Anna slept for a few hours and then forced herself to get up, careful not to wake Robert. She showered, dressed, and moved as silently as she could to the kitchen, where, to her great surprise, she found him pouring two cups of coffee and buttering toast.

"What are you doing, Robert?" she asked. "Go back to sleep."

"I'm going in with you," he answered, stirring cream and sugar into his cup. He lifted it to his mouth, took a sip. "But you need to eat something before we go. Take that coffee, and have this toast. I'll make more for myself."

Anna accepted the coffee, waved away the toast. It was too early, and she felt slightly nauseous from lack of sleep. "You don't need to come in with me. Today will be anarchy and confusion. I'm not sure what exactly I'd ask you to help me with."

Robert looked at her the way he often did, in that "serious" way, his head inclined slightly downward, his gaze up toward and levelled at her. "That doesn't matter. I'm coming with you."

Anna understood what he meant. He was coming to protect her. She sighed. "I'll just be co-ordinating the investigations and getting updates. I won't be doing anything dangerous. I'll be stuck in the office all day. What are you going to do, perch yourself in the corner, frisk everyone who enters? I'll be fine. Get some more sleep and come in later. Let me give you an update once I know something more."

Robert stared at her for a moment, said nothing, then took a large bite from his toast. He chewed mechanically, looked at her defiantly.

Anna knew she wasn't going to win this battle. She turned away, took her coffee into the living room, and made her first call of the day.

They arrived at the station forty minutes later. As predicted, the PCPD was in a state of barely controlled pandemonium. For the first three hours she was in the office, Anna was brought up to speed on the forensic evidence gathered overnight at the crime scenes and the current medical status of the shooting victims who'd managed to survive. Ava Jerome's good Samaritan hadn't been seriously injured, was recovering well, and had provided a description of his and Ava's assailants. Unfortunately it was non-specific to the point of being completely unhelpful. The shooter was Caucasian, clean cut, of average height (maybe five feet, nine inches), with brown hair; the woman was slightly shorter, Caucasian, a brunette, her hair pulled back into a ponytail, with no distinguishing features. Both Ava and her rescuer doubted they could positively identify either. The man who was shot was at too much of a distance to see them clearly, and Ava told investigating officers she'd been in such shock once she realized the man held a gun that details of their appearance simply hadn't registered. Security video of the hallway added nothing to their vague descriptions. It was almost as though the shooters had been selected for their generic looks.

As for Julian Jerome, he was still unconscious. He'd lost a lot of blood, but the bullet had miraculously avoided his heart, major blood vessels, and lungs, so his prognosis was good. Two guards were posted at his hospital door, and all staff authorized to treat him had been assigned photo-identification badges. Ava had arrived at the hospital early in the morning and had been at his bedside throughout the night. The PCPD had to hope that he could provide a better description than his sister of the person or persons who'd tried to kill him. Anna had been shown security footage from the parking garage, which clearly showed Julian being shot; unfortunately the place from which the gun was fired was in shadow.

In short, there was almost no evidence to work from—vague witness descriptions, little crime-scene evidence. The bullets had been retrieved and their ballistic fingerprints would be examined, but odds were that investigators would find nothing similar in police databases. And the shooters would by now almost certainly have disposed of their weapons.

Anna sat at her desk as investigator after investigator entered the office, delivered his or her depressing news, and left. Robert sat off to the side, listening but not contributing, trying to stay out of the way, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. He understood that he was in danger of cramping Anna's style, of making her feel scrutinized and judged. He didn't want her kicking him out. He wanted to be close by.

But when Scotty Baldwin arrived to confront Anna, Robert knew she wouldn't let him stay to witness the carnage and, more importantly, wouldn't risk Robert's holy rage against the D.A. Baldwin threw open the office door unannounced, without knocking, and in the middle of a briefing practically screamed, "What the hell is going on, Devane? Tell me you have suspects. What is the state of this investigation? I want answers now!"

Anna calmly waved the reporting officer in the direction of the door. She looked at Robert in the way she often did, in that "serious" way, her eyebrows arched, her eyes glittering. She shot the door a look without moving her head and then looked back at him. Robert understood, got up, and left. He decided to occupy his time doing something useful. He wondered if the requisitions and stores department was still in the basement and headed off to find out.

"Mr. D.A.," Anna began; "how can I help you?"

Scotty sneered. "Honestly, Commissioner, I doubt that you can. Five shootings in the space of an hour. I'd say it all happened on your watch, but actually it happened while you were drinking and dancing at a club with your geriatric ex-husband."

"I wouldn't say that to his face," Anna muttered under her breath. Then louder, "I had worked a ten-hour shift earlier that day, Mr. Baldwin. And I worked through most of the very early morning after my—I don't know, shall we call it 'brief debauchery' of the evening before? If you're changing the terms of my employment, requiring twenty-four-hour shifts seven days a week, I may reconsider my contract with the city."

"I wouldn't care if you worked two hours a day if you actually got something done," Baldwin growled. "So tell me, what have you found out? And you'd better make this good, 'cause I'm inclined to be critical."

Anna took a deep breath and proceeded to tell Scotty Baldwin every discouraging bit of information she'd just been told by her officers.

When Robert arrived back at Anna's office, bearing what he knew would be an unwelcomed gift, he asked her assistant Rubin if it was safe to enter. Rubin looked at Robert blankly. "She's not there. She stepped out about ten minutes ago."

Robert wasn't happy. "Stepped out? Stepped out where?"

Rubin shrugged. "I don't know. She said she needed some fresh air, so I assume she left the building. I think she may have been upset after her meeting with D.A. Baldwin. He and the Commissioner don't get along very well."

Robert threw what he was carrying on Rubin's desk and went to get his coat.

Anna opened the door to Kelly's. The walk over hadn't completely settled her nerves; she was bristling with frustration and anger after her conversation with Scott Baldwin. In the middle of their confrontation, she'd indulged in a brief fantasy: in it, she extended her arms and grabbed him around the throat, squeezing in just the right way (taught to her by Shaun Donnely when she'd first joined the WSB) to kill him quickly, efficiently, and silently. After he'd left, she decided to go for a walk, partly to get away, partly to work off her murderous energy.

What she needed was another coffee—a big coffee, and maybe a doughnut. Or maybe chocolate cake. Sugar would help keep her sane. She ordered, then turned and leaned against the counter. She looked around the restaurant and noticed Elizabeth Beaty seated not far away. Anna thought back to the evening before, to seeing Elizabeth at the table as she was walking back, to seeing Robert's expression and wondering about it before her phone rang and everything went to hell in a handcart. She contemplated again what might have passed between them.

Anna made a quick decision. She walked up to Elizabeth's table and smiled. "Ms. Beaty," she said. "I'm Police Commissioner Anna Devane." She extended her hand. "I thought it was about time I introduced myself, since I assigned Carolyn Thompson's cold case to the PCPD's special consultant Agent Scorpio. I understand you've been speaking to him about the disappearance of your friend."

Elizabeth smiled back, stood, and shook Anna's hand. As she did so, Anna noticed with annoyance that Elizabeth's hairstyle was identical to her own and, most irritating, more flattering on the other woman. Anna resolved to grow her hair long again.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Devane," Elizabeth replied. "Would you like to have a seat?"

"Thank you," Anna accepted; "just for a few minutes. I have to get back to the office."

The two women faced each other. Elizabeth picked up her coffee and held it in her hands. "Yes, I have been helping Robert with his investigation." Anna noted the familiarity Elizabeth implied in the use of the name. "I know Stephen is grateful that the PCPD is looking again at Carolyn's case. Her disappearance was such a shock to everyone."

Anna forced another smile. "I noticed that you were at the opening of the new club down by the waterfront last night. Did you attend with your friend Stephen?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "No, I was there alone. I don't allow the lack of an escort to curtail my social activities. The opening sounded fun, so . . . ." She shrugged her shoulders. "You and Robert seemed to enjoy yourselves. He's obviously a wonderful dancer."

"And conversationalist?" Anna asked. "I noticed the two of you talking. Were you discussing the case?"

Elizabeth looked down, laughed, bit her lip. Anna felt a chill run through her body. "No," Elizabeth told her; "we weren't discussing the case. I was telling him about my past, my studies at university. It was all just idle chit-chat. Nothing too serious or important."

Anna looked at the bag hanging over Elizabeth's chair. It was a messenger bag, a slight variation on the one slung diagonally over Anna's own shoulder. It was lovely but didn't seem Elizabeth's style.

"Commissioner Devane?" It was the woman at the counter. "Your order is ready."

Anna stood, smiled apologetically. "I'm afraid I have to leave, Ms. Beaty. But it was a pleasure finally to meet you. I hope we're able to determine what happened to Miss Thompson, and both Agent Scorpio and I appreciate your co-operation." Anna backed away from the table, picked up her take-away, and headed for the door. When she was outside, she paused for a moment, breathing in the brisk, clean air, steadying nerves not yet recovered from her confrontation with Scott Baldwin and freshly jangled by her encounter with Elizabeth.

Anna had only briefly observed the woman during her first meeting with Robert weeks before, but she was certain this Elizabeth wasn't exactly the same woman who had arrived in Port Charles. She was different somehow. And disturbingly similar.

As she was walking back to the station, trying to work it all out, Anna, head down, almost literally ran into Robert, interrupting her train of thought. He looked unhappy, and Anna guessed why. She decided to ignore his obvious irritation and keep the tone of conversation light. "Robert. Hi. I picked up a coffee for you. It's in this bag." She grinned at him. "Cream and sugar. Just like you like. For you. In here."

Robert stared at her for a moment, took her arm, and began walking her back to the office.

They passed the distance in almost complete silence. Anna repeatedly tried to initiate light banter, but Robert wouldn't bite, kept silent. It was only once they were back in the office, door shut behind them, that he spoke.

"What the hell were you doing, going out without telling anyone where you were? Given what's just happened in this town, you shouldn't be traipsing off on your own without an escort ever. What were you thinking?"

Anna became immediately incensed. "It's broad daylight, Robert, and I walked five blocks to the waterfront to clear my head. At no point was I in any danger, nor was I doing anything that could possibly be construed as reckless. You're out of line here."

"We don't know for certain that you aren't in danger, that you aren't a target."

Anna narrowed her eyes. "Everyone shot last night was involved in the mob. I, in contrast, am neither a mobster nor a moll. I don't think I'm a target."

Robert spun on his heel, walked out of the office, and returned with the item he'd collected from stores. "If you insist on going walk-about without a bodyguard, at least put this on."

Anna looked at what he was holding. It was a bullet-proof vest. "I see absolutely no reason to wear that on a simple stroll to the coffee shop."

"Under your coat, Anna. No one will know you have it on."

Anna sucked her teeth, frustrated. "At least three of our victims were shot in the head. Next you'll be wanting me to wear a Kevlar toque everywhere."

"You mean a Kevlar knit cap. And don't tempt me."

"Whatever. Robert, the fact that you're old enough to be my father does not give you the right to treat me like a child."

"First of all, I am not old enough to be your father, dear—I'm only eleven years older than you—"

"Thirteen. I've see your passport."

"—and I was not that precocious. Second, I am not treating you like a child, though you are acting like one."

Anna began to pace in irritation. "You've treated me like a child from the moment we first met."

"You were practically a child back then, playing dress-up, playing grown-up games you didn't understand."

Anna balled her hands into fists, exasperated. "Not Paris again! Never Paris, Robert—never Paris again!"

"You haven't always listened to me or taken my advice, but you could do now. You could trust me. As someone older and wiser, although emphatically not old enough to be your father."

Anna stared hard at him. "Do I have a choice?"

Robert stared back. "I have two simple requests. Number one: don't go out on your own. Number two: if you must, wear the damned vest."

"There's no reason."

"To humour me?"

There was a knock at the door. "Come in," Anna called. It was Rubin. "Your twelve o'clock is here. Can I send him in?"

Robert gave her one final glare, stood down, and turned to leave. But then he paused, walked back to Anna's desk, opened the bag from Kelly's, retrieved his coffee, and walked out of Anna's office without giving her another glance.

Still upset, Robert stayed out of Anna's way for the rest if the afternoon. Despite his anger, however, he was concerned enough that, from his desk, he kept a careful eye on who entered and exited her office. As he kept watch, he contemplated what to do with the knowledge that Elizabeth was responsible for her husband's death—or rather, that someone, likely her father, had arranged for the WSB to kill him. Robert phoned Emma to check that she was okay. She told him that she was fine but wouldn't be doing him any more favours. Robert was on his own.

It was all probably for the best. It was good to be reminded that, although a few select individuals within the Bureau could be trusted, the WSB as a whole couldn't. After all, they'd handed over his file to a third party. And the real file, as Elizabeth had stressed, not his official dossier. Robert wondered how he might get hold of a copy and whether it contained any information he himself didn't know.

Would Elizabeth have a copy of the file in her suite, Robert wondered. He wasn't naive enough to think she would have only the one copy—she was blackmailing him with it, after all, and was surely smart enough to have two or three duplicates hidden in secure locations. He would like to know exactly what the file contained, whether it was the truth or another of the Bureau's many lies. He didn't want to fight a lie without knowing what it was. But he'd rather Anna never even learned the truth, though he imagined she might forgive him. She was more generous than he.

He could break into Elizabeth's suite. But there was no guarantee the file was there. It was probably in a safety deposit box somewhere in town. He had no choice but to ask Elizabeth to see it. He could tell her he wanted to confirm her claims, her threats. Then he'd have to choose: to keep quiet, or to confess everything to Anna and hope she understood.

Staring at the door to Anna's office, Robert asked himself what exactly he stood to gain by confessing. The PCPD would never be able to arrest Elizabeth; they had no hard evidence to take to court. She would never be held accountable for her crime even if Robert refused to give in to her blackmail. Next Robert asked himself what he stood to lose. Everything, he realized. Right now, Anna was everything to him.

Still, he'd ask to see the file.

To make contact with Elizabeth, Robert left the station, walked down to the waterfront, made his call there. He returned to the station a couple of hours later to find Anna still in her office and still in meetings. Rubin informed Robert that the coroner, her last appointment of the day, was coming to report at 7:00. Then Rubin handed him a folded note. "She asked me to give this to you," he told Robert. "I don't know why she didn't just send you a text."

Robert went to his desk, sat down, opened the note. It was folded four times vertically, not three, code for "writer in no immediate danger." The margins were unusually wide, code for "no immediate threat foreseen to the reader." The text—well, the text was almost meaningless. She would be busy until after 7:00, would meet Robert at the apartment, would appreciate him picking up dinner and a bottle of wine on the way home. At the bottom, her signature. Signatures were important in WSB code. A radically altered signature signified a trick, a ruse, a trap: the reader should beware. Robert and Anna had developed their own private signature code when they were agents. They'd agreed to use subtle embellishments when they wrote to each other, encoding the simple message "I love you." Anna's embellishment was a slight curl in the line from the final "a" of her first name. Robert saw it now in her signature on the note. He folded up the paper again, shoved it in the pocket of his coat, and headed home.

It was 8:30 when Anna finally opened the door to the apartment, threw her keys onto the side table, shut the door behind her, and leaned up against it in exhaustion. She closed her eyes for a moment, grateful to be home again. She removed her bag, put it in the hall closet.

"You look tired." Robert had appeared. "Let me help you." He came up to her, began unbuttoning her coat. Underneath he found the bullet-proof vest.

Anna smiled, shrugged. "I'm humouring you. Don't get used to it."

He helped her off with the vest as well. They walked into the living room, Robert bracing her, Anna leaning heavily against him. "God, what a day," she groaned. "Meeting after meeting, report after report, and nothing, absolutely nothing. No meaningful forensic evidence. Ballistic fingerprinting is a bust so far and probably won't lead to anything. Witness descriptions are vague to the point of useless, and security footage is blurry and dark."

Robert sat her down. He went to the kitchen; Anna continued, more loudly. "Scotty Baldwin came to see me a second time, called me three more times to complain. Of course he offers no advice, just criticism. There was a crowd of reporters outside the station all day wanting some kind of statement. Thank god the PCPD has a media relations person. Still, I'm going to have to hold a press conference tomorrow. One of my least favourite parts of the job."

Robert came back with a newspaper-wrapped take-away, a bottle of white wine, and a glass. He put everything in front of her and smiled.

"Fish and chips?" she asked hopefully. Robert nodded. Anna moaned with pleasure. "Bless you. Just what I need. Have you already eaten yours?"

"Already?" Robert asked; "It's 8:30. Of course I ate. But not that junk. I don't have your British constitution."

"Damned right," she agreed as she tore into the paper.

Robert observed her. "'Tis a man in love," he told her, "who can watch his woman eat and say to her, 'You are beautiful.'"

"Are you telling me I'm beautiful?" Anna asked him, her mouth full. Robert nodded. Anna smiled and carried on eating.

"I'm sorry," he continued, "if I was a bit overbearing earlier today. We both know it's one of my least attractive tendencies. I know you can take care of yourself. I didn't mean to suggest otherwise. I know I don't need to protect you. I just want to. "

"I know, Robert," Anna sighed. "I know you better than you know yourself sometimes. I do understand. It's all right."

She ate in silence for a few minutes. Then she suddenly remembered. "Oh god, I didn't tell you what happened when I was at Kelly's on my 'walk-about,' as you called it. I saw Elizabeth Beaty. And I couldn't help myself, Robert—I went up to her and introduced myself."

A muscle in Robert's shoulder clenched. "What happened?"

Anna chewed thoughtfully, finished her mouth, and looked hard at him. "It was really strange. When you told me she'd had her hair cut, you neglected to clarify that her new style is exactly like mine. Though maybe you didn't notice. You never were especially observant of the subtle details of coiffure and dress, just of the blatantly obvious: outrageously curled hair, plunging necklines, perilously high slits, black lingerie, garter belts . . ."

Robert stopped her. "Exactly like yours?"

Anna nodded her head vigorously. "Yes, exactly like mine. Though her hair is ridiculously thick, luxuriant, and blonde. I felt rather shown-up."

Robert, distracted, muttered, "I think your hair is beautiful. I've always thought so."

Anna smiled, bit a chip. "Yes, Robert, I'm aware of that fact. And I'm not ashamed to admit I've often exploited it, used it to my advantage." She thought for a moment. "And another thing: she had a messenger bag almost exactly like mine. Does that strike you as her style? As I recall, when I first saw her, she was dressed rather differently. I don't know. Something seemed distinctly peculiar. Even her mannerisms. I watched her quite closely the first time you and she spoke. It's odd, but she seemed different somehow. Anyway, she made me feel very uncomfortable. I'm glad it's you, not me, dealing with her."

Robert was glad of that as well.