Author's Note:
I just want to say thank you to everyone for giving this story a chance. Hopefully this chapter will alleviate some of your concerns. :) Thank you also for the reviews and general feedback - I really appreciate it!
He checked the time. Less than one minute left. Gripping the wheel tightly, he squealed around another corner, barely tapping the brakes. The car tried to fishtail, but he kept control. His mouth was grim, his eyes focused on the road as he pressed the gas pedal to the floor. Her face flashed in his mind – a thousand memories. Of her smile, her laugh. The way she took his shit and gave it right back. The way he knew she was the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.
When he reached the building, he threw the car in park and jumped out, leaving the engine running and the door open. His heart in his throat, he hit the ground running.
And the world exploded.
"Luuuluuuu!"
Dante jerked awake, covered in sweat. Struggling to clear his mind, he ran a hand through damp hair and tried to catch his breath. The dream was always the same, always a replay of the night Lulu had been strapped to a bomb by a psychotic artist. Always the same race in the car, the fury and terror in his heart. Always with one difference. In the dream, he was too late.
He leaned back, letting his head fall against the wall with a thud. The nightmare had started up again almost a year ago. Right around the time he'd begun to fear for her life again.
Shaking his head, Dante slowly got to his feet. The dreams exhausted him, left him feeling empty and helpless. He was desperate for coffee, though he'd been practically living on the stuff lately. Rubbing the back of his neck, he brought his head up and met Lulu's wary eyes.
She stood in her bedroom doorway, wrapped in the fluffy pink robe he'd gotten for her as a late Valentine's Day present last year. Her face was clear of makeup, her hair was a mess. She'd never looked more beautiful. It hurt to look at her, to see the look in her eyes that told him how badly he'd messed up. To think he might never have her back, tease her, tickle her, make her laugh, give her a foot rub, give her everything she'd ever wanted. The sun streamed in through her window, making her hair glow, and his heart stuttered. The moment was dragging on too long. He needed to say something, but his mind was blank.
Lulu broke the silence first, her voice thick with sleep. "Some dream," she said, watching him closely. In fact, she'd been watching since before he'd even woken. She'd opened the door to find him sleeping in her hallway. No, not sleeping, she realized, but struggling to wake up. His fists were clenched, his mouth set. And then he'd said her name.
She was stupefied. What could he possibly be dreaming about that would cause that kind of tremor in his voice? And now he was staring at her so intently that she began to fidget, tightening the belt of her robe and stuffing her hands into the deep pockets.
"Yeah," he said, trying to sound casual. "I don't really remember it." He stuck his own hands in the pockets of his jeans. "Got any more coffee? That stuff last night was fantastic."
Lulu just looked at him for another moment. So he didn't remember. She didn't believe that for one second, but she also wasn't going to press him for details only to be humiliated when he refused to tell her. Again. She felt the old anger rising up again and took a breath before starting down the hallway. Taking that as a yes, Dante followed her into the kitchen and took a seat at the stool as she began the coffee preparations. She shot him an annoyed look over her shoulder as he sat there silently, watching her with a small smile on his face. She busied herself at the counter until there was nothing left to do, and she finally whirled around.
"What?" she asked through gritted teeth, putting her hands on her hips.
"Nothing," Dante shrugged. "It's just…nice. I've missed seeing you like this." He wasn't smiling any longer. "I've missed seeing you period," he said quietly.
She wanted to scream. She stepped forward, furious with him, and with herself for letting him get to her. "Let me be clear, Dante," she said coolly. "What happened last night was a mistake that I have no intention of repeating." Her voice was low, and he didn't doubt her sincerity. He knew she meant it. He also knew he would change her mind.
"Furthermore, I expect some answers. You and Lucky showed up here with no warning, and no explanation but some vague danger that I'm supposedly in. I will tolerate you being here because I know you and Lucky work well together. But that's it," she continued, her voice beginning to rise. "You will not kiss me, you will not touch me, and you most certainly will not watch me make coffee like…like…" she trailed off, and Dante smirked.
"Like what?" he asked, loving everything about her. "Like someone who likes coffee a lot? Or gorgeous women with bed head?"
Steam would start blowing out of her ears any moment, she was certain of it. "Like a lover, you idiot!" Her eyes welled with tears, and she saw the amusement on his face fade to panic.
"Baby, don't cry," Dante started towards her, only to stop in his tracks when she held her arm out, pressing a palm against his chest.
"And you will not," she managed, tossing her hair, "call me baby." She shoved past him, and past Lucky, who was standing silently in the doorway, his hair still wet from his shower.
Lucky raised an eyebrow at Dante. "I see you haven't lost your touch," he said sarcastically, and Dante glared. "You've got to tell her, man."
Dante poured a steaming cup of coffee for his partner before taking one himself and sitting down again. "I know," he sighed. "I know. I just - " he jumped up at the strangled cry coming from the living room, and was a step ahead of Lucky as they raced down the hallway.
They found her staring down at the floor. Lucky wrapped an arm around her shoulders and led her to the sofa, giving Dante a look, as if to say, no time like the present.
"Shit," Dante muttered, and snatched up the photograph that was lying on the floor. It must have been slipped under the door during the night, and he cursed himself for not checking the place out before Lulu had had a chance to find it.
The photo was of Lulu, in the dress she'd been wearing last night. He looked closer, and his mouth went dry as he realized it wasn't just the dress. Everything was the same. The photo had been taken and developed last night. But not before some asshole computer genius had tampered with it. Dante thought she must have been laughing in the original photo, but she certainly wasn't in the one he was holding now. Her mouth was twisted open in silent agony, and blood covered her face and hair. Dante fought the rising bile in his throat as he forced himself to examine every inch of the doctored photograph. He frowned as he took in the rest of it, and the other woman standing with Lulu, a knife stuck in her back, more blood. God, so much blood.
"Who's this?" he asked, handing the picture to Lucky, who sat with a shocked Lulu on the couch. Lucky took it and looked only briefly before his eyes flashed up to Lulu's. The fear pumped off of them in waves, and Dante realized it could only be one person.
They sprang up, and flew into action. Within five minutes they were pounding down the stairs and hailing a taxi.
Lulu sat in the back with Lucky, clutching his hand. "Did you try calling her?" she asked, afraid to hear the answer. She fought to hold in the moan when Lucky nodded grimly. He gripped her hand tighter.
"She'll be fine, Lu," he whispered. "She'll be fine."
Dante sat in front and listened, praying that the first time he saw Lulu's mother wouldn't be at a crime scene.
He thought of the file he and Lucky had brought with them to Paris. The file he'd spent months adding to, pulling apart, putting back together again. He thought of the first photo he'd gotten in the mail, the day after Brenda had come to Port Charles. Lulu had been alone in it. Alone, and in Dante's loft, wearing nothing but a pair of white cotton boy-cut panties. He remembered the moment vividly. He'd been cooking dinner, and she'd waltzed out with that smile on her face. He'd burned the sauce that night.
Dante closed his eyes. The bastard had gotten a shot of her through the window somehow, though there were no buildings nearby that seemed to have any kind of view of his apartment. The first one hadn't been tampered with. Just a picture of a gorgeous, topless woman with a seductive grin. Harmless. But for the writing in one corner.
Pretty girl, Detective.
He'd gone crazy. Tearing the place apart. Running around to neighboring buildings, never able to figure out out where the cameraman had been.
And he'd pushed her away. Hiding his fear, masking it so that she thought it was another woman causing the distance between them. Okay, maybe it hadn't been the right way to handle everything, but it had worked. He tried not to remember the night she'd left him. She had begged him to tell her the truth, and he hadn't been able to. He hadn't been able to admit out loud that she was being stalked. The photos were coming at least twice a week by that point. Every nerve ending he had was on edge. She needed to be as far away from him as possible.
The hole that had torn open in his heart that last night had mended slightly when he'd heard she'd gone to France. If she wasn't in his life, she wasn't going to be harmed, he reasoned. That was all that was important. He'd told himself that, over and over, even as he wrestled insomnia, and started drinking too much. The night she'd left, she'd thrown one of her perfume bottles against the wall. When she'd gone, he'd mopped up the mess with a dishtowel. The towel lay on his bed to this day, still unwashed.
Months went by. The pictures stopped coming. He allowed himself to breath. He even did some light checking up on her. And the very next day, a plain white envelope had been left on his desk at work. He'd opened it with shaking hands. The picture was identical to the first one. His heart literally stopped as he realized the words were the same, but written in French.
Belle femme, le détective.
The taxi screeched to a halt, jolting Dante out of his memory. He tossed money at the driver and met Lulu and Lucky outside of Laura's building. Lucky was already ringing the doorbell.
They waited.