering. If Rachel were here, he knew what she would have said.

"Stop thinking and just do it, Farmer."

So that was what he did.

}0{

At around 8:30 P.M., Fletcher had finally had enough of losing out on big reward money due to his mother's lack of skill. As much as she hated Grand Theft Auto, Rachel had to admit it was fun to watch Fletcher get so competitive. He certainly was her son.

Cross-eyed from sitting in front of the flat screen for two hours, Rachel poured herself a coffee and took a walk around the property. The air was cool and the crickets were loud. It was nice to be able to walk outside without a winter coat again.

She waited patiently for Frank's call, growing more anxious with each passing minute. When she considered the time difference, he was nearing midnight on the east coast. Maybe he had forgotten. Maybe he had fallen asleep. Maybe another emergency had occurred and he had to put out the fires.

Just when she was about ready to give up waiting, he sent her a text.

I'll call you in five minutes.

Rachel was suddenly unspeakably nervous. She felt her throat tightening and her heart rate picking up as she turned and began to walk briskly back toward the house. The last time she'd had a phone call with him, it had been to ask him to come do an interview on Sullivan Palmer with her. She recalled how dejected she'd felt when he had refused. Maybe it was just the recollection of a negative memory getting her all worked up. Maybe it was just the coffee. She really ought to switch to decaf.

Rachel closed the doors behind her and quickly ran upstairs to lock herself in her room. She instinctively started to fix her hair despite knowing that he would not be able to see her over a phone call.

She set her phone down on her bed and stepped away as if it were an explosive device.

Damn. Why was a phone call such a big deal to her?

Her ringtone went off a few seconds after she'd put it down. She jolted, and in a moment of panic, she covered her phone with a pillow.

No more fucking caffeine, she made a mental note. With a nervous laugh she shook her head, embarrassed by her own reaction, and threw the pillow aside to answer his call.

"Hey," she answered as casually as possible.

"Hey," he echoed. She couldn't help but smile at the sound of his voice. "So you left without saying goodbye," he accused, a teasing note of hurt in his tone.

Rachel sighed, "It's Devaney's fault. He booked us on the first flight out this morning."

"Well, I'm sure Fletcher didn't complain."

Rachel smiled fondly. "We spent the whole day together."

"What'd you do?"

"Fletcher wanted to go to the zoo. He's still such a little kid," she laughed, flinging herself down on the bed. "We had a nice day."

"You sound relieved to be home," he said.

"The Sheraton Hotel at Pittsburgh in December is hardly a vacation."

"Speaking of vacation…" he started. Rachel was intrigued. He continued, "I'm using up the rest of my vacation days from now through the end of the year. Officially, my contract with the senator will be over starting January first."

After a pause to think, Rachel realized what this implied. "So that means…"

"I'm off work for the foreseeable future."

"Wow, Farmer."

"I told you I wouldn't be with Knox much longer," he said. Rachel started laughing to herself, thinking he couldn't hear her. But of course he picked up on her muffled giggling. "What?"

"I just can't imagine you being off work for even a couple days. What are you gonna do with yourself?"

"That's why I called."

Rachel stopped laughing, curious to hear his reason.

"Would you and Fletcher want to spend Christmas at Dad's cabin in Tahoe?"

Rachel lay still in her bed, looking around her room as she processed his question. "Are you renting it out to me?"

It was his turn to laugh. The sound was glorious, even over the phone. "No," he said warmly. "I'm inviting you."

Her heart skipped a beat.

"You want me and Fletcher to come and spend Christmas with you?" she had to repeat it. She was still stunned.

"I know it's kind of last minute," he said, suddenly sounding a bit bashful. "But I remembered you saying that you didn't have plans for the holidays, and since I decided to use the rest of my vacation, I was likely going to be alone on Christmas anyway."

It crossed her mind then, just for a fraction of a second, that she was the reason he had chosen to use up the rest of his vacation and end his contract early. Not wanting to flatter herself, she didn't dwell on it.

"I'd love to come up for Christmas," she said finally, grinning to herself as she curled up in her bed. "I'll have to talk with Fletcher and see what his plans are. I'm sure he'd love to come, too."

Frank was quiet on the other line for a few moments. When he spoke next, she could hear the hesitation in his voice. "You don't think being there will bring up too many memories for you?"

His question caught her by surprise. She hadn't even thought about it until he mentioned it.

Frank continued, "I understand if you'd rather not–"

"No, I want to," Rachel interrupted confidently, knowing her own resilience. "I think it'll be good for me."

"And Fletcher?" Frank asked quietly.

"I'll talk to him."

"Okay."

Rachel sighed happily. "Frank, I haven't had actual plans for Christmas in years."

"I'm glad you can come." She could hear the joy in his voice.

"So, are you coming back to California then?" she asked hopefully.

"For now. Until I can find work again."

"Will you stay in Chatsworth or move into the cabin?"

"I'm not sure," he said. "Like I said before, I'd like to stay in Tahoe permanently, but I don't know how realistic that will be. It depends on what happens . . . with work."

Rachel thought out loud, "I'll have to tell Pettigrew that I'm coming. If I was going anywhere else he would probably insist on going with me. You're lucky he likes you."

Frank chuckled.

"So what dates were you thinking?" she asked.

"I'll probably head up two or three days before Christmas and stay until at least New Year's Day," he said.

Her heartbeat increased as she glanced at the calendar on her bedroom wall. That was kind of a long time. He wanted her to stay with him for that long?

"It was a long drive, wasn't it?" Rachel recalled.

"It's about eight hours from L.A." He sounded amused. "You slept for almost all of it."

"I don't remember that," Rachel said defensively.

"You wouldn't have remembered, would you? You were asleep," he teased.

"Too bad I don't have Henry anymore," she sighed. "I haven't driven a car in years." She covered her mouth pointlessly, realizing how much of a brat she probably sounded like.

"Rachel, I would obviously pick you up and drive you myself."

She felt a little like melting. It was his use of the word obviously. As if she'd be silly to think otherwise.

"Oh," was all she could say in response.

"We can go over all the details on Monday," he assured her. "I should probably try to sleep. We're supposed to drive out at six A.M. tomorrow."

"Damn. You should have called me earlier," she chided with a laugh. "You'll be lucky to get four hours of sleep."

"I didn't want to interrupt your first day back with Fletcher."

Her heart swelled at his words.

"Goodnight, Rachel."

"Goodnight."

She didn't waste any time before telling Fletcher about Frank's invitation.

His face fell when he realized the dates would coincide with plans he'd already made with friends. "I don't think I can go, Mom," he told her, his voice full of regret.

Rachel inspected her son's eyes as she sat on the edge of his bed. "Is it because of Nicki, honey?"

"No," Fletcher assured quickly, shaking his head. "No, I don't think that would bother me."

He was definitely her son.

"You know you can still drive up for a few days even if you can't make the whole trip," she said. "I'd hate to not spend at least part of Christmas break with you."

"I'd hate that too, Mom. Maybe I can switch some things around."

"Well, let me know, baby." She smoothed her hand over his hair affectionately before rising from the bed.

"Mom?"

"Yeah?"

His dark eyes were imploring. "Can I have Frank's number? I'd like to call him tomorrow and thank him myself."

Rachel swallowed hard and wordlessly entered Frank's contact information into her son's cell phone. She supposed that the idea of spending Christmas and New Year's with Frank Farmer was overwhelming enough, but the act of typing his full name and phone number into Fletcher's phone added a whole other layer of intensity to the situation. She wasn't sure why.

After saying their goodnights, Rachel headed back to her room. The very last thing she did before getting into bed was block off her calendar from Christmas through New Year's Day.

Author's Note: I found it amusing that some of you thought they weren't going to see each other again after the last chapter. Of course I wouldn't do that. This is rated M for a reason, and there are many more chapters to go. Your reviews keep me inspired!

xox, Mack